Exasperating – the verb

July 7, 2022 by Scott "Q" Marcus Leave a Comment

I find myself exasperating a lot.

I’m assuming, as you read that, that you believe what I am saying is, “I find myself to be annoying, grumpy, and irritating.”

That is NOT at all what I mean. I am NOT saying that I find myself to be exasperating. Well, truth be told, sometimes I do, but that takes us off track, and in that case, I – and probably you – would indeed find myself to be exasperating. Anyway, my intention is to use the verb form of “exasperate.” To be honest, I’m not sure there is a verb form of exasperate; I couldn’t find one, so I might have made it up.

Nonetheless, as stated, I am exasperating (verb) a lot recently.

Now that I’ve made that clear as mud, an appropriate follow-up question is, “What is said action that one associates with the feeling of exasperation?”

At least in my case, it’s a curmudgeonly, exhausted, exhale which loudly escapes my lips when I am confronted with something of annoyance. Along with the sound comes a general attitude of irritation, rolling of my eyes – and oft times, a choice swear word or three.

I now provide an example of what in Scott’s world causes exasperating (verb tense).

Shoelaces.

Yep, shoelaces. They seem innocuous, I get it, but what yanks my chain is that “when I was a kid…” (every curmudgeon begins with that expression), shoelaces were cut to the length to fit the shoes with which they were partnered. If the shoes had four eyelets, the length of the shoelace would be shorter than, for example, hiking boots, with eight eyelets and a hooky-do thing to wrap your laces around. Dress shoes? Short laces. Knee boots? Long laces. Simple, right?

As they say, “Hold my beer.”

The Shoe Gods have decreed that all laces should be the same length. The repercussion of such a conclusion is that after tying my tennis shoes, what remains is a garden-hose length of excess laces, causing a tripping hazard. I have tried to stuff it into my shoe but that’s uncomfortable, so I double or triple-tie the laces, leaving large bows, attempting to utilize as much of the excess as possible.

Is that exasperating (adjective tense)?

Well, sure, to a point. But what causes me to exasperate (verb) is that, due to the extreme excess “laceage,” while walking I repeatedly step on the loops and they untie, requiring me to stop, exasperate, bend down, and re-fasten the laces. But wait! There’s more! Taking off shoes also initiates exasperating because inevitably, when I yank on the lace, it creates a knot, due to all the loops and unnecessary string wrapped around everything. This entails pulling the shoe from my foot while still tied, obtaining a fork (to insert into the knot to separate it), and unraveling the mini-Gordian knot that is now my shoe; all the while, exhaling forcefully, rolling my eyes, and cursing about the poor customer service of the manufacturer.

Shoelaces are not the only source of exasperating. Passwords are another.

Case-in-point, I started this column on my iPad but Microsoft required me to sign in first. This dictates getting my password manager, finding the correct code, selecting all images that look like a bus, entering in the squiggly (mostly-unreadable) letters on the verification page, and waiting for an email verifying I’m me. Of course, typing with stubby, old-person fingers on the flat screen of a device is at best, imprecise; so, because of a one-letter typo in my password, I am informed, “Too many attempts. Try again later.”

C’mon, you’re with me, right? That’s exasperating. I wanted to write, not pass an FBI security check. Sigh and roll your eyes with me. Profanity is elective.

To the point that started this screed, I’m exasperating a lot. I exhale more than a pipe organ with broken bellows. I don’t like that in me. Dare I say it, I find it exasperating (adjective, not verb).

I realize that “exasperators” are first-world issues. I get it. I’m grunting, griping, and grumbling my way through too much of my precious day over annoyances that on the grand scale of cosmic karma don’t even put forth a ripple.

Therefore, henceforth, I commit to focusing on not exasperating so often. It’s an all-too-often sign of frustration or anger, emotions in direct contradiction to gratitude and acceptance, which is where I wish to spend more of my time. My new focus will be, that even when something doesn’t occur the way I want or expect (which happens often but is inevitably minor), I shall choose to be grateful that I am alive to experience this annoyance. No, really, I’m serious. I’m working on that.

The exhale I just did was NOT exasperating, but satisfactionating.

(We’ll define that at another time.)

Perfect Holiday Moments

December 9, 2021 by Scott "Q" Marcus Leave a Comment

Summer, as it does each year, dropped off a cliff, bypassing Autumn, and crashed unswervingly into Winter.

The date on my calendar doesn’t yet agree, but climate pays no heed to the small square, dated, boxes hanging underneath “December” with a cute picture of a furry otter that adorns my office wall.

Winter is a state of mind, not a date.

Not too long ago, I walked my neighborhood wearing shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. Today, not only am I in heavy jeans, turtleneck, and fleece vest, but my feet are warmed by “heat holder” wool socks, and there’s a space heater glowing orange by my toes. Winter has made itself recognized; I prefer the blues, greens, yellows, and warmth of Summer. Gray, ashen, pewter, and cold don’t do much to boost my disposition.

Realizing I’m now closer to 90 than I am to 40, I’m in a place in my life where I am attempting (not always successfully) to not let that which I cannot control, control me – especially my attitude. In my oh-so-much-younger days, I would go all cranky over the inclement chill of mid-December. Today, I’m as much into “acceptance” as I can be. Beyond giving up grousing, I actively look for the beauty that envelopes me, even if painted in a drab, drizzly, dark sullenness.

To that end, I’ve noticed how many perfect moments in which my life is wrapped; should I just be open to experience them. They’re omnipresent; in any instant, everywhere. I simply open my eyes and soak them in.

My dog, 20 pounds of curls and ears, is a wind-up toy of joy and love. Adorned in his holiday finery – a red, blue, white doggy sweater decorated with a pattern of snowflakes and trees – he bounds through our house, full-steam, back and forth down the hardwood hallway, nails clicking, stubby tail wagging, an oversized doggie-bone proudly transported in his jaws. All feet and ears as he slides along the floor, attempting to find traction, the excitement knows no restraint. Dog: uncontrollable joyfulness. Watching him, the love inside me explodes and I cannot help but laugh. The cold swathed around my bones dissolves. I ask for nothing more; this is perfect.

Although I now bundle up to take my morning walk and the nippy dampness pierces the puffy jacket dedicated to keeping me warm, one of the countless things I like about living here is that people smile and wave as we pass each other.

“Happy holidays!” shouts a chap about my age, wearing an obviously well-loved, slightly frayed, Santa cap. He waves with gloved hands from across the street.

“You too,” I call back. “Have a joyous season.”

I smile – as does he, and accents it with a pretend salute as he passes into my memories. I don’t know him; probably never will. It doesn’t matter; at that moment he improved my life, making a perfect instant better than I could wish for.

Like so many, we decorated our home.

[Read more…]

One of These Days, When This All Passes…

April 8, 2020 by Scott "Q" Marcus Leave a Comment

One of these days, morning will dawn on a world where this will have all passed.

One of these days, we will return to lives, no longer sheltering-in-place nor wearing protective gear and masks to leave our houses. One of these days we will again put on make-up, style our hair, dress up, and go out for a night at the theater, soaking in all the glorious laughter and chatter of being in a room full of people, no longer fearful of what might be transmitted. One day again, we will celebrate a special occasion at an upscale restaurant, surrounded a bit too closely by other diners – but we won’t mind. One of these days we will host dinner parties and wrap our arms around and hold tight each and every person who enters our house.

One of these days, we will look back with a mixture of sorrow and relief and anger and fear at this entire horrific, upending, devastating period.

Alas, that day is not yet.

It won’t be as far from now as we fear, nor will it be as soon as we would prefer.

But it is coming; as surely as the sun will rise and the winds will blow and the stars will shine; it is approaching. Paraphrasing T.S. Elliot, that instant will land not with a bang, but with a whimper; subtlety, slowly, surreptitiously making known its presence. In the same manner one cannot actually watch a flower open but can recognize its beauty when it blooms, that time is blossoming even now.

And when it does, what will you do to commemorate its arrival?

I will re-experience joy in the small things. No more will I socially distance myself nor self-isolate, instead smiling broadly when someone — anyone — passes me on the sidewalk. No longer having to swab everything with sani-wipes, I will plop down my butt on any park bench I damn well want or hang from its jungle gym, free of trepidation of what I might catch. I will relish the background noise and chatter of a crowded mall. I’ll stand nearer than six feet when in line at the grocery store and won’t be afraid to handle cash when I pay. [Read more…]

Thank You to Our Heroes

April 1, 2020 by Scott "Q" Marcus

Maybe it’s because I’m “of a certain age” or I’m simply a curmudgeon, but boy howdy do I have a catalogue of pet peeves.

People who tailgate are head and shoulders top of the list. I can maybe, sorta, possibly justify this irk because it can be dangerous. However, many of the others just rub me raw for no reason in particular except, well, I dunno, just because.

As example, it really yanks my chain when I spot that stupid, senseless, ridiculous — even offensive — “fashion style” of one’s pants fastened below the butt. The way I see it, it you have to waddle while walking, holding your trousers up with one hand so they don’t plotz down to your ankles, you might want to rethink the manner in which you’re wearing your clothes; just saying. I don’t know why it irks me so much but, I’ll own it, it does.

Another annoyance of mine is the “inflation” of the word “hero,” now tasked to depict virtually anyone who does what is expected of them – or even less – with no sacrifice of their own.

“She is a real hero; she walks her dog every day.”

“My children are heroes; they clean their rooms without being asked.”

C’mon! Really? Can I be a hero because I paid my bills or managed to get out of my pajamas; choking down the terror and resulting paralysis I overcome on a daily basis during the pandemic? No, I think not. We’re all doing it, and by definition, we cannot all be heroes.

A definition of hero is, “a person noted for courageous acts or nobility of character; or who, in the opinion of others, has special achievements, abilities, or personal qualities and is regarded as a role model or ideal.”

The crisis in which we find ourselves has indeed brought forth genuine, true-to-life, tangible heroes, who despite risk, continue to push forward, contributing to the greater good while jeopardizing their own. Among all the mayhem, confusion, and anxiety of these days, I felt it an honor, as well as appropriate, to call them out. [Read more…]

Getting Though It – What Will the Future Be?

March 18, 2020 by Scott "Q" Marcus Leave a Comment

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Last week, I forecast that within a week the 1,000 United States COVID cases and the 120,000 international cases would seem nostalgic.

Sadly, they are; everyone saw that coming. I’m not a soothsayer. Oh-so-seven days ago, states were floating the concept of limiting gatherings to 250-500 people. How quaint is that? Seniors were outside; the Bay Area was bustling; coffee shops, diners, and bars were open for business.

Oh, what a difference makes one week.

Currently the U.S. now has 7,668 cases with 117 deaths. The world count has risen to 212,799 with 8,787 people succumbing. It is recommended that those of us 65+ “self-isolate,” a term utterly unknown but a few weeks past. Recommendations are that we limit crowds to fewer than ten. Pubs, restaurants and eateries are shuttered. The markets are off approximately 35 percent from their highs, companies are failing, average people — like you and me — are without income. San Francisco is closed. Hospital ships are being sent to New York and the West Coast.

Four to five days from now, this might read like sentimental history.

I am case-closed certain that I am not the only person who feels like he or she has been transported into a sci-fi, environmental, economic, post-apocalyptic, end-of-times, action-adventure movie for which I did not audition; nor did I have any interest in being cast. Certainly, soon, the credits will roll, house lights will come up, and we can rise from our seats and leave the theater; a great idea if movie houses were even open for business.

If someone would have written this as a plot for a movie, it wouldn’t have been green-lit. No one would believe it.

Nonetheless, here we are. There’s no sugar coating it; things appear dire.

So, now that I’ve harshed your mellow, let’s look at where we go from here.

Recently, I heard an eloquent, simple analysis of how we react. It went approximately like this: Something happens; we create a story about its meaning; that story in turn creates our reality, and therefore what we believe is possible or not. In effect, “What we say to ourselves determines what we do to ourselves.”

Don’t misinterpret; this is scary stuff. Real lives are being affected. Some people will not survive, others will suffer long term economic and physical damage. Thinking positively and placing our hands on our chests, closing our eyes, and chanting “Om”, will not eradicate the virus nor heal the economy.

Yet, while we gingerly, one-step-in-front of the other, shakily traverse the swaying rope bridge from what was to what will be, it is essential we keep first and foremost the notion that we will emerge from this fiery, molten, hellscape. The terrain in which we will find ourselves will be shaped by how we think now, today, as we struggle to endure. We need to examine the thoughts and beliefs — in effect, the stories — we are telling ourselves; if we are going to find our way to a better place.

To that end, some thoughts to remember.