FINAL MUSINGS

This week, I have a few final observations as we head into 2026.
Every few days, my printer temporarily refuses to print. It sounds like it’s trying to process something, maybe something disagreeable that I wrote, and struggles to spit it out.

Then I see a display saying the device is running a self-diagnosis, with a prompt that says: DO NOT INTERRUPT. Recently, I waited two minutes for it to finish. I am from New York. I can’t resist interrupting anyone or anything for that long.

Next, I am so tired of watching these mystery shows when someone gets a text. It must be important—every text message is (LOL)—but why can’t I ever read what it says? They either show it too quickly or the message is too small or blurry. Then Mary Ellen and I try to rewind the video, stop it at the right moment, and scramble up to the TV to zoom in, literally, by getting nose to nose with the screen. This happens several times during a show. I shouldn’t get out of breath watching a movie.

Last weekend, I attended a Star Trek convention here in Indy. Because I have been retired for several years, I am seldom recognized now. But that Saturday afternoon, several people did identify me. However, they showed little emotion or enthusiasm when they met me. I was very upset, but then I realized that they were all dressed as Mr. Spock.

I’m flattered when people say I look good for my age. The other day, I was at my son’s condo waiting for a repairman. When he arrived, he saw the name Wolfsie on his schedule. He looked at me and said that, as a kid, he always watched WISH-TV first thing in the morning. “So, you must be Dick Wolfsie’s father,” he guessed. Which, of course, implied that I looked over 100 years old. When I told him I wasn’t, he was puzzled. Maybe he thought I was Dick’s son, but that would also make me about 110. For some reason, it didn’t dawn on him that I was actually me. Then he asked if Dick and I were brothers. I said no, but I did tell him he was getting warmer. Which was a good thing because he was there to fix the furnace.

Here’s my favorite story about my late mother, Joan, who was also proud of her youthful appearance. She always made sure that people knew her age, hoping they would say, “You look fabulous for your age.” Years ago, when I visited my family in New Rochelle, New York, we went to a local pub for dinner. My mom, then 85, was sitting across from a complete stranger. As usual, she didn’t wait long to make a subtle comment about her advancing years, hoping for a compliment on her appearance. She turned to the woman and said, “I have been living here in New Rochelle for 85 years.”

The woman’s response was quick and lethal: “How nice. And where did you live before that?”

I’m sure Joan never used that approach again.

Mom would be 108 this month. Wherever she is, I bet she looks great for her age.