I have been walking more as I am beginning my 4th week after hip replacement surgery. My recovery is going well per my nursing practitioner. The incision is healing well, no infections, normal stiffness and muscles aches from the trauma of the replacement. The new joint is causing no pain. I have muscle cramps in the rectus femoris and vastus medialis muscles that are part of the quadriceps group of muscles on the front of my thigh. I am using a cane, as I don’t feel quite coordinated with the new joint. I feel slightly longer in the leg that had the joint replacement. It is about 1/4 to 3/8ths of an inch or around a centimeter at most (for the normal world that embraces the metric system longer,) based on my perception.

I have been going to our shopping mall to do some longer walking. Today I managed around a half mile (little less than a kilometer,) within the mall. I took a few short breaks here and there as I felt the rectus femoris muscle spasm a few times under the work load. I moved very slow and steady. I broke a little sweat as I pushed the muscles farther than I have previously. It felt good to move. It feels nice to have my foot track straight for the first time in years. Prior to surgery the worn out joint allowed my foot to land about 20 degrees to the right. It was causing my biggest toe to bend to the right into the next toe. I have been barefoot most of this convalescence and I see the toe is straightening out as the muscles are strengthening again in the foot, rather than being traumatized repeatedly. If you haven’t figured by now… This blog is going to meander… The odds and ends of several different experiences within the context of a life… being lived… without much organization…

As I walk through the mall, I laugh regularly to myself as I am joining dozens of other older folks who do the same thing, but without a cane. Some of them are wearing hats to protect their heads from the sun… indoors… One stopped me today and said it looks like I’m making progress. He wondered if it was a knee. When I said it was the hip and it was replaced four weeks ago, he just looked amazed. Another man stopped me and asked if I was ever confused with Santa Claus. My students call me Santa from time to time when I allow the full beard to grow. I guess I have officially joined the senior sector of the citizenship, even though I don’t feel that old.

I have been in this shopping mall more this year than I had the previous five and half years combined. I don’t like these venues, nor the hordes of people that frequent them. When I go in the early afternoon it has been pretty light on the foot traffic, thankfully. As I was walking today, I did some people watching. I am a hermit most of the time. Large groups of chaos, make me nervous. I was struck by some of the sights of the younger generations perusing the mall. I guess I need to get out more.

I feel like I am in the minority now when it comes to tattoos. I do not have any ink on my body. I have always joked with my wife that I have never been drunk or stoned enough to desire a tattoo. I stopped drinking over ten years ago. I have never partaken in any other drug. The opiates used for pain control post surgery sit on my shelf mostly unused. They helped me sleep the first couple of days, then I stopped. I have no use for them. Anyway, we have evolved as a society when it comes to the art on skin. I saw many sleeves and even full legs of tattoos. Some were cool, some were gaudy, some were brightly colored, and some were dark. Lots of somes or sums of tattoos. I find this new obsession or long term trend fascinating. I don’t have a negative things to say about those that get tattoos. This is their choice I respect it. I have yet to understand the motivation, desire, or amount of money one spends on it.

If I were to get a tattoo it would be the Dave Matthew’s Band Fire Dancer in black with green flames (for mental health awareness) flowing out of it. I would want this tattoo to be on my lower leg, preferably calf muscle, or on my upper arm. That’s it. Nothing fancy, just that image. There is no other image I would want to portray on my body. The elegance of the faceless dancer (fine art) with the flames of mental health awareness flowing off of her burning the depression inside me away just seems like an appropriate symbol for me. The fact it relates to the Dave Matthews Band feels like it would bring me even closer to the music that pulled me back from the depths of a depression created by a chemical imbalance in my brain. If I were to get this tattoo, I would need some cheerleaders or someone to drag me there to get it done. I know one of my former students from twenty years ago who has a beautiful sleeve tattoo would drag me there and laugh maniacally as the ink would be injected in. I laugh as I write this, because I can see the sarcastic smile on their face!

I don’t fear the process of a tattoo, I just don’t feel like I have the patience to sit that long. There are other things to do. Like read, write inane blogs about wandering thoughts and fancies, puzzles, or when I’m ready get back to working on our home to make it ours. My wife loves to redecorate, remodel, and revision things. I’m happy to be her laborer. Doing something together that we enjoy brings us closer together. It makes this home more ours than the history it carries forward from the past… If only we could win the lottery to give this home some structural and aesthetic updates.

Back to the mall… I was walking with my boys as they came to visit me and help me with some things I am unable to do yet, like mow my yard that resembles a weed, crab grass, hayfield. They also brought down some bricks as their mother is replacing a brick courtyard with a concrete path. We are taking that brick off her hands to make our own brick courtyard/patio area. Our sidewalks are all brick and mortar, so this patio will go with the aesthetic. Anyway as we meandered we would joke about the various capitalist ventures that are overpriced or too young for me to peruse. I can’t believe Spencer’s is still in business after all these years.

Then my youngest boy begins to pick my brain about Zohran Mamdani. For a boy of 17 he sure loves history and he has taken quite the interest in political events. He is not as far left as I am politically, but he aligns with his mother (a teacher,) and her fiancé on a lot of issues. Here we are in a capitalist institution designed to fleece one of their hard earned cash for the sake of expressing one’s caste or class. What do we do, we discuss the most famous democratic socialist of our time, next to Bernie Sanders. He asked me if I would vote for Mamdani to be president. I told him, no. Mamdani is naturalized, he does not have birthright citizenship. “What if the constitution was changed?” he asked. “I don’t think that will happen,” I replied. Then later… I see Mamdani doesn’t want the constitution changed either. Talk about irony…

Then he asks me again if I am interested in running for congress or president, and I reply, no. He has asked this question numerous times. He asks why, and I provide him two answers. “First, the world needs fewer men that look like me running or participating in the democratic process. Old white men have screwed our country up. I don’t want to associate with them. I would rather support someone younger, of a different gender or racial background.” was my first. He asked, “Second?” “I don’t feel qualified, I know there is so much politically I don’t know about the process. I don’t know the rules of campaigning, fundraising, if elected I don’t know the budgeting system to live in DC etc.” was my second. “Oh” was his reply. I appreciate him asking. He is young, idealistic, and he wants to know my motivations and interests politically. I told him, working on a staff as a writer and researcher would be more interesting than standing in front of cameras. I hate the media. I could do this work from the privacy of my home, telecommunicating with my boss. If I had to move to DC or the state capitol for such a job, preferably DC I would want an apartment in Anacostia where I could walk to Nationals games, LOL.

When we stopped at the Goodwill Bins store, I perused for about five minutes before taking a seat outside of the store, and allowed my boys to dig through the second hand merchandise for treasure. I’m not a big fan of this type of store. I peruse the regular big box Goodwills primarily for compact discs and records. I scored a big pile of compact discs from the grunge period recently including Mother Love Bone, Chris Cornell, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden to name a few. Why spend big money, when used castoffs can be purchased for less than a dollar? My children grab all kinds of clothes this way. Why pay $30 for a shirt, when you can find a gently used one for $3-4 dollars at a secondhand store. We are always amazed at what people get rid of. Why do people spend so much money to be stylish, trendy, or fashionable? What about practical? What about useful? comfortable? ideal?

I’m a business casual dresser, dress slacks and polo shirt type of guy. I have a large tie collection and several suits, but I hate wearing formal wear. I find it uncomfortable to wear a buttoned up shirt and tie for any longer than a couple of hours. I feel like I am going to be strangled, or at least sweat through the layers. I hate sending that stuff to the dry cleaners too. Why waste $20-30 when I can use that for food, fuel, or fun. When I was a professional conductor and performer it was a necessary, but I have retired from that segment of my life. I prefer comfort now. I want to be relaxed. My boys have also adopted this sort of dress. Since both of them are entering the trades, they have no use for formal wear. They prefer boots, jeans, overalls, t-shirts, and the like. I support their choice to work in these fields. We are short workers who are skilled in trades. Having seen their parents be persecuted for being teachers by politicians, parents, and clergy. Why would they want to pursue college, and enter a field completely indebted to the government? Practical wisdom from a teenager.

All of these odd thoughts, conversations, and tidbits all caused by a trip to the capitalist paradise called the shopping mall. Only a democratic-socialist and his children can wander this expanse, buy nothing, talk about politics, people, and watch those around us and be amazed at the myriad of ways we can all live life. It is these moments that I feel the most patriotic about living in a micro culture of society in Iowa that enables us all to be who we wish to express ourselves to be. How much better would it be if we could have an administration in office that could foster this type of freedom of expression instead of trying to stifle it with religious idealism? Hopefully the time and place I live does not become the ends and odds of an American dream snuffed out…

…so it goes…