Category: Getting Older

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Time Marches On

But it's still sad.

I'm finally starting to organize my photos using MacOS's Photos application. For as long as I've been an Apple user, I've eschewed using it, much preferring the year/month folder stricture I've used in Adobe's Bridge (and more recently in XnView). But a few weeks ago I was trying to locate a specific image and could not for the life of me locate it.

I kept thinking I could've put my hands on it almost immediately if I had organized my photos by year and then by general subject…and the proverbial light bulb went off. Photos! Photos can do that. So, following the methods described in this video, I started importing my photos, going from 2023 backward.

I ran across several photos of the house my family lived in for my grade/middle school years, and out of curiosity—instead of actually driving over to the place—I went on Google maps and street view and saw what it was looking like these days.

As I said, it was sad—especially to see the one-epic Australian Bottle Tree that had graced the front yard from the time we moved into the newly-finished home in 1963 reduced to the 60 year old husk it had become.

November 1963, shortly after we moved in
1964. Not exactly sure of the month, but judging from the angle of the afternoon sun, probably mid-summer. Notice the tree.
Five years after we moved in. The tree has been very happy in that location.
Three years later, summer of 1971. The tree is very happy. It's sibling at the far right was actually planted at the same time. The olive tree went in a couple years later.
A few months later, about a year before we moved out.
July 1998 was the first time I'd been by the place with a camera. I had returned from SF for a visit and had to drive by.
Another shot from that same 1998 visit.
2006. Sometime after 1998 the tree was apparently struck by lightning (not surprising considering it was the tallest object in the neighborhood). The beginning of its—and the neighborhood's—downfall.
And here it is in 2024, 61 years after the house was built and we moved in. Funny thing is, the same family has lived here since we moved out in 1972, but it's obvious a newer generation has taken over and upkeep has gone to hell.

Over the years, both my sister and I have fantasized about buying the house and returning it to its former glory (or gutting it to the studs and updating it to 21st century sensibilities like have been done with other houses in the neighborhood). But it's just a pipe dream, and with the area currently in a downward spiral, it will remain just that.

The house still pops into my dreams now and then, taking place mostly at night, and mostly involving being invited in by the current owners to see what's been done to the place.

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Another Unforeseen Aspect Of Getting Old

I post a lot of memes about being an introvert, but truth be told, I am an introvert—or at least I've become one.

It wasn't always this way. I mean, I've always been on the shy side, but in social settings I was at least able to put myself out there and actually enjoyed being out and about and among my fellow humans whether I knew them personally or not. Back in my 20s and 30s I went out clubbing on the weekends, and readily accepted dinner, movie, and party invitations from friends.

I was also a bit of a whore, which doesn't come easily (no pun intended) to introverts.

But as I've gotten older—especially since the arrival of COVID and I saw what selfish, inconsiderate assholes at least a third of Americans are when push comes to shove—I've reached the point where I just don't want to deal with the masses of humanity any more. Crowds in general never really bothered me, as evidenced by my attendance at concerts, marches, and SF pride events until I simply got tired of them, but now I will do anything to avoid them. Looking back now, the COVID lockdown was a little slice of heaven.

Thankfully Ben—who does not share this aversion to the unwashed hoards outside our door—nevertheless understands my discomfort and does everything he can to prevent us from having to deal with them on more than a very limited basis.

My father became a bit of a recluse the older he got, something at the time I found odd, but—ironically—I am coming to understand quite well as I myself get older.

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1979

A little trip down memory lane for my Phoenix peeps. I can't say with any certainty that I still have the originals, but I did have the forethought years ago to scan them…

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I'm Still 28…

…despite what my body tells me sometimes, so it's always a shock when I pass a mirror and wonder who that old fuck is and how he got into the house.

(A friend who is several years older than me, someone whom I've known since 1985—when I was 27—and I decided many years ago that 28 is a perfectly delightful age to be and that's where we're staying.)