Actual Monday Thoughts

I updated the GPS software in the Subaru, thanks to a friend who had received an email from Subaru with a link to a software updater. I’m not sure why Subaru opted not to send me a link, but that’s no longer an issue. The software is updated. I learned about SD adapters and microSD cards in the process, though admittedly I did not learn much. Mostly, I learned that they exist and that they were required to copy and install the software update. Actually, the microSD card that came with my adapter wasn’t used at all. I used only the adapter and the MicroSD card from the Subaru. Downloading and installing the software took a good hour or so. Fortunately, my presence was not required during that part of the operation.

After I installed the new software, I decided to see what it would tell me about places nearby where I might eat or find nightlife (I’d never used those “search” parameters before). When I searched for nightlife, the venue at the top of the resulting list was Diamond D’s, a place inside Hot Springs Village that has been closed for two years or so. So much for up-to-date information. I wonder whether the new software will recognize Interstate 49 around Texarkana. I guess I’ll find out on my next trip to Houston.


My handwriting is getting progressively worse. I no longer use cursive because my cursive is utterly illegible. My printing is not much better. It’s too bad I can’t jot notes on a full-sized keyboard, on-the-fly. My typing is not half bad; in fact, I’m probably as fast and as accurate now as I was in my prime. Speaking of prime, when was that? Well, it depends. Medical research suggests a man reaches his sexual prime at about age 18, his physical endurance peaks around age 22, his muscle strength at age 30, and his memory reaches its peak at age 28. His brain cells begin to degrade at around age 45. Most measures say a man reaches his prime by age 30 and begins a slow (or stunningly rapid) decline around age 45. By any measure, I am at least 20 years past the outer limits of prime and close to 45 year past its zenith. Until recently, I thought I’d be willing to have my brain transplanted into the body of a healthy, physically fit, 25 year old man. But now I’m beginning to think I’d want a newer brain, too. Yet that newer brain would be missing some very important attributes, that is, my identity. For that reason, I’m considering the possibility of installing a microSD card in my brain to record all the stuff I want to keep and then, once completely recorded, copying it all to the young, fit brain that will occupy the head on that 25-year old body. With the wisdom gained from experience. I would treat that 25 year of body far differently than the one it’s replacing. By the time it reaches 65 years of age (when sea levels have risen enough that the Santa Fe, New Mexico seawall is in danger of being over-topped during hurricanes), it will be in better condition than the one it replaced. Now, where was I going with respect to my handwriting?  Hmm. I think that part of my brain lost its cells at age 45.


Early this morning, I vaguely recalled the tail end of a newscast from a few days ago dealing with a squirrel festival, in which squirrel-based foods play an important part. So, I decided to look for information about this event. Sure enough, it’s coming up. September 18 in Bentonville. The intent of the festival, which also addresses quail, is to emphasize the value of squirrel in one’s diet. I think. There will be a squirrel chili cook off and a quail chili cook off and many other such wonders. It occurs to me that I might be able to enter the squirrel cook off, but I learned just now that today is the deadline for entries into the competition and I haven’t even begun to kill squirrels to put in my recipe. So, that’s out for this year. But it occurs to me that there are enough squirrels outside my window to enable me to make at least a fifty-gallon pot of squirrel chili. I’ve never had squirrel. I’m willing to try, though.


Today is actually Monday. Earlier, I would have sworn it was Sunday, but that would have made yesterday’s visit to church an aberration for which there can be no reasonable explanation. See, there’s another example of the post-45 mental decline. Another? Was there a first one? I need to go finish writing a story to read at today’s read-around. Otherwise, I’ll have to read the telephone book.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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