This Time I Mean It

Getting Past What Holds You Back with Baby Boomer Weight Loss Expert Scott 'Q' Marcus

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This is Not Normal

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My purpose — as I understand the direction of my editors, as well as my own moral compass — is to try and bring to you a glimmer of light in your day.

As boldly evident, there is much darkness; and whether I write about habit change, attitude, communication, or attempt to crack wise; that objective remains my North Star. To stay true to course, I attempt to steer free of politics (although those who know me know that I have very strong opinions).

Today, I cannot be silent; it would be morally wrong.

Moreover, honestly, I am also finding it near impossible to remain hopeful. That is not me.

We are chewed up yet again by horrific, tragic, awful, terrible, unconscionable, outrageous stories of more mass shootings. This time, the names of the cities are El Paso and Dayton. (Gilroy, barely a week past, seems a distant memory.) I list only cities, as posting the victims’ names would heartbreakingly take more column inches than allocated print space.

I — and I imagine, you — feel like I have been rammed head-first through a meat grinder of emotions unwelcomed, undesirable, and uninvited; mercilessly whipped by a cat o’ nine tails in a sinister torture scene from a B-quality horror movie. We are pin balls bouncing through shock, fear, disbelief, powerlessness, grief, anger; desperately attempting to reclaim balance and serenity, only again to be rocketed off against our desires into the emotional sewage. It is a nightmare from which we cannot pinch ourselves awake.

Whereby we attempt to shield our damaged psyche in denial and say — more a prayer than a fact — it cannot happen here; that too is what the people of Orlando, Las Vegas, and Poway most assuredly believed.

[Read more…]

In Celebration of Old

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There’s an app making the rounds that analyzes selfies and projects how you will appear when you’re “old.”

It’s apparently all the thing because my social media feed is unexpectedly cluttered with images of millennials sporting crow’s feet, gray hair, and age spots. (My son sent an image of him at what I assume is my age. For some unexplained reason, he looked more like Richard Dreyfus than me. Maybe something I need to know?)

I would like to believe that this sudden fascination with aging is a positive sign that we’re embracing the inevitable, and finally celebrating the wisdom, history, and knowledge in our seniors. After all, we’ve been obsessed with youth and beauty since Adam insecurely asked Eve if his hairline was receding. Yet, I don’t think that’s the case; sadly, it’s more likely another passing fad such as ice bucket challenges, latex wristbands, or man buns.

Yet, this serves as an excellent jump-off point to remember that — especially in an aging society — there’s are larger issues at hand:

How do we prepare for our inevitable outcomes? Is there a way to change our collective view of the aging process into one of acceptance and wonder of the life cycle and — dare I say it — welcome embrace of the gift of being old? Can we remember that “beauty” is not age-specific and does not evaporate as the calendar moves onward? Can we acknowledge that that not all beautiful bodies wear bikinis and sport six-pack abs?

Recently I staggered across a video from a female internet influencer replying to a “troll” who scolded her for appearing “old” because she was unwilling to dye her hair. Apparently, this miscreant said the influencer should “take better care of herself.” Came the reply: “First of all — it’s no one’s business but mine whether I choose to color my hair.” (Bravo!) She then went on to reveal that she suffered from an incurable disease and would not make it past her sixties; she would never have the opportunity to become “old.” Summing it up, she reminded us, “Old age is a gift many of us will not receive.”

No one likes the idea of dying.

Focusing on that inevitable outcome is terrifying; we need a hard-wearing shield of denial simply to make it through the day. Yet, to that end, desperately attempting to avoid the truth, we also overlook the richness of aging, wasting our today’s lamenting yesterdays we’ll never recover, while worrying about tomorrows we all know we’ll have.

With the passing of years come gifts, unavailable to those with smooth skin and full heads of hair:

[Read more…]

My Vision of An American Parade

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I was eligible for the draft but was not called.

To be honest, I don’t think I would have had the metal necessary to serve. Who knows? Maybe I would; it’s a moot point. That aside, I hold, without waiver, respect for those brave and strong enough who put their lives on hold and on the line to keep people like me safe and free. Please, as you venture forward in this piece, know that. As a matter of fact, please re-read this paragraph; it’s essential.

Therefore, one would be accurate to assert that any commemoration of our country absolutely, positively must pay tribute to the men and women in uniform. There would be no U.S.A. if not for their sacrifices time and time again. It’s trite to say it, but it is heartfelt, “Thank you for your service. We can never repay our debt to you.”

Equally true is that a celebration of this “great experiment” that portrays SOLELY that aspect of this wildly diverse nation misrepresents and minimizes the talents and skills of countless others who contribute and sacrifice for the greater good. If we are to be fair, they too must be mentioned.

To that end, my affirmation for a celebratory future parade includes a tribute to:

[Read more…]

Kiss You Every Night

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The weather was made to order; as if purchased from a postcard factory specializing in perfect-day clip art.

An unbroken clear blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon, white downy cotton clouds drifted lazily without hurry across the overhead vista, draping fleeting patches of cool shade upon the celebration and its attendees who came together to send off the newly married couple into their lives together.

As they stood face-to-face beneath the canopy, holding hands, the minister raised her head from the couple and looked toward the crowd;

“The couple has written their own vows which they’d like to share.”

He could hardly hear what she said; the sound of his heart pounding too loudly in his ears. When she finished, he, with shaking hands, pulled a thrice-folded sheet of paper from inside his charcoal-grey tuxedo pocket. Looking deep into the brown eyes of his beloved, desperately attempting to prevent his voice from cracking, he croaked out his pledge.

“Today, in front of friends, family, and God, I am marrying my soul mate. I know not what lies in our tomorrows. Yet, no matter that, I promise to you that I will love you deeply and without reservation in every manner in which I know. I shall love you for the remainder of my days and beyond. In all that time, I commit to honor you for the person you are and not try to change you, as there is no reason to do so. you are already of my spirit, interwoven through my essence, closer to me than my breath. I ask nothing of you in return except to be with me. And I promise as each day fades into yesterday, before I sleep, that I will gently kiss you good night and thank the Universe for your presence. When we agree, I shall kiss you with gladness. Should we differ, I shall do the same. In sickness, my kiss will heal. In good times, it shall celebrate. I will – through joy and sorrow, illness and health, poverty and riches – forever remain by your side, ending and beginning each day with you and with a kiss.”

A beam of sunlight reflected from the gold ring as he placed it on her finger.

Faintly, he heard applause and cheering, noting the soap bubbles as they floated to the heavens over the two of them as they walked back up the aisle, drifting in their thoughts as the clouds and bubbles above.

Together they knitted their story through the fabric of time.

[Read more…]

Thank you for the money tree.

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Editors note: This column is a follow up to a previous column, that is worth reading first.

I’ve thought regularly that if the low-life individuals relentlessly attempting to scam us out of our hard-earned income took a few moments and focused on how they might improve society, not only would the world be a better place, but they would perhaps be wealthier.

After all, an individual in a dark boiler room, chained to a desk, deceiving people on the phone can’t be a) very happy, nor b) very wealthy. What a miserable life!

Yet, that’s as much sympathy as I can muster for the scumbags who besiege us with a non-stop waterfall of scam phone calls intent on swindling us into purchasing credit card protection, extended auto insurance, or — now that I’m a certain age — Medicare options.  It’s become so prevalent that I don’t answer my phone; assuming – that if the call is legit – the caller will leave voice mail and I will return the call at my leisure.

Anyway, I doubt my experience differs much from yours. I receive – no exaggeration – between ten and 15 rip-off calls every day. So, when the phone rang, I was loath to pick up. Yes, it showed a local number with a person’s name but I’ve been Charlie Brown to that football too many times. Yet, something inside me said, “Answer it.”

I’m glad I did.

“Hello. This is Scott,” I said as I activated the speakerphone, poised to shut it off immediately upon hearing a south-Asian accent telling me that my computer is infecting the internet. Rather, I heard an elderly woman’s voice crack through the speaker.

“I read your column in the paper,” she said, “I have a gift for you.”

I stumbled, “Um, well, thank you. That’s very nice. Who is this please?”

She admitted to being private and didn’t want to disclose her full name. As much as she deserves credit for what you’re about to read, I’ll honor that, and will simply refer to her as “Ruth.” (Which was the name of my mother, who would have been the same age as is she.)

Said “Ruth”, “I’m 95 and I I’m blind so I can’t drive. Could you come by my house so I can give it to you?”

Truth be known, although I’ve written this column for almost 15 years, never before had anyone invited me to their house in order to bestow presents upon me. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“What is it you want to give me?” I asked.

“I don’t want to tell you,” and then added, almost as afterthought. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

I’ll own up to lots of irrational fears, but being bludgeoned by a sight-impaired house-bound nonagenarian who’s a fan of my writing isn’t even on the list. It put things in perspective. “Not a problem; where do you live?” [Read more…]

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Scott "Q" Marcus 707 834.4090 scottq@thistimeimeanit.com

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