assuming a Starbucks name

A few days ago, I introduced myself to Lawrence, a guy who has been turning up with me and Larry at Starbucks. Lawrence is getting, or, at least, so he said, a PhD in Mechanical Engineering at Stanford. I always ask people 'what in?' when they say they are getting a doctorate. When I was fresh out of college, I wanted to go to grad school in English lit. I wanted to be a writer and I thought that would advance my goal. My dad pressured me to go to law school instead, telling me lawyers did a lot of writing. I have met quite a lot of lawyers who fell for the same feint. Yes, I have a doctorate but it's in law. That's like going to trade school. I am mildly envious of everyone who gets to devote several years of their life to research, even if it is meaningless research. Always and forever, I guess, I want a real doctorate to call my own.

Last Friday, I took my mother's pearls to a jewelry store in Palo Alto to have them restrung. I had a lot of fun with Ruth, who let me try on all the strands of pearls they had in the store, helping me choose the length. Twenty inches, we decided. Now I have to decide what to do with my leftover three inches of pearls. Another salesperson helped a good-looking, blonde young man who was picking up a diamond ring. Ooh-la-la! Right away I wondered, "Has he popped the question? If not, what's his plan?" I didn't ask him, though, because I was having fun with Ruth. Then, however, I overheard him say he is getting a doctorate at Stanford. I had to know, "What are you studying?"

He said, "Mechanical engineering."

"Then you must know Lawrence, a guy from my coffee shop."

"I don't know anyone named Lawrence. I don't know any grad students in my department who have time for coffee shops. Maybe your Lawrence is more advanced."

"Lawrence would be hard to miss. He is very tall, very good-looking and he is African American. There can't be too many guys like that in any PhD program anywhere."

Diamond-ring guy paused, considered, and, shaking his head, said, "There are definitely no African Americans in Mechanical Engineering named Lawrence." I did not press this guy but I wanted to ask him if there was a tall, good-looking African American with a different name. I didn't want to put him on the spot.

Ah-ha! I couldn't wait to tell Larry. This suggested to me, and, of course, to Larry that this so-called Lawrence has assumed a fake identity for Starbucks. Larry and I are rubes in the world of coffeehouse living. We go around telling people our real names. Larry is not Larry's real name. I named him Larry because he reminds me of a guy I knew in college and I gave him a name before we ever actually spoke to each other and he has amiably agreed to let me call him Larry.

Larry and I have decided to give ourselves a do-over. We are going to choose fake Starbucks names to use in our slacker, coffeeshop lives.

And don't you worry. We'll keep an eye out for this so-called Lawrence. We'll find out his story. Or not!

aging not for sissies

A now-departed, close friend of mine, Kathie, loved to say 'old age isn't for sissies'. At fifty three, I am not exactly old, but I am keenly conscious of my aging related to my health. For quite a long time now, I have followed my health care providers advice, eating carefully, exercising, losing a lot of weight. I've been thinking lately of stories I've read in the media of guys who were fitness fanatics their whole life and they keel over dead with seemingly no warning. There seems little hope for me to improve my long term health if lifelong fitness buffs can drop dead running a marathon. Fretting, fretting. Fretting does no good, of course. All I can do is what I can do, take the steps that are available to me and choose to be happy no matter what.

There is an arcade game that has been on my mind. The version that I am specifically recalling is called "Rats in the Hole". There are nine holes with mechanical 'rats' that keep popping up erratically. The object of the game is to take the big hammer and whack the rat during the instant its head pops up, catching it before the head goes back down the hole. Each landed blow yields a point. Win enough points and you get to play the game another time for free. I have also seen this game called "Beat the Gopher". And other goofy names. It is, in my humble opinion, a violent, ugly game. Perplexingly, it seems to be designed for very little children, to get them started in the world of arcade gaming. It is easy to play, easy to win and parents line up their little kids so they have some success in the game arcade. I met this game whiling away happy days in amusement parks with my kid and it was the first game she was ever able to win. Whack, whack, whack. What was I thinking when I paid to let her play such a nasty game, beating back rodents!

I sometimes feel like my life is a game of "Rats in the Hole", that I am futilely whacking away at random problems as they surface, landing a few blows in my efforts at self care, but, ultimately, just like slot machines in Vegas, the odds are stacked against me. I cannot alter the nature of this dissipative universe with my puny little efforts. What else can I do but persevere and choose to be happy?

Now I'm thinking of Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into the Good Night". I aspire to step into each moment as gently as possible. I do not think anyone should rail against the dying of light. It is my aspiration to greet each moment with love. It is my aspiration to surrender, never rail. On and on.