Still in my dreams after all these years

On entering a small roadside cafe in rural Missouri last month, I noticed a familiar odor which I could not immediately identify. After eating a modest lunch served by a friendly waitress in a booth near the front door, I headed back to the restroom. It was only on returning to my booth that I noticed something on the tables at the rear of the cafe - ash trays. This small diner actually had a smoking section, something not permitted in Minnesota since 2007. (Smoking in restaurants seating fewer than 50 people is legal in Missouri.)

Like many people I knew, including my parents, I smoked cigarettes when I was younger. I started in high school, stealing my dad’s unfiltered Camels, and not quitting until my son was born in 1986. While I’ve had a few minor lapses, I’ve not smoked since - for 38 years. Thankfully. That I ever started is one of the true regrets I have.

Yet every now and then I find myself smoking in my dreams. The cigarette is usually very weak and I am trying to hide it from others around me, obviously ashamed of the act. One wonders how the human mind works.

One sign of an improving society, I believe, is the dramatic decrease in smoking:

Cigarette smoking in the U.S. is at a low point, according to eight decades of Gallup trends. Currently, 11% of U.S. adults say they have smoked cigarettes in the past week, matching the historical low measured in 2022 (and nearly matched at 12% in 2023). When Gallup first asked about cigarette smoking in 1944, 41% of U.S. adults said they smoked. The current smoking rate is about half as large as it was a decade ago and one-third as large as it was in the late 1980s. Gallup, August 13, 2024

Yeah, gas stations still house whole shelves full of cigarette packs (along with chewing tobacco) and one still sees the occasional cigarette butt on sidewalks and in parking lots. The smokers I see are mostly senior citizens sitting outside their senior living facilities - some ironically in wheelchairs and with oxygen tanks in inclement weather. But it is rare that in my day to day activity that I see or smell smoking and I have no relatives or close friends who indulge.

Vaping, of course, is the new smoking which the young and stupid have substituted for cigarettes when I was young and stupid. I suspect one day we will see a movement to reduce that habit as well for the benefit of both individuals and society. One can hope. At least I cannot smell the vapers.

Tomorrow I get on a jet for a long flight to Amsterdam and on to Casablanca, knowing smoking is banned on both the plane and in the airport. In the 80s, before smoking was banned on flights, I would request seating in the non-smoking section, a request that was usually granted. Of course my non-smoking row was directly behind the last smoking section row. At least in the 80s we had more legroom!

Less smoking gives me some hope for mankind. What might give you hope?

News burnout

Can’t we just get this election over? Please? The campaigns have been ugly, disparaging, and overwhelming. And I’ve voted already already.

I will admit to being something of a news junkie. I read two daily newspapers and subscribe to the NYT for its columnists. I watch the local and national news nearly every night. The only radio station I have a preset for in my car is NPR. I check my GoogleNews feed daily and read Heather Cox RIchardson’s newsletter (or most of it anyway). In my own little echo chamber, I don’t watch Fox news or read any political posts in my Facebook feed nor do I subscribe to Twitter (now known as X). 

After only a few dozen viewings, the ads by all candidates regardless of political party don’t just bore me, but almost nauseate me. (But not as much as the emu in the Liberty Mutual Ads.) I only glance at the postcards that arrive daily in my mail before pitching them into the recycling bin in my garage - the poor things don’t even make it into the house. I am not a fan of lawn signs - with the prevalence of one party sending shivers down my spine. 

As I mentioned, I have already voted early. I sense it is not the undecided, but the indifferent, who have not or will note vote in this critical election. I suspect, like most citizens, there is no party that totally reflects my values, my hopes, my concerns. (Is ANYBODY but me concerned about the national debt?) I don’t think one more diatribe about the deficiencies of one’s political rival is going to make much of a difference on November 5, 2024.

And I am afraid I am not just getting burned out on political coverage. Stories of ecological disasters, forecasts of “existential” climate change, both endangered and invasive creatures, and energy policies now get a quick read of the headlines and maybe a paragraph or two. Do I really need to see photos of one more bombing and its victims in Israel or Gaza or Lebanon? How many more shootings in downtown Minneapolis do I really need to hear about? I do understand that “when it bleeds, it leads” has been a long time principle that news publishers have adhered to for many, many years, but sheesh!

The biggest problem I see with news-overload is that it may be desensitizing me to important issues I should be more knowledgeable about. I wish I had a strategy or guidelines that would allow me to stay informed, but not be burned out. Suggestions, readers?

Oh, please vote. Our grandchildren’s futures will hinge on this election.

Another one launched…

Perhaps I should be used to the feeling by now. That sense of loss, of concern, of hope, of happiness as a loved one starts their first year of college. Their first year away from home. Their first year on their own. The year that will determine how good a job the parents and grandparents and teachers and Scout masters, and coaches have done in instilling good decision-making skills and values.

At his invitation, I visited my grandson Miles at his school, Missouri State University of Science and Technology, where he is now two months into his freshman year. The visit included a walking tour of the campus, a visit to his dorm room, drives through the town of Rolla, a hike in a local park, and several meals at local restaurants, including Randy’s Roadkill BBQ and Grill. And we managed to squeak in a matinee showing of Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. 

I could not have had a nicer time. Miles was a very good guide and his good spirits did much to allay my (unwarranted) concerns about his new life. Thanks to good parenting and good schooling, he seems to be thriving in this new environment. At least he looked clean, well-fed and I could detect no needle-tracks on his arms. He feels his decision to get a degree in chemical engineering (in possibly just three years) is a good one.

It seems a bit strange to me that, like some birds, many human families kick their children out of the nest around age 18. Happily, most kids don’t just survive, but thrive when given their independence. Many of us could not wait to get out from under our parents’ thumb and live a life of our own. (I was one of them.) Miles seemed happy at home, but he also seems happy in college. I guess he is just the happy kid he always has been.

Colleges do help cushion that fall from the nest. Housing, meals, student medical service, and financial aid allow kids to focus on classes rather than their bank balance. Sports, fraternities and sororities, clubs, and other activities provide opportunities to build friendships. And today, technology allows these newbies to stay connected with their family back home as well as with friends in other schools.

I have no doubt whatsoever that Miles will make the most of his undergraduate years. This honor student, Eagle Scout, entrepreneur will stay on a positive path. At least I expect so. After all, he and his brother promised that when they became billionaires, they would buy a penthouse apartment in Manhattan where I could live. But no pressure, Miles.  I am not packing my bags just yet.