The unvoiced thoughts and ideas of a septegenarian.



I sometimes dream of living in the country; far away from any neighbors, a pond in my backyard, maple trees outside my kitchen window and only the caw of a crow to break the silence. Most certainly a goodly number of people relish living away from a city, enjoying starlit nights, perhaps riding a horse,  fresh water from a well and fresh eggs every morning. Our produce departments would be bare and our freezers empty were it not for farmers and ranchers, not to mention vintners. A blessing on their heads.

Then I remember three things that make fighting the urban smog,  the traffic, the noise worthwhile. Without them we’d need no home larger than a village. Without a park a city ought naught call itself a city. They are living things, these parks – oases which begin to slumber in the fall, hibernate in the winter, come to life in spring awaiting gardeners to adorn their footstools; put halos on their heads and give them a rainbow each day. They wait for the children, anxious for their giggles; clap for joy at the daring kids who stand on the swings.

They wait for lovers, content to stroll, sit on a bench, holding hands, not concerned with their surroundings. Parks don’t mind being ignored. They’ve done their job providing an oasis for love. They wait for the grills to light up, watch families at rest and at play. They delight in the aroma of hamburgers grilling, pleased the ice cream is chilling

Some are small with only a bench and a swing, sparse of wildlife and flora. Others harbor hiking trails and small lakes, gardens, nesting birds, rabbits, perhaps deer and playgrounds with every jungle gym known to mankind.

I’d choose city life for their libraries, giving me free access to most anything I care to read or know. Hallowed sanctuaries these; a classroom and an oasis for the  brain. The inscription over the door of the library at Thebes reads: “Medicine for the Soul.” Those Greeks of long ago knew well of what they spoke

The cultural attractions of a city weigh heavily in my choice of where to live.  I wouldn’t be happy having to drive 100 miles to attend an opera, a symphony concert, a ballet or a play.  A local country fair might be an interesting outing but it doesn’t compare to hearing Bach or Beethoven played by a world class orchestra or spending a few hours at an Art Institute.

Parks, libraries and cultural attractions are a world away from the cares of at-home life, offering joy, variety and rest to the weary. So there you have it. A city offers you parks as medicine for the body, libraries as medicine for the brain and concerts as medicine for the soul. What more could you ask for?


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Julie Rose                     editit601@gmail.com


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Soon I will move to a different apartment..  My goal is to pack at least one box a day and today was book day.  I’ve already recycled a dozen or more and as I began to pack the rest I had to pause a minute when I uncovered The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter.” (Carson McCruthers, 1981, Bantam paperback), one of those I haven’t yet read. Thinking about the title alone nearly brought tears to my eyes and, despite excellent reviews,  I’m not certain I want to open the book and travel into the depths of spiritual isolation the author portrays.

With a grin on my face I thought about the personal ads found in most newspapers  – the voices of those lonely hearts hunting.  How lonely does one have to be to resort to those ads?  Some are honest and heartfelt, some desperate, and some amusing.  Does the lonely hunter ever find the heart that beats in tune with his; the mind that operates on the same train track; the feet that march to his cadence?

These lonely hearts attempted to be serious –

  • …a friend to have fun with, to kiss to love to cuttle all the good thins in live….(Back to first grade and spelling lessons for you kiddo)
  • Looking for a man who is Genuine and tells the truth…a real Country gentleman between the ages of 54 and 60 — (Must  he wear a tam and carry a walking stick as well?)
  • …I look great in jeans, have great legs …I love being pursued and captured… (Place this ad in ‘Field and Stream’ but stay away from the NRA.)
  • Sensitive male seeks dominant female with extensive knowledge of  knots. (Go  to the closest marina buddy!)

These gave humor a shot –

  • Single, attractive, self-absorbed woman, 34, seeks to save money by spending yours. (Listen up ladyhonesty is one thing – idiocy another.)
  • Male, 34, very successful, smart, independent, self-made.  Looking for girl whose father will hire me. (Off to a shrink with you, fella.)
  • You’re probably wondering why an accomplished PhD, LLB, MBA, DDS, MD and Rhodes Scholar like me isn’t married  yet.  I’m a meeskate. (Baby –no man would have enough wall space for all  your certificates and blue ribbons, let alone your ego.)
  • Looking for nice man, 25-35,  to replace my 70 year dead husband. I can dream, can’t I? (Good luck, Granny.)

I admit that’s not very erudite but it was fun writing it and if it brought a smile to your face I’ve done my good deed for the day.

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Julie Rose


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I am puzzled by the passage of time. If yesterday begat today, I then live in the  yesterday of tomorrow. If today becomes tomorrow, begat from tomorrow’s yesterday, then tomorrow’s yesterday is today.  Did you get that?

Does the earth revolve right to left or left to right? Is the fact it revolves what keeps it from falling out of the universe? How is it possible for a machine to turn over a sheet of paper for two-sided copying or are there little green gremlins inside of copy machines that turn the paper over? No matter how you explain it, my confusion persists.

“Why is it” questions attack me like hungry mosquitoes. I will never understand why there are Braille buttons on bank drive-up teller machines or why round pizza is delivered in a square box or why someone gest paid for designing toilet paper. It’s easy enough to explain why I sometimes still count on my fingers but I’m at a loss to understand square roots or the theory of relativity.

Is there some good reason why a three year old, with one twist of his wrist, can open a bottle of Jack Daniels in thirty seconds flat and I have to use scissors and tweezers to get an aspirin out of a bottle? What idiot decided to put teeny-tiny pull-off tabs on the back of hearing aid batteries no arthritic person can remove?

A few other questions I can’t answer. Why didn’t Noah swat those two mosquitoes?  Why can’t a woman apply mascara with her mouth closed? How can there be self-help groups?  Isn’t it just plain stupid for doctors call what they do ‘practice?’  When the sky is thick with clouds how does the rain get through? Why does it take twelve letters to spell abbreviation? And how – please tell me how – we’ve reached a point where see you is cu and thank you is ty and I love you is ilu and on and on – or should I say o&o, ono?

Is it any wonder I’m confused?

I believe in the goodness of mankind. That explains why I don’t understand those who are racists,  mean-spirited, road hogs, jealous, and those who measure their worth in dollars or toys. It doesn’t explain idiocy.

I’ve no hope of solving these conundrums. Why should I care?








No solution

More confusion

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Julie Rose


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