By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

“Who was that masked man?”

– The Lone Ranger

I’ve learned the past year that it’s possible to forget what someone looks like without a mask, as well as to marvel at the face of someone I’ve never seen without one. In the grocery store where I work four days a week, masks have been omnipresent for over a year now, especially among those of use who work there, euphemistically called ‘associates.’

I wear a mask because I’m required to, and because I care about my community, my family, and bringing this all to some kind of end. But I don’t like it. In this case, ‘hate’ is not too strong a work. My glasses fog up. I breathe my own spittle. And I often wonder, as we enter the post-vaccination stage, how long we’ll have to keep wearing them, and how much of it is requirement and how much is conditioning. I imagine we’ll find out as states begin to eliminate mask mandates and companies follow suit. I will add, with emphasis, that not getting the flu last year was a big plus. Masks are uncomfortable and often annoying, but they have helped us minimize our contagious disease transmission to an amazing level.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

At sixty-two, not having to hoist my leg over a bicycle bar is a relief. I’m not worried about body parts, just about getting my leg that high.

It hit me recently when I was out looking for a new bicycle. I told the young man working at the store that I was mostly concerned with comfort. I’m not trying out for the Tour de France, and I don’t imagine myself riding in that event, unlike many of the people I see zipping around the New Jersey countryside with brand names on their backs and Spandex hugging them more tightly than a human ought to be hugged. I’m just a guy who lives in the woods and wants to get my heart rate up a few times a week by circling the back roads of my rural community.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

Time is not so much an arrow as a comet we ride, streaking across the sky. We only think it drags because we’re on it, like riders saddling imaginary horses that stand stock still while the ground moves beneath us.

The good news is that I’m old enough to collect Social Security. The bad news is that I’m old enough to collect Social Security. When I was twenty, I never imagined being forty. It seemed so far away from that youthful ground I stood upon with naive bravado. Then when I hit forty, I thought fifty would be the last milestone to publicly mark, quietly retiring birthday observations with the exception of a few close friends and family. And finally, when I approached the age when referring to oneself as a senior becomes culturally appropriate, I decided I could at minimum look forward to collecting a monthly stipend for my troubles. We should all be paid for getting old, at least those of us lucky enough to live that long.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another … a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

I’m reprinting this column as an annual tradition, knowing that the current pandemic has altered the reality it presents for all of us. But the fun of Halloween remains and its pleasures will return someday. Nothing can keep a good witch down!

October has always been my favorite month. It’s the month when autumn really makes its presence felt, especially if you live where the seasons are discernible. (It recently went from air conditioner weather at the tail end of a relentlessly hot summer, to a sudden and unexpected freeze with a 30-degree drop). It’s flu season, which is always good for a sick day or two spent lying on the couch taking over-the-counter cold remedies that do nothing to stop you from feeling like death is close by. Honey, is the healthcare directive in place? You’re sure you’ve still got your copy? And how about the will? Can I change it by tomorrow? My sister forgot my birthday, I’m not sure she deserves the belt buckles.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

I believe we will look back on this time, perhaps calling it The Great Pandemic of 2020, or something equally grand to match a cataclysm of such scale, and view it as a before-and-after moment in our lives. We have those throughout our journeys on Earth, when the paths we’re on are disturbed by eruptions or implosions, or deaths that leave us without parts of ourselves: a parent abandons us to the whims of human existence, a loved one says goodbye for the last time, or doesn’t manage to say anything at all before a final breath.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

I believe we will look back on this time, perhaps calling it The Great Pandemic of 2020, or something equally grand to match a cataclysm of such scale, and view it as a before-and-after moment in our lives. We have those throughout our journeys on Earth, when the paths we’re on are disturbed by eruptions or implosions, or deaths that leave us without parts of ourselves: a parent abandons us to the whims of human existence, a loved one says goodbye for the last time, or doesn’t manage to say anything at all before a final breath.

By Mark McNease

It’s always One Thing or Another… a lighthearted look at aging, life, and the absurdities of it all.

Have a grandparent to spare? Now’s your chance to volunteer one in sacrifice to the economy. All positions available!

Who needs old people, really? What do they do besides eat, talk about how hard it is to get old, drive RVs across the country, and bother people with questions about the simplest techie things? Think of all the good use they could be put to as frontline workers in the apocalypse.

That’s the thinking in certain conservative circles these days. The Lieutenant Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick, started the doomsday ball rolling when he said he’d be willing to work to save the economy for his grandchildren. I wasn’t aware he hadn’t worked before, or that he wasn’t getting paid while he sat around saying these things, but that’s another matter. The idea caught fire, especially among wealthy pundits and Republicans who have never been, and will never be, essential workers … like grocery store clerks, nurses, police officers, and baristas. Something tells me they know they won’t actually have to risk their lives for their grandchildren, but it sounds heroic. Things that sound heroic but have no chance of happening are favorites with men who fancy themselves soldiers, having avoided any real wars. It’s cool to say you’ll take a bullet, especially for future generations, when the gun’s empty.