Curmudgeon's Cave

Eclectic Observations and Opinions from the Webmaster

Tremorous Old Man Checks My Groceries

I was in a bit of rush at Ballard Market. I had assembled everything on my list and had to get home to fix dinner. Heading to the checkout area, there were 3 lanes available, all with the same number of people in line. 

Since I'm an expert at picking the fastest checkout line, I lined up in Lane #3.

Suddenly, the woman in front of me moved over to another lane. I could hardly believe my good luck. Or was it just my skill and picking the fastest line?

As I got closer to the checkout counter, I saw why the lady in front of me had moved away.

The checker was a man, between 65-70 years old, methodically moving one item at a time over the scanner and then sliding it to his left. Similar to a slow-moving repetitive robot. There was no bagger to help him. He was chewing gum slowly in rhythm with the movement of his arms and hands. He was expressionless. 

When he encountered an unscannable item, he would very carefully note the item and make sure he entered the correct SKU.

You know how incredibly fast a twenty-something can check groceries. My elderly guy was about half as fast.

And that's not all. He had a noticeable tremor in both hands. I wasn't sure whether he also had a head tremor. He tended to use his left hand more than his right. When his right hand was not in use, he gripped the edge of his counter to stop the tremor.

He was stoic, did not make much eye contact and was mildly pleasant. 

As he begin to scan my groceries, I said, "Hi Michael". He raised his head and looked my in the eye, with the slightest hint of a smile. I bagged own groceries. When I left, I said: "Thanks, Michael".

So here's my question. Why is a nearly elderly man with a tremor working as a checker, which is not the easiest job in the world?

Because he just loves to do it? I don't think so. And kudos to Ballard Market for hiring him in the first place.

This episode reminded me to be very observant of my surroundings -- and to respond to the moment at hand. And to regard every person in a grocery store with compassion and patience. I'm not the only one with problems and obligations.

As for Michael's tremor, I would guess it to  "essential tremor" as distinguished from Parkinson's. Either way, it is not good. 

Both disorders involve the cerebellothalamocortical circuit, but different mechanisms are at play. Essential tremor often involves both upper limbs, which describes Michael.

Incidentally, my wife had essential tremor a number of years ago. The doctors said there was nothing to do about it.

We then took a different route, by detoxifying the brain of toxic metals. Her tremors disappeared and have not returned. 

What's Happening to this Website?

Phinney Neighborhood Center management has issued a directive requiring that this site be terminated.

You can view the termination email here.

www.greenwoodmensgroup.com is being dismantled and will disappear. When it disappears, it will immediately be replaced by www.seattleseniormen.com, a site that will include some content related to the Greenwood Men's Group but not be solely focused on this group.

In future, if you go to www.greenwoodmensgroup.com, you will be automatically redirected to www.seattleseniormen.com.

Are Your Affairs in Order?

You don't when your number is up. Could be ten years from now, or next week.

Regardless, I hope you have your affairs in order.

Here's why. You just heard about the airplane collision in Washington DC. where everyone died.

Well, let me to you a near-miss similar story.

It was a typical gloomy January 2000 in Seattle. My partner and I decided to visit Yelapa, a tiny town south of Puerta Vallarta in Mexico.  We took Alaska Airlines Flight 261 on a MD-83 aircraft to and from our destination. 

We had a wonderful time!  We rented a palapa, ate fantastic food, went kayaking and snorkeling.  Since a palapa has no walls, butterflies and birds were continually flying back and forth as we ate breakfast or lounged on the sofa. The bed was suspended from the ceiling so that scorpions would not climb into bed with us. The "bathroom" was entirely outdoors, with a magnificent view over a canyon of lush vegetation.

But I digress.

Two weeks after our return, Flight 261 (and the same plane I was on) fell into the sea off of southern California on its return flight from Puerta Vallarta.

This is what it sounded like in the cockpit. I can't imagine what it was like in the passenger cabin.

The accident killed all 88 on board: two pilots, three cabin crew members, and 83 passengers.

It was only sheer luck I was not on that particular flight. Had we scheduled our trip two weeks later, the lives of me and my partner would have been snuffed out 25 years ago.

Back then, I had no absolutely no plans for my demise, thinking that I would get around to it "some day".

Since then, I've had the common sense to create a proper will, health care power of attorney and all the rest.

What about you? Have you done the same, so that your loved ones won't have to deal with a mess if you can't take care of yourself or die?

If you don't have any end-of-life plans, you might want to check out The Conversation Project. Thanks to Rich for bringing this to our attention.

1/29/25:  Random Acts of Kindness

Do you remember our last discussion meeting when we shared a critical decision or event that shaped our lives? And when Bruce talked about the barefooted girl?

Bruce was walking to work in downtown Seattle when he passed a barefoot girl on the sidewalk, obviously homeless. It was a chilly day in October. Something caused Bruce to pause and turn back to the girl.

He escorted the girl to shelter at the YMCA and gave her a granola bar before proceeding on to work.

We call this a "random act of kindness". Imagine our world if everyone acted this way.

I think sometimes we're so preoccupied or busy that we don't go out of our way to commit an act of kindness. We may have the impulse but not actually act on it.

To illustrate the power of random kindness, I'm going to recite a story from Jerry West, a former business associate.  It's a long story but worth a read.

How a Random Act of Kindness Saved a Life - A Decade Later

It started with desperation and a plea for help.

In 2014, as my oldest son lay in a hospital bed recovering from a suicide attempt, I made an unusual request. Instead of the customary "thoughts and prayers" for my son, I asked people to do something different -- something active, something real.

I asked them to perform a RAK -- a Random Act of Kindness to a stranger. Not just opening a door or offering a quick "thank you," but something that required genuine effort, something that might make a stranger's day fundamentally different.

The response was staggering.

Stories poured in, each a testament to humanity's capacity for compassion. But one story, in particular, stands as a monument to the raw power of reaching out to another human being.

Before I share it, though, I want to issue you a challenge. Not a gentle suggestion or a polite request, but a full-throated dare: Perform a Random Act of Kindness every day until you die.

It doesn't have to be grandiose. Maybe you spot an elderly person wrestling with their garbage can at the curb and pull over to help. You could cover someone's coffee when frantically patting their pockets for a forgotten wallet. Or maybe -- you sit next to a stranger at lunch and engage in conversation deeper than the weather.

Every day, the universe presents you with at least one opportunity to serve others. Usually, you let it slide by with a convenient excuse.

Not anymore. From now on, you'll seize these moments like they're the last lifeboat off a sinking ship.

Now, here's the story I promised.

Picture this: A busy professional emerges from a downtown deli, sandwich in hand, mind racing through the afternoon's project deadlines. They're heading back to their office, planning to work through lunch, when they spot a young man in his twenties sitting alone on a bench, headphones firmly in place -- the universal "do not disturb" signal.

Just as they're about to pass by, my voice echoes in their head: "Do a RAK a day..."

Against every introverted fiber of their being, they sit down next to the young man, open their lunch bag, and -- without a word -- extend half their sandwich toward him.

The young man pulls out his headphones. "What are you doing?!?!"

"I'm offering you half my sandwich," they reply. "No one can say no to a sandwich, and I could use the company."

That last part was a complete lie. They didn't want company. They'd rather eat glass than initiate a conversation with strangers. This simple act was one of the hardest things they'd ever done.

But they sat there anyway, sharing fifteen minutes of genuine conversation. Nothing superficial -- real talk between two humans. When the sandwich was gone, they thanked the young man for his time and returned to their office.

Weeks later, while unwinding with a glass of wine and the evening news, they caught a segment about rising suicide rates in the area. The usual experts appeared -- the mayor, a psychiatrist -- and then came a community member, face blurred, voice altered.

"I had made up my mind to take my life that day," the disguised figure said. "I was spending one last time in my favorite spot, a bench in the square, listening to my playlist. This stranger sat next to me, gave me half their sandwich, and we just talked. No one had talked to me before."

The wine glass slipped from their fingers, shattering on the floor as recognition dawned.

"I didn't go through with it because of that person, and I have no idea who it was. I just wanted to say thank you, and I'm doing great now."

The reporter closed with words that still echo today: "Just one small act of kindness saved a life."

RAK it. Every. Single. Day.

Your simple act of kindness might be the lifeline someone else is desperately seeking.

Rock on, Jerry West

We don't know how Bruce's "random act of kindness" altered the barefoot girl's life. For all we know, his small act could have given her enough push in the right direction to help her reclaim her future. And equally important was the effect on Bruce, the giver of the kindness.

1/28/25: One Man's Grief

This article is a corollary to the Grief article posted elsewhere on our site.

It seems that we experience occasional episodes of grief throughout our lives, for one reason or another.

One kind of grief that I've experienced more than once is the loss of my closest male friends. One of them was Jerry, who died an awful death in 2015 from pancreatic cancer.

Bill, Jerry and Steph at Jerry's Celebratory Sendoff Before He Died

Jerry and I were in a men's group for a number of years. We had some good times together and really enjoyed each other's company. Jerry was gracious, self-effacing, artistic, had a sense of humor and was an incredible storyteller. And a bit of a Mountain Man in some ways. He was always concerned about my welfare.

He spent his childhood in rural upper Michigan, living above a general store that his folks operated. They were poor. Jerry became adept at trapping muskrats for money. How many people do you know who had to trap muskrats to make ends meet?

After a career in the Navy and a few other lines of work, Jerry because an architect for Starbucks, where he was literally twice as productive as the younger generations in the group.

Upon retirement, he became a watercolorist. He developed a phenomenal portfolio of wildlife and outdoor scenes, especially ducks. God only knows what happened to his portfolio after he died.

Jerry and I spoke several times about having some adventures together, as soon as I retired. We looked forward to spending some time in Mexico.

Jerry on a Beach in Mexico

Well, as it turned out, he died before I retired. So our Mexican adventures never happened.

If you still have an unfulfilled dream, what are you waiting for? 

So instead of Mexican sojourns, I spent my final year with Jerry accompanying him on his terminal cancer journey. Aside from spending time with him personally, I spent well over a thousand hours scouring the medical literature for some clue -- anything at all -- that might put the stop to his "incurable" cancer. I felt compelled to put aside my life and try to help him in some way.

Long story short, I failed. But I did the best I was capable of, for my best friend.

It's been ten years since he died. Whenever I think about him, I feel quite sad and choke up. My solace is that I have one of his paintings on the wall in my office. So in a way, his spirit is still with me.

Bill

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