Yes, indeed, I am that old—old enough to just barely remember when Veterans Day was called Armistice Day. The change in names occurred in 1954, when I was very small, in order to accommodate World War II and its veterans.

Since then, the original name has largely fallen out of use—although it remains, like a vestigial organ, in the timing of the holiday, November 11th, which commemorates the day the WWI armistice was signed (eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month).

I’m also old enough – and had a teacher ancient enough – to have been forced to memorize that old chestnut “In Flanders Fields” in fifth grade – although without being given much historical context for it, I think at the time I assumed it was about World War II, since as far as I knew that was the only real war.

You can find the story of the poem here [well, you could when the post was first written, but the link is dead now]. It was written by a Canadian doctor who served in the European theater. It’s not necessarily great poetry, but it was great propaganda to encourage America’s entry into what was known at the time as the Great War.

The poem’s first line “In Flanders fields the poppies blow” introduces that famous flower that later became the symbol of Armistice – and later, Veterans—Day. Why the poppy?

Wild poppies flower when other plants in their direct neighbourhood are dead. Their seeds can lie on the ground for years and years, but only when there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity (for instance when someone firmly roots up the ground), these seeds will sprout.

There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him bloodred poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before.

But in this poem the poppy plays one more role. The poppy is known as a symbol of sleep. The last line We shall not sleep, though poppies grow / In Flanders fields might point to this fact. Some kinds of poppies are used to derive opium from, from which morphine is made. Morphine is one of the strongest painkillers and was often used to put a wounded soldier to sleep. Sometimes medical doctors used it in a higher dose to put the incurable wounded out of their misery.

Now a day to honor those who have served in our wars, Veterans Day has an interesting history in its original Armistice Day incarnation. It was actually established as a day dedicated to world peace, back in the early post-WWI year of 1926, when it was still possible to believe that WWI had been the war fought to end all wars.

The original proclamation establishing Armistice Day as a holiday read as follows:

Whereas the 11th of November 1918, marked the cessation of the most destructive, sanguinary, and far reaching war in human annals and the resumption by the people of the United States of peaceful relations with other nations, which we hope may never again be severed, and

Whereas it is fitting that the recurring anniversary of this date should be commemorated with thanksgiving and prayer and exercises designed to perpetuate peace through good will and mutual understanding between nations; and

Whereas the legislatures of twenty-seven of our States have already declared November 11 to be a legal holiday: Therefore be it Resolved by the Senate (the House of Representatives concurring), that the President of the United States is requested to issue a proclamation calling upon the officials to display the flag of the United States on all Government buildings on November 11 and inviting the people of the United States to observe the day in schools and churches, or other suitable places, with appropriate ceremonies of friendly relations with all other peoples.

After the carnage of World War II, of course, the earlier hope that peaceful relations among nations would not be severed had long been extinguished. By the time I was a young child, a weary nation sought to honor those who had fought in all of its wars in order to secure the peace that followed – even if each peace was only a temporary one.

And isn’t an armistice a strange (although understandable) sort of hybrid, after all; a decision to lay down arms without anything really having been resolved? Think about the recent wars that have ended through armistice: WWI, which segued almost inexorably into WWII; the 1948 war following the partition of Palestine; the Korean War; and the Gulf War. All of these conflicts exploded again into violence – or have continually threatened to – ever since.

So this Veterans/Armistice Day, let’s join in saluting and honoring those who have fought for our country. The hope that some day war will not be necessary is a laudable one – and those who fight wars hold it, too. But that day has clearly not yet arrived – and, realistically but sadly, most likely it never will.

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I love my car. I’ve had it about fifteen years, though, and driven it mostly in New England, land of the salty roads.

The other day I saw an ominous sign: some rust way down under the rear door on the right. There wasn’t a lot of it, but I know this is dangerous. I took it to a body shop and they said, “Oh, no one does rust anymore.”

Someone else in the body shop piped up that there was one place that still did rust, and he gave me the name. I went over there and they put it up on the lift and studied it. Then they gave me the verdict, which wasn’t pretty: it would cost $8500 to fix it. Plus, the fix wouldn’t last long because there were other areas that would probably rust, too, and it would be hard to prevent it.

Well, the car’s value isn’t more than about $6,500. So it seems a no-brainer to get a new car (probably used). But that’s not easy for me because I have orthopedic problems (such as a bad back) that mean I have to sit for about an hour in each car I contemplate, and drive it a few times. Most cars aren’t all that comfortable for me. It takes me a lot of time to find a car that works for me.

Of course, I can try to get a lower-mileage version of the car I already have. I’ve looked, though, and there aren’t many for sale anywhere and none nearby. Plus, of course, even with low mileage it would be an old car subject to the same problems.

ARGHHH!

The post My trusty rusty old car appeared first on The New Neo.

So I’ll answer.

No, I’m not planning to become an expat.

The truth is that my passport expired a while ago and I always like to keep it current even if I don’t have travel plans. It can be used for an impromptu trip to Canada, for example, and once in a blue moon I’ve done that. It helps with any kind of international travel to keep it at the ready, because there can be quite a wait to renew a passport and quite a surcharge if you want to expedite the process.

But it’s also the case that for about three years I’ve had a short trip to Europe planned for this summer. The plan was to travel there with my ex-husband for a certain event. Back when I first planned this, his Parkinson’s wasn’t so very bad, and although it got worse over the years I still thought we could do it.

I was wrong, of course. I did get “cancel for any reason” insurance, which is quite pricy, because I worried about his health. Now, with his death, I can activate that insurance (for our particular trip, even if someone dies you don’t necessarily get a refund unless you have insurance – and of course even with insurance the insurance payment is non-refundable).

I probably could also go on the trip with someone else, but that’s tricky. It has to be a person who is healthy enough (most of my friends are not), who wants to go, and with whom I get along well enough to share a room. And I don’t know if I still even want to go, although I suppose I should.

Needless to say, the whole thing is part of what makes me very very sad these days. Very.

Speaking of which – yesterday I made a doctor’s appointment and when I was done the person on the line asked me if my ex-husband was still my emergency contact. I just about burst into tears at the unexpected question. I had to answer that no, he died. She said she was sorry and asked me if I had a replacement. I couldn’t think of a single local one, so I gave my son’s name. He lives extremely far away.

The post So, why am I renewing my passport? appeared first on The New Neo.

That made me wonder whether I even possess a stapler anymore. The last time I used it might have been twenty years ago. It might have been longer ago. I have no idea, but it seemed a quaint thing, like paper money.

But there it was, in a desk drawer exactly where it should be. A box of staples was there, too, but it turns out the stapler was already loaded – which was a good thing because I’ve probably forgotten how to load one, too.

And it worked just fine. Nice.

The post The stapler appeared first on The New Neo.

My ex probably would have been able to joke me out of my funk at yesterday’s election results, at least for a moment. He’d been making me laugh for almost sixty years. But now he’s gone, and it’s been very hard.

I have no intention of stopping the blog. However, I had already been thinking about writing somewhat less about politics and more about other things. I’m not really sure that I’ll be writing less about politics. I’ll just go with how I feel, day by day.

The post Now what? A personal note appeared first on The New Neo.

But it’s also some of their candidates this year. It’s El-Sayed, Troy Jackson, Talarico, and others too numerous to mention. I cannot believe the polls that favor them, and yet I cannot disbelieve those polls because I’ve seen seemingly-unbelievable things happen, such as Mamdani’s becoming mayor of New York.

When I get this way I find it very hard to follow election results in real time. Usually I just wait till 11 PM or so and then tune in.

How about you?

The post I am extremely apprehensive about tomorrow appeared first on The New Neo.

No, I didn’t make it up. It really is National Candy Corn Day, the day “the nation celebrates its favorite vegetable.”

No doubt all of my readers, being unusually well-informed people, were already aware of that. But did you know it is estimated that in this country thirty-five million pounds of the classic treat (invented in the 1880s) are sold every year? And by the way, my original post from 2008 had the number at twenty million, according to the same Wiki link, so the number had nearly doubled by 2016, the year of the most recent update at the site.

I personally might be responsible for approximately a ton of that if I gave in to my worst impulses. However, I keep my addiction in tightly-controlled check.

It is part of my penance to confess here that I really love the dreadful stuff and always have, and I’m far from alone (my impression is that candy corn is one of those things a person either loves or hates). Years ago I even went to a Halloween party dressed as a piece of candy corn, and believe me I was already a grownup. I did it again last year and in fact, I’m planning to dress that way again this year. The first time I did it, no one guessed what I was supposed to be, although I thought it was obvious.

Apparently I am not the only adult who has dressed up as candy corn on Halloween. And no, I didn’t look like this—more’s the pity (although to be technical, isn’t she dressed as two pieces of candy corn, the body and the hat?):

I heard on Fox News (can’t give a link here because I was unable to find the information online) that candy corn is the Halloween treat most often stolen by parents from their kids’ Halloween stash. I believe this to be undeniably true. It is a guilty, shameful secret for most, but I am glad this is finally seeing the light of day.

There are various gourmet variations on candy corn, and I’ve sampled quite a few in my day. A helpful reader sent me some information about this Brach product for example, which includes:

Green Beans, Roasted Turkey, Cranberry Sauce, Stuffing, Apple Pie and Coffee. (Fans of Ginger Glazed Carrots, which were part of last year’s batch, should note that flavor is gone.)

I had tried the earlier version, and it was terrible. This sounds even worse. It’s the good old Brach’s original candy corn that I continue to crave; there is no other brand worth eating, and believe me I’ve tried many a substitute. The Brach’s version been sold out where I live for quite some time, but I purchased it early.

And here’s a burning question: do you eat your candy corn in sections? And, if so, do you consider the top to be the yellow part or the white part? I’ve always seen the little white triangle as the “foot” of the candy corn, but I learned when I designed my costume years ago that most people see it the other way. For those who might be inclined to disagree with me, I offer the following exhibit from the realm of science; the kernel grows with the tip – corresponding to the white part of the candy – down, embedded in the cob:

I have noticed this year – 2026 – that candy corn sold out in most stores very very early. For weeks I haven’t seen it anywhere. Probably a blessing in disguise.

The post It’s candy corn day appeared first on The New Neo.

This is extra hard because my ex and I didn’t live together, and because he was very much a saver. He never wanted anyone else to throw out any of his things, including me, so it feels like I’m going against his wishes. But of course it must be done. And he really, really, wanted to do it; he just ran out of steam the last few years.

And so it is left to me. It’s an extraordinarily large task, and I can’t postpone it because I have very very little storage space where I live.

What am I finding? Tons and tons of things, many of which have a deep and touching emotional resonance for me. And just being in his place without him being there too is jarring and sad.

A hundred or more maps, conjuring up the pre-GPS times when road trips meant me sitting in the passenger seat trying to decipher a map and give directions.

Cards and cards and cards, some from my mother to me (none of which I remember). They are touching, but I read them once and then toss them.

One undeposited check from his father, from decades ago.

An indescribable number of bills and bank statements and credit cards and driver’s licenses and passports going back nearly fifty years. Many are mine; I had no idea he saved them.

My 50th high school reunion name tag. I didn’t save it; he did.

Playbills and tickets. Notes from old girlfriends, some very emotional. Notes I left for him, completely practical and pedestrian such as, “I think I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning.”

Letters he wrote to his parents in the mid-60s when he spent many months in Europe. The one I read complained about the French food (!), but he was living at a student hostel where dinner cost thirty cents. It was mostly potatoes.

User manuals for cameras and projectors that go back a half century. The cameras and projectors that go with them.

Clever things he wrote: song lyrics, and an invite to our dog’s 15th birthday party that was very amusing.

I saved a few things – for example, the dog party letter. But the rest go in the dumpster or the recycle bin. Tossing them feels a little like tossing the very young man I first knew, the medium-young man of our marriage, the older man he became as his handwriting dimmed due to Parkinson’s. I have to steel myself to just do it because there’s no saving most of these things. He couldn’t stop time and neither can I.

[NOTE: I didn’t have to do any of this when Gerard died. His younger brother stayed in his apartment for about two months, taking on the task. All I did was walk in for about an hour and take a couple of mementos. Gerard had lost virtually everything in the Paradise fire, but a little over four years had passed and he’d amassed a fair amount of stuff, although nothing even remotely approaching the lifetime collection of my ex. And yet it still took his brother about two months to accomplish closing the place down.]

The post Getting rid of someone else’s stuff appeared first on The New Neo.

Rather than try to do it myself, I went to CVS, which purports to have a service that takes a person’s photo in a government-compliant way. Although the ensuing photo was far from flattering, it seemed to pass muster. And their computer said so, as well.

But alas, when I tried to renew online the government website rejected the photo. Why? The background was too dark, it said. And yet the background was white. Quite white. Was it very, very, very white? Not exactly, I suppose.

So now it’s back to square one. Where do I go now? Walgreen’s or the UPS store? The post office no longer offers this handy dandy service. Where have you had success? Or are you do-it-yourselfers?

The post And now it’s the background of my passport photo that’s the problem appeared first on The New Neo.

Zacharia held her first brief press briefing on Tuesday, just one day after she started the job, and came under scrutiny after she had represented herself as a lawyer but acknowledged this week that she did not pass her bar exam following law school.

Zacharia’s first White House press briefing lasted less than 15 minutes, during which she took only a few questions from reporters and couldn’t answer one about whether the U.S. had stopped sharing intelligence with Ukraine.

It’s that part about being a lawyer that interests me – for personal reasons. I, too, am a law school graduate but not a lawyer. The Zacharia flap brought back a ton of memories, few of them good.

Why did I even go to law school? The main reasons were threefold: I was aimless and undirected even in my senior year of college, my father was a lawyer (a real one), and I took the LSAT test and did very very well indeed. That last bit told me I could pretty much write my ticket to any law school in the land, and so I did and was admitted to an elite law school. I had mild dreams of Clarence Darrow-like defense and eloquence in my head, dreams of which I was disabused rather quickly – in fact, my very first day of class.

I was forced to confront the fact that I was very shy and hated being put on the spot in front of a crowd. Yes, I should have thought of that to begin with, but somehow I hadn’t. During my second year, I spoke to a professor who had been assigned to me as an advisor, and said I wanted to quit. It was the first and last time I ever spoke to any advisor there; although nowadays they have plenty of them, back then you were pretty much on your own. He talked me into staying by pointing out that I still didn’t know what else I should do, and that at the time I was in the middle of my second year. Only one and a half years to go and I’d have a law degree. So why not stay?

You might answer: “money.” Didn’t law school, especially an elite one, cost an absolute ton of money? These days it certainly does; according to Google AI:

According to recent data compiled via U.S. News Best Law School Rankings and Above the Law, annual tuition and fee rates for top-tier private programs include:

– Columbia University: $88,390 per year
– New York University (NYU): $87,214 per year
– University of Chicago: $84,906 per year
– University of Pennsylvania (Carey): $84,492 per year
– Duke University: $81,829 per year
– Northwestern University (Pritzker): $80,583 per year
– Stanford University: $79,707 per year
– Yale University: $78,961 per year
– Harvard University: $78,692 per year

Total 3-Year J.D. Cost Estimates

– Tuition and Fees (3 Years): A standard three-year Juris Doctor (J.D.) program totals roughly $230,000 to $265,000 in tuition alone.
– Full Cost of Attendance (3 Years): When adding rent, meals, health insurance, and books, the complete 3-year price tag often scales between $330,000 and $390,000+.

That’s sobering. But it’s nothing like when I went to law school. My tuition was $2K a year, which in present-day dollars would be about $18K. Not the least bit comparable to today’s tuition. What’s more, my rent was $65 a month. So it was not that much of a hardship for me or my family, unlike today.

Back then, also, I was told – although I don’t know where this statistic came from or whether it was correct – that about half of the graduates from elite law schools never practiced law. Nowadays, the percentage is smaller, but nevertheless sizeable percentages leave.

To be blunt, I found law to be very very very boring, except for certain pockets that were interesting. Might I have found work within those pockets? The main one was jurisprudence, or philosophy of law, and the only job that might lead to was to be a law professor. I had neither the grades, nor the inclination – nor, to be frank, the sex chromosomes (law professors were male in those days) – for that job. Now, strangely enough, jurisprudence is a topic I do explore with some regularity on the blog.

So does it all work out in the end?

The post Katie Zacharia, we hardly knew ye: on being a lawyer appeared first on The New Neo.