A Note from the Home - July 1, 2012

   The Old Philosopher, a retired Army officer, has as hard a time as anyone dealing with Frank, one of the younger residents. They exchanged words Friday at happy hour. The Philosopher told Frank to keep his voice down so he and Ed could have a conversation.  Frank said he wasn’t talking to them, and that The Philosopher should butt out. They went back and forth, got loud and broke into four-letter words. Then we adjourned and went to dinner. Later, I ran into The Old Philosopher in the hallway.

   “I know Frank has problems,” he said. “But damn it, he makes it impossible for anybody else to talk. It’s tough. I know. I’m starting to have problems with dementia myself.”

   He stopped and was quiet for a moment, then added, “And I’m not that old. I’m only eighty-eight.”

   There is a lounge area near the elevator and The Philosopher suggested we stop there and “bullshit.”

   “Why are we on this earth, Tom?” he asked. “Are we put here for some purpose? Does anything we do make a difference? Or are we just a bunch of chemicals? Do we matter? Really?”

   “I don’t know,” I said. “I wonder about that, too.”

   “I’m trying to find out. I’ve got a bunch of books upstairs I’m reading. I want to know why we’re here. Right now I’m reading Marcus Aurelius.”

   We talked a while longer and agreed that just because the human race is smart enough to build weapons capable of killing millions, perhaps billions, there’s no reason to believe we’re wise enough not to use them. Then The Philosopher took the conversation in another direction.

   “Tom, did you ever smoke marijuana?”

   “Once. In Vietnam,”

   “Did you like it?”

   “I can’t say. We’d been drinking beer, and I already had a buzz on. If the marijuana did anything for me, I didn’t notice.”

   “Well, if you ever want some marijuana, I’ve got it in the room,” he said. “Get yourself a pipe and come up some day.”

   About that time, a woman on her way to the elevator came by, looked at Al, grinned broadly and told me, “Don’t believe a word he says.”

   I am not sure if I should believe him or not. But last night, as we waited for the dining room to open, he extended the invitation again.

   As I said, it gets curiouser and curiouser.

  

   And it gets hotter and hotter. It was 104 in Columbus, Friday, equaling the all-time high. We had to wait until yesterday, when it was 106, to set the record. I’ve been out riding around every morning, but I’ve not been going out later in the day. According to Yahoo, it’s 103 at three o’clock this afternoon. On Thursday, however, the predicted high is a mild ninety-two, and I should be able to resume going out two or three times a day.