Trump Wants to Buy Your Vote – Don't Let Him

In recent weeks, polls have shown that presidential candidate Joe Biden is leading President Trump in polls of people 65 and older by double digits. That might have something to do with Trump telling his followers that COVID-19 affects hardly anyone younger than 18, framing

”...the pandemic as largely impacting older Americans, as he argued for school districts to resume in-person learning,” reported AP.

. “'Now we know it affects elderly people with heart problems and other problems,' Trump said. 'If they have other problems, that’s what it really affects. That’s it.'”

That did not sit well with one elder voter in Florida according to AP:

”Trump’s recent remarks made Liz Cillo, a 72-year-old retiree from St. Petersburg, laugh bitterly. 'We’re dispensable. We’re old. I feel as though he’s never showed any empathy or compassion toward us.'”

Trump is flailing in many areas of the voting population but until now, elders have been a mainstay of the Republican Party. So – Trump being Trump – he announced last week that he will attempt to opening purchase votes from old people.

As CNN tells it:

”...President Donald Trump said Thursday -- less than six weeks before the election -- that he will send $200 drug discount cards to 33 million Americans on Medicare.

“The unprecedented move, however, has raised many questions, including how the roughly $6.6 billion in benefits will be funded...

The White House says that the cards will be offset by savings from another of Trump's drug price proposals, which would link the cost of certain Medicare drugs to the price in other countries. But that controversial measure was unveiled in an executive order in mid-September, and it's unclear when it will actually take effect, if ever.”

Translation: The drug card proposal does not exist.

After Trump's announcement on Thursday, the Wall Street Journal reported on Friday that the $200 discount cards

”...will be funded by a Medicare trust fund, an administration official said, using money rarely spent on such pilot programs.

“Medicare is funded by two trust funds held by the U.S. Treasury. The trusts pay for hospital care and administering the federal health-insurance program for seniors and the disabled. They are funded through payroll taxes, income taxes paid on Social Security benefits and other sources.

“The Medicare trust fund that pays for hospital care is expected to become insolvent by fiscal 2024, according to the Congressional Budget Office, two years earlier than projections done before the coronavirus pandemic. The other fund is on more solid financial footing.”

This is crazy. It doesn't not work on any level. It is so bad that even big PhRMA has rejected it:

“The announcement comes after the Trump administration sought to negotiate a similar discount-card program with drug companies, but the drug industry’s main trade group, PhRMA, walked away from the discussions,” reported WSJ.

“'One-time savings cards will neither provide lasting help nor advance the fundamental reforms necessary to help seniors better afford their medicines,” an official at PhRMA said last week.”

It's not even clear to anyone with knowledge that this pay-for-votes ploy is legal.

Should Trump manage to push through this dubious scheme and get it done in time for discount cards to arrive before you vote, what will you do?

Here's what I have planned:

• Secure a sturdy envelope.
• Address it to President Trump at 1600 Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C. NW 20500
• Cut card in half and place in envelope
• Include a note - “You cannot buy my vote”
• Attach enough postage
• Place in local mailbox

Imagine if all 33 million U.S. elders do that.



Tibbles1SM100x130This Sunday Elder Music column was launched in December of 2008. By May of the following year, one commenter, Peter Tibbles, had added so much knowledge and value to my poor attempts at musical presentations that I asked him to take over the column. He's been here each week ever since delighting us with his astonishing grasp of just about everything musical, his humor and sense of fun. You can read Peter's bio here and find links to all his columns here.

* * *

At times like this we need all the friends we can get, quite a few of whom these days will be on Zoom or Skype. Similarly, for a few years after I discovered Time Goes By and when I got this gig, I could count Ronni as the best friend I had never met.

That all changed of course when Norma, the Assistant Musicologist and I visited Oregon (a couple of times) and stayed with her in Lake Oswego.

Here are some friends songs.

RAL DONNER was cursed by having a voice that was uncannily like Elvis’s.

Ral Donner

I bet all those Elvis impersonators wish they could claim the same thing. Ral was never an impersonator, indeed he really hated it when it was pointed out to him (which was quite often). See what you think when he sings Girl of my Best Friend.

♫ Ral Donner - Girl Of My Best Friend

MIKE MCCLELLAN would be a super-star if he lived in a bigger country. Well, he is here in Australia.

Mike McClellan1

Mike recorded several albums in the seventies and eighties, but they have been deleted. There are a couple of collection CDs as well as several more recent albums, but it’s still difficult to source his early music unless you have the vinyls.

From that early period, here is a song he still performs quite often, Lovers Never Wind up Friends.

♫ Mike McClellan - Lovers Never Wind Up Friends

Quite coincidentally, I discovered Larry McMurtry’s book, All My Friends are Going to be Strangers, around the same time that I first heard MERLE HAGGARD perform (My Friends Are Gonna Be) Strangers.

Merle Haggard

I assume for Merle there was a bit of tongue in cheek going on as his backing band was called The Strangers.

♫ Merle Haggard - (My Friends Are Gonna Be) Strangers

After his initial success as a pop star and member of a Doowop group DION DiMucci turned into a fine blues and folk performer.


One of the first albums of his that demonstrated that was “Sit Down Old Friend”. Here is the song Sit Down Old Friend.

♫ Dion - Sit Down Old Friend

PERCY SLEDGE is probably best known for one song and what a great song that is. It’s not the one we have today, however.

Percy Sledge

There was a lot more to him than that one. Besides being one of the finest soul singers, he was also a bluesman of note as this shows on My Old Friend the Blues, from the album with the same name.

♫ Percy Sledge - My Old Friend The Blues

On the surface. JIMMY BUFFETT seems to be the friendliest musician around. I hope he’s really like that.

Jimmy Buffett

From one of his early good albums (most of his early albums were good), “Son of a Son of a Sailor” Jimmy tells us about his African Friend.

♫ Jimmy Buffett - African Friend

By far the most critically successful and popular band in Australia in the seventies was SKYHOOKS.


They liked to dress up in outlandish costumes but their musicianship was impeccable. Besides that they, thanks to main songwriter Greg Macainsh, addressed issues about Australian suburban life, particularly Melbourne whence they hailed.

The song All My Friends Are Getting Married is more laid back then their usual fare.

♫ Skyhooks - All My Friends Are Getting Married

From easily their finest studio album, “American Beauty”, the GRATEFUL DEAD want to be a Friend of the Devil.

Grateful Dead

Of course, although they only recorded two or three good studio albums, their milieu was live performances at which they excelled. As they are no more, it’s good that there are a number of fine live recordings. “A number”? I wouldn’t be surprised if every concert they ever performed is out there somewhere.

Anyway, here’s the song, with Phil Lesh playing bass as the lead instrument.

♫ Grateful Dead - Friend Of The Devil

HERMAN'S HERMITS came from Manchester (not far from Liverpool) at the height of Beatlemania.


Unlike most of their contemporaries, they were a straight pop band and had a clean cut image – they didn’t frighten parents the way other bands at the time did. In spite of that (or maybe because of it) they produced really fine pop songs, most of which still hold up today, including My Sentimental Friend.

♫ Herman's Hermits - My Sentimental Friend

The members of the NITTY GRITTY DIRT BAND must be friends as they’ve been together with little change to their lineup since the sixties.


They have even recorded a song along that line called Partners, Brothers and Friends. Here it is.

♫ NGDB - Partners Brothers And Friends

Back around 1970, I discovered a record by SPIDER JOHN KOERNER and WILLIE MURPHY.

Spider Joh n& Willie

This is a really wonderful album and in keeping with the theme of the column, my friends thought so too. The album is called “Running Jumping Standing Still” and I now have it on CD so it might still be around somewhere.

It’s the only thing they did together and it’s a collection folk-blues, ragtime piano, country and even a little jazz thrown in for good measure. In keeping with our category, their song is Friends and Lovers. Spider John sings the lead on it.

♫ Spider John Koerner & Willie Murphy - Friends and Lovers

There is one song I’m sure you were all expecting, but as you can see, I didn’t include it. I expect that there will be comments about that.

INTERESTING STUFF – 26 September 2020

EDITORIAL NOTE: It feels to me that this has been a momentous past week filled with terrible portents, especially from the president who refuses to say he will leave his post if he is defeated in November. I don't have words.

So a few of today's entries fall to heavier side of the scale.

* * *


You remember Founders Sing, don't you. The Youtube group who debuted in February with their tune, The Day Democracy Died.

They have been releasing these original political songs ever since and this week they gave us I AM RUTH – By Founders Sing, In Honor of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.


The number of new virus infections is not getting better. In fact, it is skyrocketing. This week, The New York Times reported,

”In a survey of 21,196 people in all 50 states and the District of Columbia, researchers identified a clear generational divide.

“Respondents 18 to 24 had an 18 percent probability of believing a false claim, compared with 9 percent for those over 65, according to the study [pdf], conducted by researchers from Harvard University, Rutgers University, Northeastern University and Northwestern University.”

People were asked to gauge their acceptance of 11 false claims:

”Those included false claims that the virus originated in people who ate bats, that taking antibiotics protects against the disease and that only people 60 or older are at risk of being infected.”

Read more at The Times. Talk to the young people in your life about staying safe.


The Guardian reports that young people yesterday led strikes around the world calling for urgent action on climate change.

”Greta Thunberg led a strike in Sweden, which was limited to 50 people by the country’s lockdown laws – 'so we adapt', she tweeted, with a picture showing strikers more than 2 metres apart. The day of action also marked the 110th week of her own school strike, which began in August 2018.

“'Fridays For Future and the youth climate movement are striking again around the world, in a safe way and following Covid-19 guidelines, to demand those in power treat this like the urgent crisis it is,' she said.”

Relatedly, TGB reader Mary Evans Young, sent this pertinent 18-month-old video from U.S. Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez titled A Message from the Future.

In the U.S., we are in the final weeks of fighting for the existence of our country, even for democracy itself. Untold environmental damage has been done by our president and his minions in just the year and a half since OAC's video debuted. So don't let up. Register to vote. Help others to register. Plan your vote.

Read more about the worldwide children's crusade at The Guardian.


...cannot be ignored at this blog. Titled Down and Out.

When you are feeling down and out,
give Ronni Bennett a shout.
She's a long-time blogger
and memories cataloger
who writes about her ills
and the long-remembered thrills
that bring smiles to her face
and maybe will help erase
some of the despair
that afflicts your debonair.


I've been listening to a lot of Willie Nelson lately – the old stuff and the newest too. He's 87 years old now. But in truth, he's ageless.

This is a medley he sang at Grand Ole Opry in 1965. Did you know Willie wrote Patsy Cline's huge hit, Crazy? I didn't until now.


Do people even use rubber stamps anymore? I guess so. According to the Youtube page,

”John Casey is the owner of East Village mainstay Casey Rubber Stamps, a local landmark that has endured for almost two decades.

“The iconic stamp and ink shop, located on East 11th Street in downtown New York, is beloved by locals. For years, residents and tourists alike have swung by to buy and make their own novelty rubber stamps.”

This short film is from Eric Maierson and Leandro Badalotti for Atlas Obscura.


This whale could have the gull for lunch in one bite but he (she?) didn't. Instead, they played.

* * *

Interesting Stuff is a weekly listing of short takes and links to web items that have caught my attention; some related to aging and some not, some useful and others just for fun.

You are all encouraged to submit items for inclusion. Just click “Contact” at the top of any Time Goes By page to send them. I'm sorry that I won't have time to acknowledge receipt and there is no guarantee of publication. But when I do include them, you will be credited and I will link to your blog.

When Bad Days Turn Good – Part 2

On Wednesday in Part 1, I wrote about sleepless night terrors and how it seemed reasonable to me, during one of them, that we ought to be able to blink our eyes – or something similar – and quietly die.

I doubt I would have written about it had not my friend, Annie Gottlieb, in New York City, following that night sent a couple of quotations one of which seemed to have been written precisely for what I had experienced.

Her second quotation came into play a day later.

After that long night with not a wink of sleep, Thursday was generally a lost day. I got a few things done but not much. Plus, my nebulizer and oxygen didn't have nearly as strong an effect as they normally do.

My hospice nurse, who made her scheduled visit that day, gave me a new prescription to help with energy and appetite and rearranged how I take a couple of other drugs to try to help me sleep.

By bedtime that night, I was as exhausted as I've ever felt. I worked at staying awake as long as possible so if I slept, I would not wake at some ungodly early hour and ruin the next day too, but I succumbed, I think, at about 9PM.

When I woke, I was shocked to see that I had slept until just after 5AM. Eight whole hours of uninterrupted, dead-to-the-world sleep. Wow. And then I saw the two half-pills on my table that I had intended to take when I was ready to turn out the light. I had forgotten to do that and still slept all through the night.

What a day I had on Friday. I almost forgot that I have cancer and COPD. Of course, that exists only in my head (and heart). As soon as I walk too fast down the hall or try to carry something weighing more than about five pounds, I am sharply reminded with extreme shortness of breath.

But within the parameters of my diseases, I had a great day and I was thrilled. I don't remember when I last felt so good. And it lasted all day until normal bedtime. I even walked out to the trash bins and mailbox with greater ease than in a long time.

On Sunday, Annie sent her two Rilke quotations and here, following on my spectacularly good Friday, is the second one which, Annie says, Rilke told to a woman friend who was helping to care for him:

“Never forget, dear friend, life is a glory.”

Oh, yes. Life is such a glory – even as small a life as mine has become now, thanks to age, disease and pandemic - and it was in full force for me on that Friday.

The mystery, of course, is how Annie knew to send those two quotations exactly when I could use and enjoy them so perfectly and personally.

Thank you, Annie.

Sleep disturbances are a well-known affliction among old people. The Sleep Foundation notes,

”As people age they tend to have a harder time falling asleep and more trouble staying asleep than when they were younger. It is a common misconception that sleep needs decline with age. In fact, research demonstrates that our sleep needs remain constant throughout adulthood.”

It's not my purpose today to report on elder sleep issues, causes and what to do about them. (Maybe soon.)

Mostly with these two posts, I wanted to marvel out loud at how sometimes the universe pulls a couple of its smaller components together in such perfect concert.

When Bad Days Turn Good – Part 1

What I learned the hard way last week (why are so many lessons hard ones?) is that as my cancer and COPD advance, it is crucial – actually, mandatory if I want to function in even the smallest ways - that I get at least six hours of sleep, a couple more is better.

Without that, I am weak as a kitten in mind and body. Carrying a coffee cup from the kitchen to my desk when I'm that sleep-deprived, is a slow trek of only eight or 10 steps but it makes my legs shake, although I get stronger as the day progresses.

On two nights last week, separated by one night of a good, deep sleep, I lay awake the entire night. Whichever sleeping potion I had taken had failed entirely, a second dose didn't help and my thoughts got darker as the hours piled up.

I was ache-y, exhausted, restless and generally miserable. Even trying to use the time to sort through some ideas I had been recently toying with didn't work. My brain was fried, the blanket was snarled, the pillows were hot, my left foot hurt like hell and I just wanted it all to stop. By any means.

At that point, dying seemed reasonable and welcome. Right there and then. Just let go.

As I lay there, it began to feel like it could be just that easy to do. Why all the fuss we humans make about it, I thought. I could end all my discomfort by dying. Turn out the light so to speak. Tell my heart to stop. Be done with it all.

As I considered my impossible idea, it wasn't the same to me as committing suicide. Taking action to end one's life involves mostly violent intervention – a gun, a knife, a rope, a high roof and even those death with dignity pills I have tucked away involve mixing a series of drinks and taking them in the correct order at timed intervals.

If nothing else prevented me from doing one of those things, my exhaustion did. At that point in the night, just getting out of bed was beyond the realm of the possible.

As my sleepless stupor continued, I became indignant that I couldn't end my life by just thinking it. It's my life so why not.

Of course, it doesn't work that way but I began to believe it ought to and the idea had stuck with me even after I finally got some good rest a night later and lost my desire to end it all.

And that was that. With many years of poor sleep behind me, I have a lot of experience with dark thoughts on sleepless nights. I know it is best not to dwell on them.

But sometimes the universe has other ideas. A couple of days later while the idea of simply blinking out still popped up in brief moments, a long-time blog and New York City friend, Annie Gottlieb, sent me this quotation from the celebrated poet and novelist, Rainer Maria Rilke. He wrote it, she told me, when he was ill with leukemia:

“We were such wonderfully good friends, my body and I, I don’t know at all how it happened that we separated and became foreign to each other.”

Oh my yes. Me too. It is close to perfection in encapsulating that late-night death fantasy from a few nights earlier.

Until my cancer diagnosis three years ago, my body and I were great good friends and now we are not. I'm a bit less neutral about what has happened between us than Rilke sounds; more than feeling separated and foreign, I feel my body has betrayed me.

But isn't it wonderful to be given a well-conceived metaphor to further one's understanding.

Part 2 of When Bad Days Turn Good on Friday.

* * *

The organization that provides my hospice care is Care Partners, a non-profit that supplies hospice and palliative care to five counties in northwest Oregon. I have a wonderful nurse who is also my case manager along with a social worker and a non-denominational spiritual adviser with others to call on as needed.

They are all excellent and one other thing that gives me comfort: there is always a live person on the other end of the telephone line, a nurse, so that I can have real human help at my fingertips at any hour of the day or night.

This week, I'm blushing a bit that Care Partners published a story about this blog and linked to the first story I posted about entering hospice. Their home page is here.

[Part 2 is here.]

A TGB READER STORY: Life Lessons at the Lunch Counter

By Barrie N. Levine who blogs at “Into the 70s – 72 is the New 72”

When mid-summer rolls around, I remember the year – 1963 - that I was summarily fired from my summer job. Not fair!

I had just completed my freshman year and needed to earn expense money for the fall semester. I was thrilled to get hired at the five-and-dime lunch counter in my New Jersey hometown.

I proudly wore my starched yellow uniform with the white apron, designating me as part of something important, in this case a variety store with a name recognized throughout the country. Not Woolworth’s, but close [W. T. Grant & Company].

I learned how to make malted milkshakes, ice cream sodas, floats, sundaes and banana splits. Now I was a grownup, privy to the mysteries of creating soda fountain drinks. I took my responsibilities seriously - when I wiped down the counter, it was spotless to welcome my next customer.

I acquired several regulars. An older man, a fatherly type with horn-rimmed glasses, ordered an apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream every day. When he situated himself on the red vinyl swivel seat, I brought over his pie and coffee without asking. He always left five cents for a tip under the cup and saucer.

I enjoyed my new community of co-workers and loyal customers, and the ebb and flow of the day - breakfast rush hour, slow mid-morning, quick turnover of office and retail employees at their thirty minute lunches, kids and their mothers ordering soda fountain treats after school, then closing down at four with the rest of the evening free to hang out with my friends.

Another girl was hired but she wasn’t as conscientious in her duties. She was a permanent hire whereas I was there temporarily, the college girl passing through on the way to her future.

I saw her insert the malted milk canister into the spinner - but apparently not far enough. It flew off the spike and hurtled into mid-air like a missile off course. Fortunately, it landed on the floor, but not before ejecting strawberry malted all over the place, including on my yellow uniform.

My boss, enraged, walked up to me and shouted, “Miss Weiner, did you do that?”

I denied it and tried to explain but he didn’t listen, much less believe me. Didn’t my reputation for perfect attendance and proficiency make a difference?

The strawberry malted dripping off my uniform convinced him of my guilt. The new girl - whose uniform was spotless because she was behind the line of fire - stood silent while I took the fall.

My boss ordered, “Turn in your uniform and don’t come back.”

I stammered, “But, but, I wore my uniform to work today...“

“Okay, then get it back here first thing tomorrow morning if you want your tips for the week.”

I held back tears. The entire incident - from disaster to dismissal - happened within all of five minutes.

I waited at the bus stop in my yellow outfit covered with pink streaks stunned at the injustice meted out to me. The stains didn’t come out in the wash and I expected my boss to dock my pay for the damage. But I kept the name tag - really, who else named Barrie would they need it for?

The public humiliation I experienced burned for weeks. By then, it was too late in the summer to find another job.

In September, I returned to college and moved on with my life armed with a tougher shell and slightly more prepared for the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” I continued my food service line of employment working in the college dining hall, learning to carry five hot meals balanced on my left arm.

But nothing - not even the life lesson at the lunch counter - prepared me for the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November.

Still, I’ve always wondered if Apple Pie Guy cared enough to ask anyone why I was suddenly gone.

* * *

[EDITORIAL NOTE: Reader's stories are welcome. If you have not published here or not recently, please read submission instructions. Only one story per email.]

Some More Blog Housekeeping

On Friday evening, the air quality where I live returned to “good”, the best ranking on the scale. It creeped up a few points on Saturday but still in the “good” range, remained there on Sunday and is there this morning.

That doesn't mean our terrifying air is done for the year. Some fires are still burning, there might be more, the wind can change. We live – all of us - on so many levels nowadays holding our breath. I haven't unpacked my go-bag.

* * *

Just over a week ago, I posted some blog housekeeping notes about disruptive comments a drive-by reader had left and explained why I banned that person from future commenting.

There will be no banning today. This housekeeping is of a more personal nature – all of you and me.

First: some readers have commented that they are amazed that given my diagnosis of cancer and COPD and that I am now in hospice, I still publish this blog on a regular schedule.

Well, yes, and that is because it is what I do. It is what I have been doing for more than 16 years. It gives shape and form to my days. I love writing this blog. I love trying to say just what it is I mean as truthfully and artfully as I can. And, sometimes I succeed.

It has been interesting these past three years making the style transition from mostly reporting on issues of interest and importance to elders, to a much more personal blog about what it is like to be dying, a topic that is all but taboo in our culture generally so it's not like there is anyone much I can crib from.

It took awhile to find my way but I think it's working fairly well now. I learn more about myself and this final journey during the effort to be as clear as I can be for you, TGB readers, but also from your responses and support.

You make me stronger, more resilient and therefore more capable of dealing with this ultimate fate of every living thing. Just so you know, I'm not nearly as brave as some of you have said. I just wake up each day and go forward within the limitations of this diseased, old body. I have no other answer for what to do than that.

Next: The number of reader emails has increased a lot over the past two or three months. As in the past, I try to answer each one if only, sometimes, with a thank you but it has now gone beyond my capability to keep up.

My stamina wanes week by week now so there is a decreasing number of useful hours in each day. You say the loveliest things but I wear out so easily even just sitting at the computer sometimes that I must cut back the time I spend here.

If you do not receive a return email, please understand that it is only the disease stealing my energy, not that I am dismissing or ignoring you. I read every note I receive.

Not infrequently, emails sound like they are meant for the comments section. I think this happens when subscribers click “reply” in the email they receive with the day's blog post, but those returns go only to me via email.

To comment for everyone to read, click the title of the story in the email. It will open in your browser where you can scroll down, click the word “comments” and add your message to the conversation in the box provided.

Next: Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Some things happen at an awkward time for blog publication. Usually, I write blog stories the day before they are to be posted and in doing so, I can miss late-breaking news items.

Last Friday evening was one of those times. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg's death was announced after I had shut down the computer for the day.

I thought for a few moments I should rewrite Saturday's Interesting Stuff to include that news. But it was the end of my day, I was tired and decided it was such big news that no one needed to hear it from me.

Almost everyone who commented on Saturday mentioned Justice Ginsburg briefly. It is an enormous political event and to some of us, a personal one too.

So let's make some space here today for anyone or everyone who wants to, to talk about Ginsburg in the comments - the ramifications of an “instant” nomination from the president, how that might affect the election and whether anyone besides me doesn't believe a word Senator Susan Collins says about how she will vote about anything. And, of course, the wonderful Notorious RBG herself.

ELDER MUSIC: Together at Home 4

Tibbles1SM100x130This Sunday Elder Music column was launched in December of 2008. By May of the following year, one commenter, Peter Tibbles, had added so much knowledge and value to my poor attempts at musical presentations that I asked him to take over the column. He's been here each week ever since delighting us with his astonishing grasp of just about everything musical, his humor and sense of fun. You can read Peter's bio here and find links to all his columns here.

* * *

We are all still locked up at home (okay, maybe we can get out for various things, but still). I really want to thank these and other musicians who make this a bit less grim.

Several of the DOOBIE BROTHERS reunite (virtually) to perform their most famous song, and one that’s really appropriate for this column Listen to the Music.

Alas, we can’t have John Lennon performing his most famous (solo) song. In his place here is STEPHEN RIDLEY. Stephen performs Imagine (and bits of other songs) in a (nearly) deserted London railway station. This piano has been used for many musical videos from back when people could congregate.

Here is a video I had originally had in the first of these columns. It got the flick when I found other songs by both these performers. It’s still worth a listen. It’s by BRIAN MAY (guitarist from Queen, of course) and SHUBA. They perform a Queen song, written by Freddie Mercury and first performed by him, Love of My Life.

The CELLISTS OF THE SEATTLE SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA could easily have fitted into the classical version of “Together at Home”, but that was full, so I decided to include them here. It’s one of J.S. Bach’s most famous tunes, Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring, from his cantata “Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, BWV 147”.

PAUL KELLY is one of the world’s finest singer/songwriters. Here he is with JESS HITCHCOCK. Jess is an up and coming singer, if you can call 10 years as a singer, songwriter, teacher, backing singer, composer as “up and coming”. Together they perform one of Paul’s songs, Every Day my Mother’s Voice.

It was JOHN FOGERTY who was my inspiration to produce these columns in the first place – his were the first of these videos I found. He performs with his kids, a daughter who usually plays guitar, but she’s playing drums on this clip, and two sons who play bass and guitar. Not to forget the family dog.

That means today’s instrumentation matches that of Creedence Clearwater Revival. Here’s the Fogerty family with Tombstone Shadow. This might be the best garage band ever.

IAN MOSS was the guitarist and one of the songwriters for iconic Australian rock group Cold Chisel. JIMMY BARNES was the charismatic singer for the group whose vocal style made Joe Cocker sound like Pavarotti.

On this clip there are some others, including Jimmy’s daughter Mahalia Barnes singing harmony. The song is When the War is Over.

DELTA GOODREM is often described as “The Voice of Australia”. It’s a pity she’s not widely known elsewhere so I’ll do my little bit to help that along. She performs the quintessential Australian song Down Under, first performed and written by Men at Work.

Speaking of Men at Work, here is the main man from that group, COLIN HAY. He’s a solo performer these days, although he often calls on a couple of friends to join him. He does that today when he performs the song Ringo Starr made popular, Photograph. Ringo knew what he was talking about as he was a photographer of some note.

Hands up all those who don’t remember PETER FRAMPTON from the seventies. Okay, a few of you, but back then he was everywhere with one of the biggest albums of all time. You know the one, at least those who didn’t put their hands up. Here’s another Ringo song, It Don’t Come Easy.

KRISTEN MOSCA channels Scott Joplin with her tune, Quarantine Rag. She says that it’s her first original rag, and based on the way it sounds, she has a real future in this genre. Scott is smiling down on her and the rest of us.

I was going to end there but thanks to Norma, the Assistant Musicologist, I found this one, and it’s an appropriate way to end. Here is ARLO GUTHRIE performing the old Stephen Foster song, Hard Times Come Again No More.

Arlo has the help of Jim Wilson on piano, Vanessa Bryan as co-lead singer, the great Stanley Clarke playing bass, a terrific choir and others who are mentioned at the end of the video. It’s amazing how relevant a 160-plus year old song can be.

INTERESTING STUFF – 19 September 2020


It's amazing skill but also speed – really, really fast.


More than 20 iconic retailers that have filed for Chapter 11 perotection this year of the pandemic. It's also a list of stores that have defined the lifetimes of most of the people who read this blog. In no particular order, some of them are:

Lord & Taylor
Brooks Brothers
J.C. Penney
Neiman Marcus
Pier 1
Gold's Gym
Dean & Deluca

See the rest of the list and read more at AARP.


From the Youtube page:

”Eclipse, a black Labrador retriever, loves going to the dog park with her human, Jeff. They usually take the city bus together, but one day Eclipse got impatient and decided to hop on by herself..."

Watch the full story:


It has never been more important than in this year of pandemic to get a flu shot. They have been available for about a month and I got mine – the version that is specifically for old people – a couple of weeks ago.

If your health care provider is Medicare, the shot is free. Well, except for me and others like me. For some reason, the physician or pharmacy or other health care provider who administers the shot is not reimbursed if the patient is in hospice. So it cost me $82.69.

More information at


The finalists are in for the 2020 Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards. Here are three of them:




You can see all of the nominees here.

And you can vote for your favorite here. The winner will be announced on 22 October.


It wasn't until a work trip to Spain in 1988 that I had the slightest idea where cork comes from. A local explained it to me as we drove through a cork farm.

This video, about cork growing in Portugal not only explains it, but shows how it is done.


Presidential voting season is almost upon us and many more states than in the past are allowing a form of vote-by-mail. Links are here for deadlines and other information in every U.S. State.


Me? I'm a Haagan Dazs person but that doesn't make other brands less good and the manufacturing process is probably similar. This video was made at a Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont.


According to Big Geek Daddy,

”Birds are attracted to running water so I can imagine that this might not be as difficult as it seems but it’s still pretty spectacular to watch.

“If you love to watch birds in your yard get rid of the traditional bird bath and get one that has flowing water. You’ll be amazed at how many more birds the running water will attract.”

But the running water isn't the real surprise. It's at the end when the camera shows us the big, burly guy who's helping out the teeny-tiny bird.

* * *

Interesting Stuff is a weekly listing of short takes and links to web items that have caught my attention; some related to aging and some not, some useful and others just for fun.

You are all encouraged to submit items for inclusion. Just click “Contact” at the top of any Time Goes By page to send them. I'm sorry that I won't have time to acknowledge receipt and there is no guarantee of publication. But when I do include them, you will be credited and I will link to your blog.

The Alex and Ronni Show and a Short Amount of One Other Thing

Thanks to my hospice team – nurse, social worker, spiritual adviser – and my palliative care specialist, I feel safe and well taken care of. Each one of them is dedicated, smart, resourceful, likable and always there when I need them.

But sometimes it's out of their hands.

There is nothing they can do about my horrible night's sleep and today (Thursday as I write this) I am bone-tired, angry, ill-tempered, bilious, cantankerous and ornery.

It's so bad I can't even stand myself.

That's it. That's all I've got for you today. Except for this week's Alex and Ronni Show recorded on Wednesday.

You can check out Alex's online talk show here.

Stumbling Along Toward an Ending

In the time I have been writing here about my approaching demise [counting from the Whipple surgery, it is more than three years] I have felt a need to be upbeat and positive about it in these pages.

The source of this pressure is more confusion than mystery. It is a natural bent of mine to seek the bright side in everything from disappointment to catastrophe. But no doubt I am also influenced by reader input that often favors pluck and fortitude in facing the inevitable destruction that is our mutual fate.

In addition, I am a realist. I do not engage in impossible fantasy as our president does and neither do I ignore difficulties. Most of the time I deal with issues head on and work them out as much as is necessary in the moment, sometimes leaving harder aspects for later.

Well, later has arrived and the truth is, it's not so easy now being my old perky self. The odd thing is that it's not about death itself that has me down some days. It's the deterioration on my way to the end.

Remember a week ago when I wrote about how I look like the Rodin sculpture of The Old Courtesan first thing in the morning? That's just the beginning of the day.

Maybe it's the “worst air in the world” in my neck of the woods due to the wildfires, but when I stand up first thing in the morning now, I can barely breathe. I was doing fine lying down and sitting, but not on my feet so I head (slowly) straight for the oxygen concentrator and plug myself in.

Who knew brushing one's teeth could be such an energy drain. Or walking to the kitchen or measuring out the coffee.

Actually, pretty much everything can take my breath away – in the literal, not exhilarating sense.

I gave up making my bed a few months ago and as of this week, I have hired a cleaning service because it is no longer a matter of taking three rest periods to change the bed; it's that I cannot do it at all. Nor can I push the vacuum cleaner anymore.

Taking out the trash is hard too. It's amazing how heavy those under-the-counter kitchen bags can get so I've taught myself to fill them only halfway before taking them out. Now I have taken to putting them in the car, which is closer to my apartment, and drive the 100 feet to the trash and recycling bins.

At first, I felt stupid making that short drive. Now it is a necessity.

Washing dishes, once a boring chore to me, has become one bright spot among all the stuff that exhausts me. It is the one thing left (aside from sitting) that I can easily do without losing my breath.

Even though I took care of my mother 24/7 during the four or five months she was dying and watched her become weaker day by day, I had no idea it would someday be so hard for me to do the household chores I took for granted for more than 70 years. Or, I suppose, I just didn't apply such decline to myself.

In healthy midlife, I think we can't imagine that we will ever become weak and tired and dependent. Oh, all right, make that “I couldn't imagine it when I was in midlife.” Maybe you knew better than I did.

Did I mention that even bending over is almost beyond my capability now? Do you remember that old joke about the old man who knelt down to get something off the floor and said to himself, “I wonder what else I can do while I'm down here?”

That's me now. Actually, it is not a matter of what more I can do. It's that I'll be heaving for breath for four or five minutes after the two seconds it takes me to retrieve a dropped pencil. I try to hang on tight to things now.

My long-winded point today is that the growing impediments to the simple way of life I have nowadays leaves me tired, weak and then dejected, asking myself, why not use those end-of-life drugs right now?

It's a good question. Except. Except. Another thing I didn't know in my mid-years is how strongly life insists on coursing through a body even as damaged as mine is now. A night's sleep (when I can get it) coupled with coffee and the nebulizer puts things right for a few hours and once again, I cannot imagine not being here.

Last week I discussed some of all this with my palliative care provider in a video call. That day, I was also lamenting that using the end-of-life drugs when the time comes deprives me of the final act of life I had wanted so much and we had previously discussed: to experience in my last moments what death is like.

As he often does, he had a good answer for me. Explaining that death doesn't happen all at once, but over a period of time, perhaps I could transfer that desire for knowing the last moments into tracking my physical and emotional transition to the day when I decide it is time for those drugs. To shadow myself down that road.

That surely animated me and made the hard stuff I'm going through worth the effort – for now or for as long as it does. And sometimes I'll tell you about it here.

There I go again, finding the bright side.

A TGB READER STORY: Memory of a Summer Day

By Janet from Minnesota

On this beautiful summer day, my heart is filled with memories of a lady I used to know. It makes sense that I use the word lady because it implies a gentle manner and is a word that seems to embody who and how she was.

I think we must have met long before my first recollection of her. Nevertheless, the first time she appears in my memory is on a summer afternoon. Her white-grey hair is carefully combed, as always, and she’s wearing one of her floral cotton summer dresses. The pink and white one, I think it was.

She’s standing in the doorway of her tidy little house holding the door open for us, smiling and chattering cheerfully. We would come to repeat this ritual many times over several summers, but that first time and how she looked on that day has stayed with me for all these years.

She always seemed genuinely happy to see us, greeting my mom with a big smile. “Oh, Patsy, how are you? Come on in. Look at all these nice kids. Oh, and here’s my little Jeanne!”

My mom and I and some of my siblings had made the two or three mile walk to her house - an easy trek because it was all downhill (and because I didn’t have a toddler to pick up and carry every so often like my mom did).

After taking our shoes off at the door, we respectfully made our way into her house. It was a curious place to me, simply decorated with old fashioned furniture and knickknacks.

I remember a figurine that sat on a small table by her green and gold lamp. It was of a woman with a fancy hat and gloves and a very glamorous smile painted across her porcelain face.

In the dining room was a corner shelf that held several elegantly flowered teacups with matching saucers. I can still see the bright colors and delicate handles of the teacups and how pretty they looked against the dark wood of the shelf.

I didn’t think about it then, but today I can imagine her placing each teacup in just the right spot and how she must have dusted them one by one, carefully returning them to their proper place on the shelf.

Her windows were always filled with plants. She was a prolific and gifted gardener; one of the many sweet things about her I didn’t truly appreciate until it no longer was.

I’m lucky after all these years to have vivid memories of her flower garden and of her walking gracefully in and out of the rows of beautiful flowers like a butterfly who didn’t want to miss out on a single one of them.

She was at home in the middle of all those flowers, chatting happily about which ones were doing well, which would bloom next and what colors they would be, stopping here and there to select just the right blossoms for a pretty and colorful bouquet to send home with my mom.

After a visit to her flower garden she would send us to the neighborhood store for vanilla ice cream. Carefully opening the ice cream carton from the side, she would slice the frozen treat like a loaf of bread; a thick, delicious square for each of us.

It was a special delight when raspberries were in season. Fresh from her garden, she’d spoon them onto our ice cream in a most generous fashion, the bright red berries atop the sweet ice cream slices making my mouth water with anticipation. I’d be hard pressed to remember having a better treat before or since.

As I write this, my heart overflows with memories of this kind, sweet lady - too many and too tender to write about in one sitting. So just for now, on this beautiful summer day, I will remember her the way she was on those summer days of long ago, greeting us with a smile, making sure our visit was pleasant and special the way a gracious hostess does, and sending us off with more smiles, happy chatter, some homemade raspberry jam, and of course, a bouquet of beautiful flowers. Here’s to the precious memory of you, my dear Aunt Vickie.

* * *

[EDITORIAL NOTE: Reader's stories are welcome. If you have not published here or not recently, please read submission instructions. Only one story per email.]

Random Thoughts on Daily Life While Old

WILD FIRE UPDATE: Fires continued over the weekend producing in my neck of the woods the worst air quality in the entire world, they said. Even healthy people – those without such lung disease as I have and who are young – were cautioned to remain indoors on Saturday and on Sunday.

None of the fires in my area have been contained but there is no imminent danger to my town. In fact, as I was writing this on Sunday afternoon, I received a fire alert that my town has been dropped from the Level 1 evacuation order to Level zero or normal.

Just in case, my bag is still packed and ready to go. The weather people say we may have rain tonight or tomorrow or the next day. If so, that should help the fire fighters.

* * *

Today's post is a few short takes on some thoughts and ideas I would like to develop further but haven't mustered the concentration to do so yet. Or, more likely, am just too lazy to get the work done right now.

Since the summer of Black Lives Matter demonstrations, there has been a lot of talk in public conversation and in polls about diversity indicating support for including more people of color, ethnicity and gender.

That is a good thing but I wonder why diversity discussions don't include old people.

Being in hospice is a pretty clear indication that my life is on the wane. Nevertheless, I have spent little if any time casting a backward glance over the life I have lived.

Certain episodes come up but they don't linger and when I have tried now and then to find a thread runs through my years, nothing comes to mind. Even so, in general I feel that I have had a good life. Perhaps it is that I have lived as singer Elton John once said he had:

“If you let things happen, that's a magical life.”

That's how it has worked for me. I never had a plan, I just followed my nose from one day to the next, one month and one year to the next. What about you?

If you have a serious disease or two, as I do, daily life gets reduced to its essentials: rest, meals, medications with remaining time devoted to one's individual kinds of pleasures of old age.

I've made a schedule for myself. Medications at certain times of the day, cooking and cleaning up at other, mostly specific times, resting for awhile two or three times a day, moving slowly due to breathing difficulties for such chores at getting the mail, taking out the trash, doing the laundry.

The trick is to leave large enough chunks of time to answer email, do some research, write a blog post or two and include some pleasure reading.

One night of poor sleep and it's all gone to hell. Then it's two days until old age normal routine returns. Surprises are not among my joys these days.

ELDER MUSIC: ...and Poor

Tibbles1SM100x130This Sunday Elder Music column was launched in December of 2008. By May of the following year, one commenter, Peter Tibbles, had added so much knowledge and value to my poor attempts at musical presentations that I asked him to take over the column. He's been here each week ever since delighting us with his astonishing grasp of just about everything musical, his humor and sense of fun. You can read Peter's bio here and find links to all his columns here.

* * *

We’ve been rich, just last week, and now we’re poor. I don’t know what happened, something to do with the economy, I imagine. Today we have the poor songs.

I’ll start with the poor boy who became very rich indeed, ELVIS.


Elvis performed the song Poor Boy in his first film, Love Me Tender. Unlike later films, there weren’t enough songs to release them as a soundtrack album. Instead they were released as an EP (remember EPs?).

Neither the song nor the EP went to the top of the charts. That was about the last time that happened with Elvis. The song is Poor Boy.

♫ Elvis - Poor Boy

JOHNNY RIVERS isn’t as well known today as many of his ilk.

Johnny Rivers

He had several chart topping songs in the sixties and seventies and also wrote a bunch of really good songs. One of those is Poor Side of Town that was covered by Mel Tormé and Ray Charles amongst others.

♫ Johnny Rivers - Poor Side of Town

On his “John Wesley Harding” album, Bob Dylan had a song called I Pity the Poor Immigrant. JUDY COLLINS recorded that same song, but truncated the title to Poor Immigrant.

Judy Collins

This was from her album “Who Knows Where the Time Goes”, probably the most country sounding of hers, but not really a country record.

♫ Judy Collins - Poor Immigrant

CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL didn’t get the respect of some of their colleagues when they were first popular.


That was probably because they produced well-crafted songs that the general public really liked, and bought by the millions. However, time is the great arbiter and their songs are still admired and loved today, unlike the 20 minute noodlings their original critics used to indulge in.

Their song is Down on the Corner, which is about Willy and the Poor Boys, from the album that shares that name.

♫ Creedence Clearwater Revival - Down On The Corner

The EVERLY BROTHERS sing an absolute tale of woe about their girlfriend.

Everly Brothers

It seems that our lads took Jenny to a party that got out of hand. She was assaulted, the cops were called, they left her in the lurch and Poor Jenny was banged up in the clink. They don’t seem very contrite; I don’t think this relationship will continue.

♫ Everly Brothers - Poor Jenny

From around about the same time, there’s no mistaking LITTLE RICHARD on this song.

Little Richard

However, it isn’t one of his usual frantic songs. Well, not entirely. It’s a mid-tempo (for him) song called Poor Boy Paul.

♫ Little Richard - Poor Boy Paul

There’s probably an interesting story behind GORDON LIGHTFOOT’s contribution today. That’s because with Gordie there’s always a story that leads to his songs.

Gordon Lightfoot

This one is called Poor Little Allison.

♫ Gordon Lightfoot - Poor Little Allison

Linda Ronstadt had a huge hit with the song Poor, Poor Pitiful Me. This was written by WARREN ZEVON and he recorded it first.

Warren Zevon1

This was from his early self-titled album that had many of his best songs on, many covered by Linda (and other lesser musicians). Here’s what Warren makes of it.

♫ Warren Zevon - Poor Poor Pitiful Me

VAN MORRISON teams up with TAJ MAHAL on an album where Van rerecords some of his songs helped by other singers.

Van Morrison & Taj Mahal

That album is called “Duets - Re-Working the Catalogue”, a fairly obvious title for such an endeavour. Of course, anything by Van is worth the cost, and if we have Taj along as well, that’s a bonus. They perform How Can a Poor Boy.

♫ Van Morrison - How Can a Poor Boy

I always liked RICKY NELSON. I still do.

Ricky Nelson

He had the advantage over other similar performers early on in that he was on television each week, always ending the program with a song. An added bonus was that he had the best lead guitarist around at the time, James Burton, playing for him. Here’s Ricky with Poor Little Fool, written by Sharon Sheeley.

♫ Ricky Nelson - Poor Little Fool

I’ll go out with a blaze of glory with the lesser known and underappreciated blues man JOHN PRIMER.

John Primer

Before going out on his own, John was a guitarist for the great Muddy Waters. You really had to be good to get that gig as Muddy could get anyone he wanted by the time that John played with him. Here’s John with Poor Man Blues.

♫ John Primer - Poor Man Blues

INTERESTING STUFF – 12 September 2020

UPDATE ON OREGON WILD FIRES: So far there has been no order to evacuate but I was busy Friday packing so today's Interesting Stuff seems a bit short.

* * *


TGB reader Ali in Seattle sent this great surprise at a Buckinghamshire primary school where an impromptu Opera was staged in the canteen one lunch time.

“Four secret opera singers, disguised as canteen staff, broke into song bringing the room to a standstill with a rousing medley of the Italian classics by Verdi, Puccini and Rossini.

“From soaring soprano to booming baritone, the singers’ stunning performance thrilled the unsuspecting school children whose shocked and surprised reactions were captured on camera by a six strong film crew behind the scenes.”


I never even tried to learn how to surf and I am undoubtedly too old to start now but this sure looks exciting. TGB reader Mary Evans Young sent it.

You can find out more about the surfer and his ride here.


From Ali in Seattle.

As we get older...


This is another from Mary Evans Young. What a magical creature.

You can read about this deer and some other animal rarities here.


This is so much fun – windows of places from all around the world. Each video is about 10 minutes long. If you're tired of the view from you own window, it is an interesting respite.

Take a look here. Just click on the image for a new window. The location is in the upper right corner of each frame.

Read more about the website at The Verge and maybe record your own video out your window and upload it.


I promise you never heard a harmonica player like Buddy Greene. Joan McMullin sent this video and the location appears to me to be Carnegie Hall.

There is a whole lot more of Buddy Greene on YouTube.


That headline is what an Oregon Public Broadcasting email called the link to this video of eight or 10 of the most gorgeous insects flying in slow motion while a scientist explains. And it certainly is a lovely few moments of Zen.


Some years ago I featured Anonymouse here and it's worth doing again. Huffpost published a recent story about the creators, explaining that they are

”A secret group of creatives from Malmö in southern Sweden [who sneak] stunning miniature installations for mice into public spaces in the dead of night.

“The clandestine collective ― called Anonymouse ― incorporates everyday objects into its painstaking recreations, using matchboxes for desks and postage stamps for paintings.

“The group has installed 25 pieces, mostly in cellar windows, in its home city, across Sweden, in France and on the Isle of Man.”

Take a look at this video:

Read more at HuffPost where there are still shots of the interiors of several of the installations.

* * *

Interesting Stuff is a weekly listing of short takes and links to web items that have caught my attention; some related to aging and some not, some useful and others just for fun.

You are all encouraged to submit items for inclusion. Just click “Contact” at the top of any Time Goes By page to send them. I'm sorry that I won't have time to acknowledge receipt and there is no guarantee of publication. But when I do include them, you will be credited and I will link to your blog.

Blog Housekeeping: What's Not Allowed Here

Several readers have asked how I am doing in regard to the Oregon wildfires. Short answer? I'm freaking out.

Longer answer: The air here is awful and the sky is some ugly color for which there is no name.

In Lake Oswego, we are at a level 1 evacuation order which is the lowest and means pack up while you've got the time. (Level 2 means to pack up and be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Level 3 is leave now, no foolin' around.)

Did I mention I'm freaking out? Well, as much as a person who can't climb a single flight of stairs without stopping three times to catch her breath can freak out.

I'm half packed and as soon as I finish this blog note I'll get back to it. My wonderful neighbor Judy will drive and she has it all planned about where we will go. There is no expressing how grateful I am to her.

Here is the thing – if I had any doubts, I know for sure that I am old now and big surprises all but paralyze me. Yesterday, Judy dropped off a list of what to pack in such a situation as ours that she had printed off the internet and she did it just when I was trying to sort out that particular question.

I perfectly well know how to search the internet for such information. I've been doing that every day for 40 years. But while I dithered yesterday before she arrived, it hadn't occurred to me. I consider that the sign that I am officially old now in every way, dependent on others to think for me - at least in new situations.

Have I mentioned that I am freaked out? If my home burns down, I have nowhere to go. Worse, my mind simply will not pay attention to that question. Just call me Scarlett O'Hara on this point.

* * *

Am I really expected to tolerate a certain type of Christian who feels entitled to publicly hector, lecture and threaten with damnation everyone who does not believe in his or her god?

I think not.

Before I go further, let me congratulate the TGB readers who either responded with restraint to or ignored the recent comment intruder spewing irate Bible talk at what she perceives as heresy. You did better than I would have, or will today.

What is it about some kinds of Christians? You know the type: they are always angry, usually snide and seem eager for those who do not toe their particular line of religiosity to roast in hell.

They talk a lot about love but show not an iota of it to those who believe differently from them.

This one, Sue by name, jumped in on 2 September's story about Canada's ruling on psylocybin use, advocating scripture instead of mushrooms because “psycho-drugs are known to open portals - that need to stay shut.”

Oh lordy, look out for those open portals because – what? Monsters will crawl out? That is what she implied in a response that same day to Celia Andrews, some nonsense about “the use of these to open the third eye portal? Yikes.”

What is in that portal, do you think, that is so terrible and why don't those of us who have used psychedelics know what it is or been dragged down into the primordial swamp?

Sue had something to say, too, on Tuesday's Reader Story by Carole Leskin about faith in a time of horrific, worldwide upheaval.

I had argued with myself about publishing it. There have been troubles with a few religious comment trolls here in the past and I have always had to shut them down.

But Carole's story is not overtly religious, she does not solicit belief in whatever her god is and leaves plenty of room for non-believers or other-believers to think about faith without defining it by her values.

Nevertheless, there was Sue:

”Faith. And i thought there'd be atleast a phrase about whatever happens, the Lord is sovereign and or something along the lines that it's the grace of the Lord Jesus that's getting me through the drama. Shoulda realized the posts would be all about (temporal) salvation by ones own works.”

Besides being offensive, Sue appears to be unaware there are other definitions of faith beyond the religious.

On Wednesday's post about the two lovely children's books, Sue was back to warning of the godly wrath to be rained down upon anyone who does not believe in Jesus.

And with that, Time Goes By is done with Sue. Without notice or recourse, she has been permanently banned.

It makes no difference to me what religious beliefs people hold as long as they do not impinge on anyone else's freedoms and in the case of this blog, they do not disrupt the conversation.

You see, the thing about Time Goes By is that there is a great, good group of smart, interesting, knowledgeable people who take the time and make the effort to comment on the day's topic with original thoughts and ideas that I always look forward to reading.

So I'll be damned (yes, I chose that word purposefully) if I'll let a disruptive, little pissant spew her religious venom. That's not allowed here.

Two Children's Books About Death

It might not surprise you to know that I think about death these days. More than sometimes, less than every day, but not infrequently.

Actually, that has always been so – that I think about dying. Maybe not as pointedly as now that it is almost close enough to touch but it has shadowed me for all my years. Maybe yours too.

For most of my life such thoughts were accompanied by heart-pounding fear and for two or three decades, I pretended I was the one immortal. You would die, but not I.

Of course, such fantasy is unsustainable past middle age even without a terrible disease. Psilocybin late in 2017 smoothed out the rough edges of my dread. (It really does do that).

Or, perhaps living with a terminal illness for three years now one comes to think of death as a not unfriendly visitor – even, at times, a companion.

There's a book about that – about death being a not unfriendly visitor. Cry Heart, But Never Break is classified as a children's book but as with many of them, writing for children sometimes seems to be a way of reaching adults more easily.

I had given my original copy to a friend with a young daughter but recently realized I want to read it again (and, probably, again etc.) so I tracked down another copy online. (Not so easy these days; it is often out of stock.)

It seems to be about how to say goodbye to loved ones who die – and it is that. But it is also reassuring to the one doing the dying (to me, anyway). It is written by Danish children's author, Glenn Ringtved, illustrated by Danish artist, Charlotte Pardi.

Here is a reading of the book I found on YouTube:

Of course, death in inextricably linked with life along with the reverse, and The Fall of Freddy the Leaf makes that clear. It is written by the late Dr. Leo Buscaglia who died in 1998.

A friend dismissed Freddy the Leaf as sappy and unoriginal. But you know, death itself is unoriginal – it happens to all of us, even planet Earth itself eventually, and in my current predicament, I find it soothing to read.

Here is a lovely and well-done reading of The Fall of Freddy the Leaf from YouTube:

A TGB READER STORY: When Faith Is What I Need Most

By Carole Leskin

I tried to write something to post today. Something sweet, gentle, funny, or hopeful. But I could not.

Today all I could do was sit and grieve. Overwhelmed. Where am I? What is happening to the imperfect, but basically kind country I knew? Cities and even towns all over the US are burning, looted and destroyed. The military are being used to disperse peaceful protesters. George Floyd is murdered and four policemen, the people who take the oath to stand and protect, are accused.

A Central Park bird watcher is reported to the police. More than 100,000 people are dead from COVID-19 with more every day, as the necessary supplies to help treat it are still not fully deployed.The pandemic rages on.

The number of people unemployed is as great as during the Depression. We cannot get close to people. We wear masks. Our loved ones die alone and have no funerals. Social distancing, a necessity, has become painful isolation, and depression and suicide is a daily occurrence.

The list could easily be longer - but this is enough. And so, many of us spend our time inside and afraid.

There is a terrible irony in what has become the slogan we hear chanted and see on placards everywhere as protesters by the thousands march day after day. Not since the 1960s have we seen anything like it.


George Floyd's dying words. But also one of the last things people of all ages, colors, religions, genders say as they die from covid19. The same can be said by people where air and water pollution is once again killing our environment. And when peaceful protestors are dispersed by gas. There is more - but you all know examples.

The murder of George Floyd has become more than a chant decrying racism and police brutality. It is the cry of the people of the United States - once thought to be the greatest nation on Earth - the slogan for so many in 2020.

I turn to the place - the only place - where I find comfort. Faith.

It's not that I believe G_d can miraculously solve all of this distress. For me, Faith means that there is hope. It asks me to wake up each morning and consider how I might be helpful. Sometimes, Faith is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.

It encourages me to get on with life as best I can, recognizing it is a gift, and knowing that good people are everywhere. Faith is purpose. Faith is potential. Faith is possibility. But it is up to me to do more than pray for help. What happens daily is my responsibility. There are days when I fail.

Somehow, I am still often optimistic. And that, I believe, is Faith.

* * *

[EDITORIAL NOTE: Reader's stories are welcome. If you have not published here or not recently, please read submission instructions. Only one story per email.]

Elder Bodies (Again)

Thanks to the advance of my two diseases – cancer and COPD – I am a great deal slower these days than I was just a few months ago.

Recently, after I wake in the morning, I have found myself sitting on the edge of my bed for quite awhile – three or four or five minutes or so. It is not that I am worn out from getting into an upright position or that I am thinking about anything, it is – well, I can't tell you why. I don't know.

But one day last week, as I sat there, it occurred to me that had anyone been watching, I would appear much like Auguste Rodin's sculpture of The Old Courtesan (La Belle qui fut heaulmière):


So, on that morning, I took a good look at myself in the full length mirror and saw that I wasn't far off in my comparison. In fact, she is even in nearly the same position as I had been sitting on the side of the bed looking down - at nothing really.

The image of the courtesan and my reflection in the mirror stuck with me that morning. Surely many, maybe most people would find the courtesan – and, therefore, me – to be ugly. But I don't.

Part of what was rolling around in my head is how interesting the old courtesan is and how many times I had sought her out when I visited The Metropolitan Museum of Art during the years I lived in New York City.

I was younger in those days and recall wondering if she presaged my eventual appearance. Now I know: our bodies are nearly twins and for some reason I'm rather pleased with that.

Here is the text from the page for The Old Courtesan on the Metropolitan Museum's website:

”Incorporated into the left pilaster on The Gates of Hell, the withered old woman evoked a moral connection between sin and the ravages of time. The harrowing veracity of the independent sculpture accords with a statement of Rodin’s: 'Character is the intense truth of any natural [sight], beautiful or ugly.'”

Yes. I'll take intense truth any time.

I was going to have some more to say in this post about our culture's insistence on youth as the ideal of beauty. Then I recalled that I had written about this back in 2013, and it holds up rather well. So I will just link and you can follow if you wish. Here are How to Accept Our Aging Bodies Part 1 and Part 2.


Tibbles1SM100x130This Sunday Elder Music column was launched in December of 2008. By May of the following year, one commenter, Peter Tibbles, had added so much knowledge and value to my poor attempts at musical presentations that I asked him to take over the column. He's been here each week ever since delighting us with his astonishing grasp of just about everything musical, his humor and sense of fun. You can read Peter's bio here and find links to all his columns here.

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We have a couple of columns about rich and poor. Today it’s rich songs. I imagine that most people would prefer to be rich but alas, most people don’t get to be that way. We can appreciate rich songs though.

SAFFIRE, THE UPPITY BLUES WOMEN hung up their guitars, pianos and basses in 2009.


Unfortunately, they won’t be getting back together as founder member Ann Rabson has since died. We still have their records though and really good ones they are too. To kick off the rich list here they are performing The Richest Guy In The Graveyard.

♫ Saffire The Uppity Blues Women - The Richest Guy In The Graveyard

Here is an old song by TONY BENNETT and it’s one of his biggest hits.

Tony Bennett

Given the topic most of you will figure out that the song is Rags to Riches. The young Tony’s voice was in terrific shape when he recorded this one.

♫ Tony Bennett - Rags To Riches

The next song was written by Mississippi John Hurt, and he does a fine version of it. However, I think it should be performed by a woman, and the one I have in mind is MARIA MULDAUR.

Maria Muldaur

John had a really lovely laid-back style of guitar playing and Maria employed her old friend John Sebastian to emulate him on her record. This is one of my favourite of Maria songs that’s not on her first two albums.

Mississippi John called his song variously Rich Woman Blues or Richland Woman Blues. Maria used the latter name.

♫ Maria Muldaur - Richland Woman Blues

The first song I thought of for this category is by DARYL HALL AND JOHN OATES.

Hall & Oates

It’s another big hit, one of their biggest. It’s also something of an earworm, or at least it is for me. See what you think, it’s Rich Girl.

♫ Hall & Oates - Rich Girl

During his lifetime there was not another cooler performer than TONY JOE WHITE.

Tony Joe White

He could entertain an audience with just his guitar and himself singing, I know because I’ve been there. Alas, he died a couple of years ago so you won’t be able to experience his magic if you haven’t already. There are still records though, and videos.

There were few more enjoyable performers than Tony Joe in my opinion. Let’s hear Rich Woman Blues.

♫ Tony Joe White - Rich Woman Blues

PATSY CLINE could have fitted in both rich and poor columns with her song. It was just a matter of how the songs panned out.

Patsy Cline

So, here she is trying to decide which one to go for. Listening to the song, I found that she thinks she’d go for poor, so perhaps I put her in the wrong category. It doesn’t matter, any appearance of Patsy is fine by me. A Poor Man's Roses (Or a Rich Man's Gold).

♫ Patsy Cline - A Poor Man's Roses (Or A Rich Man's Gold)

Many, many years ago I went to a one man show by Nehemiah Persoff. He talked about his life, his acting and many other things. It was an extraordinary performance.

He mentioned the stage show “Fiddler on the Roof”. If I Were a Rich Man was a song from the musical. I don’t have Nehemiah performing it (if he ever did). In his place I’ve found a rather good version by ANTHONY NEWLEY.

Anthony Newley

Anthony was the all round performer – singer (many of his songs hit the charts), songwriter (quite a few film scores), actor (more than 50 films) and writing plays, some of which he performed in.

I liked the line in the song that seems just relevant today: “It won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong, when you’re rich, they think you really know.”

♫ Anthony Newley - If I Were a Rich Man

I mentioned above what a great live performer Tony Joe White was. In concert there was one that might just have been better. If any of you, like me, had the pleasure to see MARTY ROBBINS live you are blessed.

Marty Robbins

We all know what a fine singer he was, possibly the best in country music, but that’s not all he sang. He could do anything as far as I’m concerned. His contribution to today’s topic is Little Rich Girl.

♫ Marty Robbins - Little Rich Girl

THE BLACK SORROWS is the most successful of the several bands founded by Australia’s living national musical treasure, Joe Camilleri.

Black Sorrows

The Sorrows started as a reggae band but expanded to become a rhythm & blues, rock & roll and pop band. They could play anything really, with a bunch of superb musicians and singers. I’ll let you consider who The Richest Man in the World is.

♫ Black Sorrows - The Richest Man In The World

The DESERT ROSE BAND was essentially a vehicle for Herb Pederson (from The Dillards) and Chris Hillman (from The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers).

Desert Rose Band

These days they don’t even bother with the band, they perform as an acoustic duo, and mighty fine they are. However, back when they were still a band, here is For the Rich Man.

♫ Desert Rose Band - For the Rich Man

C. J. CHENIER is a zydeco musician; he plays the accordion and sings. He’s the son of the most famous zydeco accordionist, Clifton Chenier.

CJ Chenier

C.J. was brought up in Texas and was more into jazz and funk. Rebelling against his dad, I suspect. However, over time he absorbed his father’s music and became a master of that style of music, bringing his own musical influences into it. Here he performs Richest Man.

♫ C. J. Chenier - Richest Man