ROTATING UNDERWEAR – and other weird stuff we do…

I’m sure the title pulled you in. Of course I could have done: ‘circulating panties’, ‘revolving briefs’, ‘juggling thongs’ or something similar, but I do have a bit of class (pronounced: ethics). Not to disappoint, I will tell you the tale of my ‘unmentionables’, as it’s a solid substantiated basis for some of those weird things we do. A lot of those things are done without spending much brain-energy, since we do them on auto-pilot, as in totally without thinking (I wonder what kind of auto-pilot an auto-pilot has!) You’ll no doubt acknowledge some of the weird stuff you do, after reading about my rotating underwear.

How you keep your underwear drawers organized, says a lot about you. Are you neat? Are you conscientious concerning rigid and systematized order? Or don’t you give a crap about what anybody can read about you from looking into your drawers?

The level of how clean you keep your car, also tells me a lot about you. If the inside of a car looks like a smaller version of the local refuse-dump, with so much trash around that you’ll need the help of a large sized bulldozer to find the passenger seat, I immediately assume that the car-owner’s home and work, as well as personal hygiene, cannot be far behind.

Back in the days interviewing prospective applicants, my final ‘test’ in some cases would be: ‘hey, let’s do lunch – use your car?’ So here I’d chatted away with a nicely well-suited-for-the-job young man, showered and shaved, precisely the employee I needed. Of course, applicants were never ready for the ‘your car’ bit, so in many cases body language and facial expressions (as in: ‘horror’) quickly told me what to expect. And ‘yes’ I did make several decisions to-hire-or-not-to-hire based on this measure. Having asked to see their undies drawers instead, would of course have been a tad awkward - don’t you think?

But let’s return to my drawers; I do my own laundry around here. I am the ultimate laundry folderer (not a real word...) my closet looks like perfection, if you really care about stuff like that. The solid colored T-Shirts to the left; T-Shirts with designs in the middle and the crispy white ones to the right; folded and neatly stacked with the same width, 9 inches if you really must know – looking clean and very organized.

As with my underwear, I place the newly laundered and folded clothes on the bottom of the stack, and retrieve from the top. By using this methodical way, I give equal wear and tear opportunity to all my unmentionables; rotating is the way to go. Makes a lot of sense, huh?

This is something I have done from I was old enough to do it, so it has become an automated habit, something my auto-pilot is in charge of. But at times I do get a giggle from what I do, as I think, in a way, that it’s silly and something I am absolutely never ever going to reveal to anybody else, at all; I mean, what would they think about me, huh? Being unfairly judged by the order of my secret drawers? Not going to happen.

But we are all in many ways in the same boat of auto-pilot habits. The daily shower is a good example. If you (please don’t) ask me to tell you how I shower, answering this without moving my body – at all, would be impossible for me to do; you should try it yourself. The daily movements under the spray, using soap and shampoo, the order in which we do that thing, are so in-grown, that I can do it in my sleep and often do; but I can’t tell you outside the shower-stall how I do it, without wriggling around while swinging my arms wildly.

I have a digital calendar on my PC that I live by. Same calendar shows up on my Kindle and iPhone. The calendar is filled with info and ‘things to do – things to remember’ beyond the call of duty – in cases way beyond. I’m not even going to tell you some of the extremes, because you will point fingers and laugh at me, and as I am a sensitive person that bruises easily, my therapist advises against exposing too much of Peter – especially my underwear, actually.

Anyway, the extreme items on my calendar, alongside birthdays, appointments and a slew of other basic stuff, are true helpers in my daily functionality. My theory, and it proves effective in practice as well, is that the more I write down, stuff I need to recall, the less I have to deal with between my ears. All I need to remember is to look in my calendar – and I have three places where to look, as in ‘seriously always available’.

On top of that, I have yet another calendar, besides the big family calendar in the kitchen. It’s a ‘real’ calendar lying on my desk in the office - to the right, if you really must know. It’s a weekly calendar and I (am embarrassed telling you this – kind of) fill every bloody day with the same nine items – every day, every week every month. These are items that to some extent are different from what’s on my digital calendars. 

Among the nine items, it says: writing, photo stuff, piano, fitness, read & learn, etc. I hand-write these nine items into the calendar every Sunday, starting a new week; and I write the same nine items for every single day of the week – seriously. For the most part I don’t get around doing all nine items every day, but I substantiate doing this somewhat pathetic routine with the fact that every time I write ‘writing’ I remind myself the importance of doing so – writing of any kind, because I enjoy doing that. ‘Fitness’ explains itself and I live by it, ‘read & learn’ is something I do every single day of the year, etc. So though it seems redundant to anybody else but me, as well as it should, I do find a huge benefit in this auto-pilot way of planning my days – my life, actually.

We all do stuff during our daily lives that might and should make us giggle a bit, when we really think about it. Some of the stuff could be negated or improved on, totally disregarded and/or discontinued and perhaps we could actually come up with brand new ways of doing those things a lot more efficiently. What I’m concerned, I seriously don’t think I’ll change any of my somewhat erratic ways of being organized, doesn’t matter how pathetic I really think some of those things are (yeah, I’m honest, too).

I’ll keep rotating my underwear in the name of equality. I’ll keep folding T-Shirts to perfection and to my very last breath and I will continue to enjoy (secretly, of course) the great satisfaction I get from ironing my clothes as well as my wife’s. Perhaps, as a 70-year older person I should have an excuse for doing this without adjustments, but the fact is that I have been doing this since I can remember – I started writing stuff in calendars when I was 7 - really. The old saying: ‘if it ain’t broke, why fix it…’ or something like that.

As far as I know, my undies have never complained. Of course, they might chat among themselves when I’m not around or in the shower or while I’m sleeping… that would make sense. But overall, I’m sure they like to be rotated – appreciating the equality of wear and tear at its very best…

MORON – a flexible term indeed

Back in 1910, it was good old psychologist Henry H. Goddard (I called him ‘Hank’) who came up with the psychological term ‘moron’ – way to go, Hank. He used this term to describe mild intellectual disabilities. But for some unknown reason, ‘moron’ quickly became a common and very popular term used by the rest of us. It has ever since worked well as an insult, a description of ignorance as in lack of knowledge and/or to describe an unwitting person or persons. ‘Moron’ is a flexible term indeed…  

Hank’s ‘moron’ originated from the Ancient Greek word ‘moros’, meaning ‘dull’. He used it to describe an adult person with a mental capacity of an 8 to 12 year old child. To me, that’s a bit disrespectful towards a vast majority of today’s children between 8 and 12 years old – seriously. As we all know, the opposite of ‘moron’ is ‘oxy’, which means ‘sharp’. And then you ask: ‘oxy-moron’ – means what precisely?’ Compare it with: ‘It’s raining – outside’ (duh) or ‘He’s pretty ugly’ (double duh)…

Used in the correct psychological sense, the term ‘moron’, was applied to individuals with IQ’s of 51-70.  It was above ‘imbecile’ (IQ’s of 26-50) and ‘idiot’ (IQ’s of 0-25). But enough of this clinical stuff, because here is what I’m really getting at - and thanks for your patience…

In my later years, perhaps the last 50 of the 70 I have survived thus far, I found that using the terms ‘imbecile’ and ‘idiot’ in my younger days, were utterly disrespectful, as they are serious clinical terms for unfortunate individual’s mental and/or medical conditions. Sure, back in the days of frolicking and not knowing much better, I did not hold back on using either of these ignorant labels. In hindsight, and how clever we are, it only made me utterly ignorant and disgustingly disrespectful – back then, I was surely Peter the Moron, huh?

But since those ignorant days, I have found myself very comfortable using ‘moron’ or ‘moronic’ to describe and comment on some of the world around me; lately I have used it a lot. Remember that the term was removed from the world of psychology many years ago, so in my book of references, it doesn’t have any guilt applications, absolutely none. So when do I use ‘moron’ or ‘moronic’? 

In spite of the many times my mother called me a ‘genius’ (it was only later on I acknowledged the true meaning of sarcasm), I have never considered myself such. But in the Small World of Peter, I see myself as fairly logical, rational, understanding, besides being an overall nice guy; you get the idea. I read and learn a lot, non-fiction as well as fiction and though I am fully aware that not too much of the info we pull from the Internet is truly fully true, or that from TV and newspapers, I have always trusted, that as long as I keep soaking myself in a lot of information, I have a much better chance to evaluate and sort out the true world around me, the world according to Peter. So please, do understand that this is how I see it and from where I sit, that works pretty okay for me; well of course...

I see a moronic person (aka: moron) as a person who is blatantly egocentric, as in self-serving, self-absorbed and fully believing and behaving like he or she is some kind of god or goddess and in most cases beyond. That type of person is an unashamed liar, openly self-contradicting, but not at all aware of, or just simply ignorant about his or her lack of any consistency related to truths, realities and facts. Their opinions and views about life in any form, defy common logic and proven certainties. These are dangerous and ignorant people and they have no place in my life – they never had and they never will. In my book of references, these are the hardcore morons – watch out.

I find the use of ‘moron’ convenient, but I try not to use it as a generalization, though it is a lot faster. To me a ‘moron’ can be anybody I choose it to be, based on that person’s behavior, logic, respect, ignorance, compassion or lack of. To me, homophobes and racists, just to name a few, are big time moronic, due to their absence of respect and acceptance of diversity. It angers me that we can’t all grasp how rich diversity is, and fully understand that when each of us respect and accept diversity, we will all become a lot stronger – together. Our differences should be embraced, instead of rejected and ignored.

No, Dear Reader, this is not Peter Almighty labeling his surroundings, judging and sentencing in a banal and ignorant manner, but we all have opinions based on life lived and experiences had, so I am seriously fine with that. You probably have opinions I do not agree with, but I will still respect those opinions, if I like them, understand them or not – that is my choice and then my choice to react accordingly. But if you at any point try to persuade me that you are right and I’m wrong, I stop listening; remember that ‘respect of opinions’ thing.

I find people who blindly trust and believe liars and egocentrics, to be in a moronic group. And it worries me to find perfectly intelligent and educated people in that bunch as well. I’m puzzled why they (we?) cannot see through the crap and the deceit, especially when it’s utterly blatant. What’s wrong with us, seriously?

I’m not only labeling my surroundings with (moronic!) judgments, at times I label myself a moron due to stuff I have said or did, say or do – but not often, of course, ha ha, as I have learned a few things down the road of life. There are a couple of incidents in my past that I would like to go back and ‘fix’ if possible. In one case I was utterly rude and insensitive (outright lied) to a smart and sweet girl (young woman, actually). That incident and the utter shame from that, has followed me till this day. I think about it often and the shame stays the same. Though it was nothing huge, it still reminds me to stay on track, trying not to act like a moron again (my definition of moron). But this is the soft-core moron, and not dangerous at all – just a silly and ignorant one.

I notice fewer morons on my way, as time is ticking by. Embracing, respecting and accepting diversity is certainly one of the reasons why. And I like it that way – I’m maturing. Sure I occasionally scream MORON, when somebody cuts in front of me on the road, but today I’m more willing to ask myself in those instances: ‘now, who’s the real moron?’

Of course this would never happen, but let’s just pretend for a brief second, that somebody actually calls me a ‘moron’. First I would try to assume their reasoning, wrap it around my understanding of it and eventually comfort myself that (luckily) it is only their opinion (phew, that was a close call)… But full-time morons don’t even acknowledge being called morons, as they are too busy being full-time and hardcore moronic.

 I like the softer kind of morons a lot better – a whole lot better, as they are not dangerous, but more so laughable in a sweet kind of way… And I’ve been there a few times (sigh)… Haven’t you?

THINKING – keeping our very own secrets

One thing is what we think and say, another is what we think and then totally keep to ourselves – forever. Never thought of that, have you? It’s actually a fascinating concept, something we rarely consider; it’s just part of growing up and being human. Is this very secret world of ours bad? I don’t think so; but is that really what I’m thinking? You’ll never know, will you?

There are a lot of our thoughts, opinions, emotions and feelings that we never express. In most cases, holding back on those thoughts, are keeping us afloat and makes us fit in; diplomacy comes to mind.

We are all extremely opinionated; we have sentiments about anything, even things we don’t know much about, leaning heavily on blissful ignorance. But we still blurb out our opinions any chance we get. Then at times, we hang on to basic peacekeeping by showing consideration, kindness and diplomacy, as we don’t want to get into hot water or have anybody dislike us? No doubt many reasons why – and most of those reasons are good and kind, as they should be.

People around us have the audacity asking our opinions about this and that. In some cases I think it’s more so to test our friendship, commitment, love and likes; whatever the reason, how dare they? It’s the utterly worn out: “how do you like my new dress?” syndrome. No matter our true opinion, we respond with something that’s very diplomatic and neutral, as we do not wish to get in trouble with our dear friends, who pretty much have terrible taste as is, by the way – ha ha…

I tried this scenario many years ago, just to find out ‘truth’ among friends. I bought a shirt that was, in my opinion hideously ugly. I put it on and asked my girlfriend back then, how she liked it. I could actually hear the wheels squeak and turn inside her head – seriously. After a long while, she finally stuttered: “That is about the ugliest thing I have ever seen – but if you like it, God bless…” Nah, she didn’t say the ‘God bless’ bit – I made that one up. I was pleasantly surprised about her honesty, because it was so, well ‘honest’… She could have stuffed her true opinion into her very own secret world, but she opted for honesty – I like people like that, a lot, no matter if I agree or not. The thing is that most often, we have such a hard time handling the truth, the real truth and nothing but…

But what is our exact initial and honest reaction in those kinds of situations? I know we are primarily hit by what we REALLY feel, our immediate, initial and honest-to-goodness reaction. And then we process the diplomatic answers to fit the situation in Nano-seconds; we are grasping for a pleasing response, whenever we feel ‘honesty’ might not work too well. 

Does this make us a bad person? I don’t think so. Are we being fake, demeaning, arrogant, derogatory or anything close to that? No, I do not think so, with the reason being that there are so much passing through our brains, so much stimuli, impressions, feelings and emotions that needs sorting out in split seconds. When she asks you if you like her ‘hideous’ dress, we can’t really go: ‘can I get back to you sometime next week?’ No, we blurt out: ‘that’s so much you’ – which might be very correct and is actually a great and super universal reaction to a lot. But ‘it’s so much you’ will only momentarily get you off the hook, because she knows what you are doing, as in: you do it to me, as I do it to you.

We are confronted with so many decisions every single day. Not just what we are asking of ourselves, but all those many questions from around us, pleading our ‘honest’ opinions. Is it because we are so bloody insecure about our own taste? Is that why we, not you and I of course, have to ask our surroundings if we made a good choice or not? Don’t you wonder?

Considering my age, 70+ by now, I have enough life experience to reflect on. One of many things I have been consistent about is my attitude concerning friendships. I think overall, that I’m ‘good friend’ material. I never take my true friends for granted and do not take any friendship lightly – far from. Do I expect a lot from my relationships? Perhaps I do, or perhaps I don’t, but looking at the basics, besides compatibility, honesty and fully allowing us to be who we truly are, certainly is the very foundation of the friendships I’m in – I am very fortunate that way.

But friendships are not, must not and cannot be based on perfection, as in the ‘perfect’ friend. Your pet dog might seem like a perfect companion, but humans are a tad different, a bit more complicated - well most of us are. We all have our different sides, not perfect, and luckily not so, as perfection is overrated and rather boring, seriously. The thing about perfection is that we have no hope of improving, so where’s the fun in that?

With true friends we must be able to kid around about some of those less-than-perfect sides of us, as long as we are not vicious, rude or mean. As true friends, we must be able to understand and enjoy that attention, as being terms of endearment and nothing else. It is in those relationships that our secret world of stuff we normally won’t publicize are a lot more relaxed, as we all are on the same track concerning the truth, nothing but the truth, so help my friendship… 

We say a lot that we do not mean, by not uttering our honest reaction and/or opinions all the time. Perhaps we feel a bit bad about that, but for the most part we accept it. Diplomacy keeps the peace, and what is wrong with that? I just think it’s funny because it’s a big part of who we are - this ‘other’ image of ourselves that we are promoting by holding some secrets back – like forever. 

Yes, I can play the ‘to be honest or not to be honest’ game very well, but when it involves people I love, respect and care about, I can only play a little. I believe in true friendships and I believe that we all need and should accept what the people around us really think and feel, no matter how it might hurt our pride, opinions, feelings and emotions. We just have to deal with it, by pushing anxieties and insecurities aside. I truly trust that the truth makes us stronger, by accepting and respecting it. But if you are concerned about somebody’s honest opinion or not, please don’t bloody ask them – how simple that is, huh?

We will always have our world of inner secrets. I have mine and I keep things in there that has nothing to do with anybody else's business. If exposed, would it be devastating for some or for me? Not at all, but there are things each of us do never want to share with anybody else – ever. And we should be totally fine with that – really; I am… are you?

FATHER-IN-LAW / my great friend from the moment we met

At times life sucks really bad; this is one of those times. My father-in-law just died and I’m utterly devastated. Though I’m a mature person (should be at 70) I still have the pathetic belief (naïve hope) that our parents will live forever or even longer than that. Sure they get older, but dying? Not part of the overall plan. But he did, and I still don’t like it – at all.

I met my wife-to-be in February of 1984 (at 5:30, if you really want to know). She is Swedish and I am Danish, so kind of an interesting combination. I knew even before I introduced myself to her, that this was it – I was hooked, in love and had found my true soul-mate. It took her a few weeks to realize the magic, in spite of me being Danish (giggle giggle). The magic has continued to this day and will till the end of time and no doubt a lot longer (I’m sure you can hear the violins, huh?)

After a few months of ‘dating’, we were informed that her parents were coming from Sweden to visit California. I don’t think we officially had been declared ‘a couple’ by her family, so this was the proverbial meet-the-parents deal. I was as nervous as could be, like really nervous. In ‘preparation’, as her parents didn’t speak any other languages than Swedish, I dived into learning as much Swedish as I could within the very short time available. Luckily I had studied Swedish (must have been some kind of an omen) back in high school in Denmark, so I felt semi okay with what I could ‘utter’, as we were on the way to pick up the parents in the airport – but I was still sweating in really weird places - a lot.

It was very important for me to be able to ‘connect’ with her parents, seeking that important ‘acceptance’, covering ‘I do hope they like me at least a little’. I fretted the ordeal, as it looked as a huge ‘ordeal’ at that moment. But at times when we ‘fret’, we luckily find that ‘what the heck was I worried about?’

From the moment we finally met, all anxieties exhausted and gone, I couldn’t have felt more welcomed and ‘accepted’. But it had never been and never had anything to do with a judgment of me, if I was good enough for their daughter. Stig (yes, his real name) spoke to me in his clear Swedish, and perhaps he slowed down the cadence; I soon found that was the way he spoke. After sweating a few gallons, I finally felt utterly comfortable and when I found that I could also be somewhat funny in Swedish, the ton of weights fell off my shoulders. It was an instant friendship with both parents and everything was wonderful.

Though death is the ultimate reminder of how precious life is, I must say that I always appreciated, enjoyed, and never took my friendship with Stig for granted. Yes, I acknowledged the technical term of ‘father-in-law’, but that never seemed to be what we were. It was so much more a friendship than something (my marriage to one of his daughters) that ‘legally’ brought us together. And I felt that from the moment we met – that was who he was and that was something I picked up immediately – lucky me.

Though being thousands of miles apart, it never really felt like it was. My in-laws would visit us in California often and travel with us from here to Hawaii, Yosemite National Park, Las Vegas, Southern California, etc. We would visit Scandinavia often and then with our boys. By the time our oldest was 23, he had already visited Scandinavia 16 times; we have been very fortunate that way.

Every single time we were going to meet up, my anxieties were raging. I found that I still wanted to be accepted because my wife was all and is everything to me, so my relationship with her parents and family was utterly important. But every single time we re-met, Stig and I picked up where we left off, perhaps a year ago or so; it never failed; and I was together with my pal again, chatting and laughing.

Both my in-laws and my wife’s siblings welcomed me, accepted me (even though I was/am Danish – ha ha). I felt an especially strong and loving bond between Stig and I, perhaps the only 12 year difference between us helped a bit, could be. Our conversations through the 32+ years were always fun and entertaining. Sure some of those conversations were sponsored by Gammel Dansk (a Danish national drink, high on alcohol).

There are so many moments and times of joy to remember, all stored in my heart forever. My wife and mother-in-law were going shopping in Stockholm, so Stig and I were paired up – no problem with that at all; kept us from hanging around outside the numerous Stockholm stores. It was ‘Water Festival Week’ in Stockholm so we went on the longest walk, looking at all the stuff, but much more so, chatting away and having the best of times. We ended up in a bar with an outside deck, where we sipped large beers. Stig was smoking at the time (stopped later on in life), so I (non-smoker) asked for a cigarette and there we were, with our feet up and inhaling the view of the Stockholm waterways. I think we both realized at that moment (as during so many other moments over the years), that life couldn’t get much better, couldn’t be more complete – the very top of a terrific friendship.

We chatted about all aspects of life, the simple things and complicated issues. We didn’t particularly agree as a rule, but always respected each others opinions. But for the most part, our conversations and our times together, were filled with laughter and fun moments – a lot of them. I would often tell Stig how much I loved and adored his daughter, just for him and my mother-in-law to understand how happy we were and what a grand relationship and life we had together. I can clearly see Stig’s expressions as he reacted uncomfortably (after all, he was Swedish). But I could also see how happy he was when I told him – often.

 He was a proud man. He had worked hard to bring up his marriage and four utterly wonderful children. He regretted the earlier times away from his young family as he build a business and made a living for them all. I would ask questions about it, and he would get emotional. But when I kept pointing at his ‘children’ today, how they all had succeeded on so many levels, I saw him exhale and acknowledge what he had done was not bad at all. I often tried to translate the ‘cake and eat it too’ syndrome into Swedish, but couldn’t, though Stig knew precisely what I meant.

Over the many years I had the privilege to be around him, to observe his relationship with his children and with his wife, whom he loved so very much. The way he looked at her, being in love so many years later. I saw how he would sit there in the middle of a party or dinner, observing his children who he loved beyond anything and his children loving him back, no borders. He looked with pride at his grandchildren and great grandchildren. I always saw a satisfied look in his eyes, a look of appreciation, of understanding that he had done just right, had actually done utterly well. But he would never say it – but I could clearly see it.

Last time we were in Sweden (June 2016), I told my wife that I wanted to spend as much time with her father as possible. I had seen him getting ‘older’ since the last time we visited. So Stig and I (with Gammel Dansk) spent a lot of time together. We chatted no end, laughed a lot and found yet again, that life couldn’t get much better. It was an awesome time with my awesome friend – and it was the last, as I had an inclination that it would be – but I never told anybody. When I hugged Stig goodbye, I felt very saddened indeed.

Then he was hospitalized; some cancer issues. My wife flew off to Sweden right away and stayed with her siblings and her father for a couple of weeks. A few days after she returned to California, her father was sent home. But then he was returned to the hospital, had a bad stroke (none of them are any good) and it did not go well from then on. My two sisters-in-law and my brother-in-law stayed with their father day and night. I am in such awe of the love, care and respect they showed their father – not that I was surprised. Just a privilege to know then – it really is, and not just because of that.

And then last night, we were told that Stig had died, passed away quietly, finally found his peace. My buddy was not here physically anymore, but he will continue to live in my heart, of course. My love for him will NEVER die – ever.

I have no regrets in my relationship with Stig. He was an easy friend, not a lot of complications at all. I never took him for granted, but more so always looked forward to our get-togethers. We never ran out of things to talk about, never ran out of things to laugh about. We could also just sit there all quiet, and we both fully understood that was okay as well.

Of course I miss Stig, but also accept his passing as part of being life as it really is. I also miss him because we had more stuff to talk about, so much more to explore and so much more to laugh about. I can clearly see his face, the smirk that always told me that we fully understood each other; on whatever level it was, we were just such good buddies.

My father-in-law? Yes. An excellent friend – much more so; now tucked away in my heart - forever. This sweet and proud man, my great buddy, from the day we met (and now I’m tearing up…)

Stig & Mimmi (June 2016)