I remember my mother recalling going into the gymnasium on December 8, 1941 to listen to FDR broadcast that the United States was at war. Of course, when she mentioned it, I knew the obvious: the Allies won. We won. But for the parents of sons of her generation, it must have been a time of intense and immediate dread. Boys were going to die and no one could say they would be “other boys”. There were hundreds of other unknown outcomes and unawareness as to what the war years would entail. Everyone had to live it day by day.

When Chernobyl occurred, it took some time for the world to become aware of what had happened. In fact, it took a very long time for some of the dire possibilities of what might have continued to happen to even be acknowledged.

Now we have social media, as well as 24 hour news programs, discussions, opinions, analysis are a dime a dozen. I’m fairly certain the economy will take some hits; it has happened before. The generations after WWII have had it easy and have taken things for granted.

Now, we wait and see. And if one were to know he was to be killed in two days from a brain aneurysm, would it be better to fret or just do what everyone always says to do in good times – live the moments.

This will be short. When I logged into this site, as usual I was asked to do a simple math problem to prove I was human. I got it right. But it seemed to scream “OLD PERSON” at me.

The question was: 1+1= ? I am sighing.

What is this AmeliaJake/DST thing – not to be confused with Joe Biden’s “thing” with the Declaration of Independence – but it kicks my butt in the spring. I don’t use that last phrase too often, it must have suggested itself when I mentioned JB.

Oh, well, after someone remarked about the automatic time update on all our devices, I went all day yesterday and today with the microwave and oven on standard time. Didn’t even notice it.

Now, it is a quarter of ten at night! Do you believe that? It got truly dark about an hour ago. I feel bad about complaining after having watched a show about Chosin in Korea and how cold it was all the hardships, but the complaining, whining gene is so strong, it just comes out.

I know someone who is at The Lone Cabbage Fishing Camp. I think I should have had a job thinking up names for places; I obviously missed my calling.

I have a false tooth – a spider bridge. It looks like it is described: It is a tooth with four prongs that attach it to adjoining teeth. It is little and I have to be careful to keep track of it, although it is almost always in my mouth since it fits snugly and isn’t a choking problem.

This morning I was brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink and set my tooth down on the counter, close to the edge. I figured that wasn’t safe so I moved it to the middle of the counter. I started brushing my teeth and then reached for my tooth to brush it. It was gone. Absolutely gone.

I looked and looked and to tell you the truth I don’t know how it happened, but apparently because it is very light-weight, it was touched by something and launched onto the floor. And maybe it was a two-step trip to the floor. I don’t know. I was picking up everything and looking, sticking my hand down the garbage disposal, worrying it had caught on my hand and somehow gone in the trash, scanning the floor over and over again and thinking of finding the magnet on a golf club type of thing to see if that would locate it.

I made deals with higher powers; finally, I saw it. Either it had totally blended in from the beginning or, as I said earlier, taken several hits and shoves.

But it is back in my mouth now – cleaned, of course, and I am wondering how binding those “only let me find my tooth” vows are.

I looked at the news this morning and saw that there was controversy over the ad Target aired mentioning a minority-owned business. Apart from the minority angle, I was sort of surprised that the company was named “Honey Pot” because in the back of my mind, this phrase had questionable connotations. Like instinct would tell me not to use it loosely, and without checking.

So I checked and, ironically, the Internet definition mentioned “target” although obviously not capitalized and not in reference to the business. And here is that definition:

A pot of honey. (figuratively) Something or someone similarly sweet or enticing, particularly: (US slang, dated) A romantic pet name; “honey”. (slang) A vulva or vagina. (espionage) A spy (typically attractive and female) who uses sex to trap and blackmail a target.

I kinda don’t think I would have chosen Honey Pot to be the name of a company featuring intimate feminine hygiene card. Well, on with the day . . .

This is true. I have just powered off my computer and restarted it, all the time hoping typing Joe Biden’s name had only frozen my computer and not burned out its guts.

Truly, that’s all I did; I typed that bozo’s name and nothing would respond to my touch. No cursor, no buttons, zilch. So I held down the power switch and saw black on the screen . . . and red in my head.

Well, at least I can look forward to being entertained by the Bidengaffer, who, by the way, mixed up his wife and sister at the podium last night.