Tag Archives: coots

Cranky Old Coots Complain and Don’t Care


Yes, I am a coot.  I became a coot in 2014 when I retired. I have the hair in the ears to prove it.  I sometimes forget to wear pants.  The dog is learning to hide from me on days when my arthritis makes me cranky.

So I am a practicer of the ancient art of being a cranky old coot.  I have opinions.  I share them with others foolishly. And I am summarily told to, “Shut up, you danged old coot!”  And, of course, I don’t shut up because that would be a violation of number five in the by-laws of cootism.  Obnoxiousness is our only reason for still being alive.

Lately, my group of coots on Facebook (who call themselves a “pack” like wolves, but, in truth, a group of coots is called an “idiocy”) are talking about politics… very loudly salted with firmly held opinions, beliefs, and bad words in several languages.  I mean, it’s texting each other on memes we disagree about, but we do it LOUDLY, like that, in all caps.  We also do it in such an infuriating manner because, if no one ever bothers to tell us to “Shut the hell up!”  we will begin to suspect we have actually died and gone to purgatory where we are still being obnoxious, but nobody knows we are doing it.  That is rubbing coot fur in the wrong direction.

The radical right (otherwise known as coot paradise) have been cooting up a storm about school shootings and gun control of late.  They have more or less turned their ire on me because, knowing I was a school teacher, they have seized on the Coot in Chief’s notion of arming teachers to protect schools.  Obviously a majority of old coots agree that requiring a few “volunteer” teachers to conceal carry and learn how to handle a school shooter crisis situation with a gun instead of the way teachers are actually trained and practiced on handling such a situation, is the only economical way to defend schools from crazed lunatics with assault weapons.  Of course, it is definitely more economical than hiring full time police officers to handle security because “volunteer” teachers does not mean that they are necessarily willing to do it, but rather that they are doing it without pay.  And of course they shout at me things like, “Why don’t you just admit that you are too scared and unpatriotic to carry a gun as a teacher, and cowardly allow some female teacher with a big pistol to step in and do the job for you?”  That is a very coot thing to say, and is hard to adequately counter, because if you try to argue using logic other than coot-logic, like the notion that since a majority of teachers in this country are female, you are asking women who are fierce enough to do the job (and I have known more than a few who would take it on no matter how hopeless their prospects) to take a handgun that the principal bought at Walmart with money from the Coke machine in the hall and face down a suicidal maniac with an assault rifle, you will not even be heard over the cacophony of coot braying and chest-thumping, let alone be understood.

And, for some reason, coots love Trump.  Maybe because they feel he is truly one of them.  He is older than dirt.  He has an epicly bad comb-over to hide his bald spot.  He says bad words very loudly in front of women, children, and everybody.  He says, “Believe me,” a lot, especially when telling lies.  And he’s not afraid to fart in public and blame it on the dog.  I admit to insulting Trump in front of them only because I like to see coot faces fold up in extra wrinkles, and coot heads turn various shades of angry red and apoplectic purple.

So, yes.  I am a coot.  Not proud to be one… that I can remember, but a coot never-the-less.

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Filed under angry rant, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, foolishness, goofy thoughts, grumpiness, gun control, humor, Liberal ideas, oldies, Paffooney, teaching

Remember November

tree time banner

November is a light blue month.  I suppose me saying that, and especially me believing it is true, is evidence of some further mental illness… I know there are other people like me who think things you can’t see have colors, and they are probably loony-birds too.  But I have always felt that months have colors.  August is burnt orange.  September is rose red.  October is yellow-brown.  And November is a light blue.

November is also the month that I turn 59 in 2015.  Almost 60!  I am moving into my cranky-old-coot phase of life.  That’s okay too.  It is also probably evidence of mental illness.  Old brains tend to get a bit fermented… especially when they’ve been sauteed over time in a stew of stress, pain, doubt, and old wounds that never really heal.  I enjoy getting older because now I have the excuse that I am a doddering old coot to help me get away with the creatively evil things I was always too goody-two-shoes and afraid to do when I was younger.  No worries.  I am not changing into Dracula over night.  Halloween has come and gone without me doing anything seriously bad… other than writing novels.  At least, not that I am aware of.

November is also NaNoWriMo.  This year I begin the month putting the final editing touches on Snow Babies.  Then it is time to get serious about When the Captain Came Calling.  

Voodoo Val coverMary and the Captain

WTCCC is a novel about girls re-forming an old boys gang… with boys in it, and taking on the magic of sea-stories… lies that old sailors will tell.  Captain Noah Dettbarn returns home to Iowa from the South Pacific cursed with invisibility and being pursued by magical monsters.  Mary Philips, the girl on the right, has become the new leader of the Norwall Pirates.  Valerie Clarke, on the left, is the youngest member of the club, and she is the viewpoint character filtering the sometimes scary world of adults through her imaginative young mind.  She’s also in the picture of Mary since she has been turned into a golden-furred squirrel in that picture.

This novel I am using for NaNoWriMo already stands at 41 pages and more than 14,000 words.  So I have a good head start.  A novel in a month?  50,000 words?  Easy for a crazy old coot who is retired and not busy enough by half.  As long as I can keep on kicking (the dog is watching me as I write this because she doesn’t want me kicking her) and keep on living, I can do it easily.  It is a story idea I have been working on since 1981.  And even though November is a blue month, depression is not a problem.  It is light blue, remember?  The dark blue of depression doesn’t come along until December, a month colored deep indigo blue.  And by that time there is no way fickle fate can prevent Snow Babies from being published by 2016.

(Since I am still short of 500 at this point, let me point out the favorite words I have used in this post that tickle me passionate pink; coot, fickle, loony, doddering, and indigo.  Now you can ignore this parenthetic expression.)


Filed under humor, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney