Ramblings of a Retired Mind

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Time Where has the time gone? How did it get this late already? Where did the day go? Time, as the saying goes, waits for no one. Theories That Hurt My Head There are, broadly speaking, three theories of time: realist, relational, and idealist . The realist view holds that time is a physical thing— time is relative , tied to space, just as Einstein described. The idea that time slows as speed increases is fascinating, but also enough to give me a migraine, so let’s not linger there too long. The relational view suggests that time depends on the sequence of physical events in the universe. In an empty universe, time wouldn’t exist at all. Where the realist says the universe has a clock, the relationalist says the universe is a clock. Thinking about who—or what—started that clock brings on a dull ache along the top and sides of my head, so it’s probably best to move on. That leaves the idealist view, which claims time is a construct of the...

Ramblings of a Retired Mind Say it Enough  Yesterday, we witnessed yet another American tragedy of our own making. A mother. A daughter. A friend. Renee Good lost her life during a confrontation with federal ICE agents. Almost immediately, the federal administration moved to define the event on its own terms—casting the victim as the villain and shaping a narrative that aligned neatly with its worldview. We have seen this before. History Has a Way of Repeating Itself On May 4, 1970, at Kent State University, four student protesters—Allison Krause, Jeffrey Miller, Sandra Lee Scheuer, and William Schroeder—were shot and killed when twenty-eight Ohio National Guardsmen opened fire on students protesting the war in Southeast Asia. Sixty-seven rounds were fired in thirteen seconds. Nine others were wounded but survived—an often-forgotten fact. Though eight guardsmen were charged with violating civil rights, all were acquitted. The Nixon administration quickly blamed the student...

                                             Ramblings of a Retired Mind                                            Death Among Us   Living With Death, Choosing Life Nothing stirs emotion quite like death. It is the one certainty we all share, yet it arrives without a timetable or warning. We never know when it will come—only that it will. We encounter death constantly. Sometimes it touches our lives directly; other times it reaches us through news headlines and distant tragedies. We witness loss involving strangers and people we love, and the difference between those two experiences is profound. The Distance of Public Tragedy Recent weeks have been filled with reminders of how fragile life can be. Acts of violence driven by hatred, live...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Our First Christmas Tree When I married a fallen Catholic, I quickly learned that Christmas comes with a rulebook—one that is invisible, ironclad, and absolutely nonnegotiable. My wife’s family is wonderfully complicated and just scattered enough to make every holiday an exercise in logistics. She has four sisters and one brother, and every single one of them had their own Christmas traditions. Separate celebrations. Separate locations. No exceptions. So when her brother announced he’d be bringing his family up from South Carolina to spend Christmas in Chicago, my wife made what seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion: “Could we all celebrate together, just this once?” The answer was swift and unanimous. No. Since her brother and his family would be staying with us, I figured they deserved a proper Christmas—tree, lights, the whole deal. The problem was simple: we had never had a Christmas tree. Ever. “Well,” I said, “let’s get one. We’l...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Can I Change? The question hit me today: Can I really change? A simple inquiry, yet somehow endlessly complicated. I’ve always believed that part of our purpose in life is to keep learning, seek new experiences, and grow. But for all its importance, change is hard—much harder than I like to admit. Some days it feels as though I’m living in a permanent state of self-renovation. This drive toward self-improvement shows up everywhere. There are the shifts I know I need to make, and the personal adjustments I owe my wife. Then there are the subtle behavioral tweaks—the ones that affect friendships and everyday interactions. The feedback I receive is rarely cushioned: “Bob, you’re talking too much.” “Stop interrupting me!” Statements delivered with the sting of inconvenient accuracy. Still, I’m willing to put in the work. I’ve changed before, even when I fought it at first. For years, I terrified passengers with my driving, brushing off their ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind The Glance A Year of Change The year I turned twenty was a trying one. I was studying History with a Pre-Law minor at Roosevelt University in Chicago. My sister was on the verge of graduating from the University of Illinois. With both of us grown and busy, my parents decided it was time for one last family vacation . Two years earlier, they’d traveled through Italy and fallen in love with it. Now they were determined to share that love with us. And so, in May 1972, we embarked on a multi-city road trip that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I took the wheel; my father became navigator. Into Italy Our flight from Chicago took us through a chaotic layover in Paris—customs lines, hustling crowds, and a near-missed connection. But eventually we touched down in Milan in the gentle light of early morning. Within minutes of picking up our rental car, Italy offered its first challenge: a five-lane traffic circle with no clear escape route. Aft...

 We never really know when we’ll meet our closest friend. Many people drift in and out of our lives, but only a rare few become the ones we can trust completely—the ones who understand us without needing an explanation. Back in 1974 , I was working days in an institutional food factory and attending college at night. One morning, I showed up to find a new guy had joined the crew on the loading dock—the place where tons of sugar, flour, and other staples came in to be turned into food for schools, hospitals, and prisons. He was tall and lean, with a long shock of hair and a spark in his eye that told me he didn’t quite fit the mold. We hit it off almost immediately. Before long, we were inseparable during breaks. His sense of humor matched mine perfectly, and within a week, we’d developed our own nicknames for the rest of the crew—our little inside jokes that only we understood. Did I know then that this man would change my life? Not a chance. But through him, and later through ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Warp Speed Stroke—formally known as a cerebrovascular accident—runs deep in my family. A Childhood Memory In 1965, my parents moved my sister and me from the only home we knew in Chicago’s Rogers Park to Stamford, Connecticut. We went from neighbors stacked on top of us to an acre of land with a pond out back. I was in heaven. We arrived in October, right after my Bar Mitzvah and my thirteenth birthday, beginning our new life out East. The following spring, my father’s parents came to visit. But at that age, treasure hunts through the vast three-hundred-acre forest beside our house with my best friend, Fang Ferguson, were far more appealing than slow afternoons with grandparents. One afternoon, Fang and I were watching a baseball game in the den with my grandfather when my grandmother headed toward the kitchen—and collapsed face-first to the floor. At first, we thought she’d tripped on the step. But no—Anna had suffered a stroke. An ambulance wa...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind The Award I knew she was sick. Her body was frail, but her mind remained sharp. She may have been down to ninety pounds, but nothing was going to stop her from seeing her beloved grandson receive his award. The trip from Chicago to Washington, D.C., would be difficult—airport lines, cab rides, and long days of exploring our nation’s capital. She knew her limits. She would go slow, steady, and never let anyone rush her. From an early age, everyone recognized my son’s remarkable artistic talent. It came naturally to him, and his grandmother was his biggest cheerleader. Her house was filled with his drawings, proudly displayed for anyone who visited. The award—presented by Hallmark through the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards—recognized his detailed drawing of a busy street scene. She couldn’t have been prouder. The trip to Washington would be unforgettable. The Journey The winning artwork was to hang in the Corcoran Gallery of Art, home to the Co...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Some Weeks In my retired life, the weeks often pass with predictable regularity. A text reminder tells me it’s garbage day, so it must be Tuesday. When I finish brushing my teeth and see my pillbox is empty, I know it’s Sunday—time to refill it again. Most weeks go by like this: small routines, simple markers of time. Yet each day still brings something new—a fresh idea to write about, a new book to start, or a grandchild who needs a ride home from school. But the past few weeks? Anything but ordinary. So unusual, in fact, that I sometimes wonder if they really happened. The Mini Cooper Incident It all started about six weeks ago when I decided to clean my beloved Mini Cooper convertible. During the winter, I keep it in the garage with the top down—mostly so I can track where dust, dirt, and stray candy wrappers (thanks to my grandchildren) have settled. One day, I spotted a wrapper poking out from under the back seat and decided to retrieve ...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Esther A Move and a Memory Seven years ago, my wife and I left Chicago—the only home we had ever known—and moved to Polson, Montana. Retirement and the pull to be near our daughter and four grandchildren brought us West. Leaving behind friends, family, and the familiar rhythm of city life was no small undertaking. Before the move, I found myself at my parents’ graves, saying a quiet goodbye. I knew they weren’t truly there, but I felt the need to honor their lives and the life I was leaving behind. Graves matter. They are touchstones of existence, proof that a life once was. Too many leave this world without such a marker. The Pull of Genealogy Decades ago, my wife and I became absorbed in genealogy. With much of the older generation already gone, we pieced together names, dates, photographs, and fragments of stories. We visited cemeteries, photographing gravestones as if gathering the last whispers of lives once lived. But some left no trace at...

  The Price to Pay for Free Speech Free speech has never been free. Throughout history, those who dared to voice unpopular, offensive, or unconventional opinions often paid a steep price—sometimes with their careers, sometimes with their lives. We like to think today’s climate is uniquely divided, but the silencing of dissent is hardly new. Voices Silenced in History Socrates was condemned in Athens for “corrupting the youth” and questioning authority. His sentence? Death by hemlock. Centuries later, Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake for believing in an infinite universe. The Enlightenment didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for free thinkers either. Thomas Paine, hero of Common Sense , was cast aside after criticizing organized religion in The Age of Reason . Voltaire spent years exiled or imprisoned for his sharp attacks on church and monarchy. The Artists and Rebels In the nineteenth century, Oscar Wilde’s wit and openness about homosexuality clashed with Victoria...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Love, a Lifelong Journey Love—that elusive emotion every human longs for. For most of us, it begins with the love of a parent. Yet not all parents set the stage for a child’s future search for love. Love wears many forms, but perhaps the purest is the unconditional devotion of a mother to her newborn child. It’s a force of nature—indescribable and undeniable. A Mother’s Love I never doubted my mother’s love. From the moment I arrived in her arms, she embraced me with a gift I would spend my whole life trying to return. Only when I became a parent myself did I truly understand: a mother’s love asks for nothing in return—it simply is . Childhood Lessons As children, we cling to family love, the only love we know. But once we step into the larger world, we begin an endless quest to fill the void left by that primal bond. We seek friends, connections, even attention, all in search of belonging. In grade school, I had a few close buddies. We played,...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind Will I Wake Up? Ever since I turned sixty-eight, I’ve gone to bed each night wondering: Will I wake up tomorrow—or not? You see, sixty-eight is something of a cursed number in my family. My grandfather died at sixty-eight. So did his son. And so did my mother, his daughter. Naturally, I couldn’t help but obsess over it during my own sixty-eighth year. Every night, the thought gnawed at me. Every morning, waking up felt like a small victory. When I turned sixty-nine, I was overjoyed—almost like when I finally reached sixteen and could drive. I could breathe again. The Thoughts That Creep In at Night My nightly ritual goes like this: lights out, head on the pillow, and then… the thoughts start. What if this is it? What if tomorrow, there is no more me? We humans are masters at feeling immortal—at least when we’re young and healthy. Think of an eight-year-old kid flying down a ski slope, fearless, not a thought about death. At that age, immortal...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind How Far is Too Far? When is it too far—truly too far? That question has gnawed at me like a vulture on a carcass for the past two weeks. A Lifelong Big Mouth I’ve always had a big mouth—not in size, but in words. As a child, I grew so accustomed to hearing, “Why would you say that?” that the question barely registered anymore. Now, at seventy-two, I still hear it. Perhaps the real question I should ask is: “Why do I say aloud what others only think in silence?” Yet, if I’m honest, I rarely ask it at all. How the World Sees Me vs. How I See Myself To the outside world, this makes me look selfish. Inside, I see myself differently. I am forever telling myself: “Question everything. Challenge others to prove they are awake.” One small point of pride: I never challenge another’s faith. Religion is too personal. Still, since reconnecting with the faith of my ancestors, I’ve wondered why all Jews didn’t embrace Christianity in its time. Was it st...

  Ramblings of a Retired Mind: The Samovar A few weeks ago, I opened my laptop and checked my email. My inbox was overflowing with offers—each more ridiculous than the last. One promised free samples , no strings attached—unless you count handing over all your personal information as a string. Another urged me to “sponsor” a lovely young woman fleeing the devastation in Ukraine. Just one click to connect—though if blondes aren’t your thing, brunettes were available too. Two messages later, I was greeted with a miracle product that guaranteed to banish every trace of lime and rust from my toilet. “Never use a toilet brush again!” it proudly proclaimed. Sifting through my inbox felt like panning for gold—only instead of nuggets, I kept pulling up spam and promotional sludge. An Email That Mattered About twenty messages down, I finally found an email from someone I knew: my cousin Alice. Alice is my father’s second cousin—technically my second cousin once removed—and the offic...