Planned Obsolescence

I've been waiting for you.

Mama had her opinions. She didn’t apologize. At least she didn’t when she was right. But she was always right. So she never had to apologize. A good way to live.

She never was a fan of long hair on men. She tolerated it on women even though secretly she thought it a bit trashy. But on men. Never could get to the point she thought it was acceptable. And facial hair. Never. I was told on more than one occasion to “Go shave that mess off your face.”

I was in my forties before facial hair was even available to me. Always thought that was weird. But when I got older I grew out various forms of beards. Mama never approved, so I would always shave clean before I made the long journey to Mississippi to visit.

Facebook, or The Facebook as Mama called it, changed everything. If I wanted to participate in the hip and current digital world I had to make my face available to my adoring fans. Hairy or not here I come.

Mama always had a way of avoiding things she didn’t want to know about. It’s easier to accept a lie than it is to avoid a reality. At any rate, eventually Mama was able to deal with my facial hair. She knew I knew she hated it.

My brother, Bob, missed the days of long flowing locks because of his involvement with Uncle Sam. Pending forced military deployment forced him to join the Army Reserve. Basic training and his six year sign-up kept his hair short. After hitting his late sixties he decided to let his hair grow. Head and face.

Mama called me one time after he visited her in Oxford. “Well, your brother just left and I want to tell you that he looked horrible.”

“My, God, Mama what was wrong?”
”He had this long hair curling up over his collar and he looked like he had not met a razor in two months. Horrible. Just horrible.”

I knew her scolding was meant for me with my brother being my proxy. I laughed. “Mama, he’s almost seventy. Don’t you think that he can look the way he wants?”

“Well, I guess so. At least I don’t have to look at it.”

So that was probably ten years before she died. Mama met both our faces and heads with an eyebrow raised and air of quiet disapproval.

As Mama passed her ninety-fifth birthday she became increasingly uncomfortable with her frail, aging body. There was really very little wrong with her other than age. By the time she was two years shy of one hundred she longed for rest. “I just don’t understand why Jesus won’t take me. I’m ready to go.” She told me on a visit.

“Mama.” I looked her straight in the eye. “I can tell you exactly why the Lord doesn’t want you. He knows that you’ll tell him to cut that long hair and shave that nasty mess off his face.”

We both laughed. “I guess you’re right.” Mama raised her eyebrow as she was apt to do. “I just want people to look their best.”

So Mama died a half-year before her hundredth birthday. She had a great life but was completely worn out. That happens to bodies. Planned obsolescence.

My friend Neil Armingeon called me a few weeks ago. “Draper, this TAXODIUM project you’re working on. I got something you need to see.”

I winced a bit. Last time he said that there was something I needed to see we wound up at a WWE event with third-row seats to John Cena climbing around in a chain-link cage. Fighting some behemoth. I knew it was rigged. But was amazed nonetheless.

“What is it Neil?”

“It’s the biggest Cypress I’ve ever seen.” He went on to tell me one of his David-and-Goliath stories about a battle when he was St. John’s Riverkeeper. A developer was trying to fill several hundred acres of wetlands. The headwaters of both Julington Creek and Pottsburg Creek. This imperiled property was at the south end of Jacksonville.

2004 Neil Armingeon with the big Cypress. Photo Bruce Lipski.

He went on. “Let me get with Walter Coker and we will take you to it. He photographed it back then. Let’s try for next week. You will not believe it.”

A few days went by then we had it scheduled. “Meet me and Walter in the south end of that picture show on Phillips Highway. You know the one near I 95. The tacky one.”

“Got it.” I knew exactly where he was talking about.

Neil kept going. “We’ll go to that gate and bush-whack our way in. Don’t know if I can find it but I think I can.”

Regardless of the outcome. The adventure was compelling. I looked forward to spending adventure-time in the woods with old friends.

Walter Coker was staff photographer for Folio Weekly, a tabloid that had its heyday prior to the digital revolution. It was a weekly pick-up and go-to for all events and news the daily paper didn’t print. Walter photographed me on many occasions in the past.

The appointed day came. I travelled south on Phillips Highway. It had been so long since I had gone that way. The once familiar landscape had been totally scraped and boxed to the point my bearings were shot. Eventually I found the tacky theater and them.

We stood in the parking lot, looked south into the tangle of briars and palmettos. “Dang” Neil began. “It’s been twenty years. I’m not sure anymore.”

“Let’s give it a shot.” Walter chimed in. “I think I remember where it was.”

We headed out south down the highway. Morning traffic was deafening. It’s a busy part of town.

A short walk brought us to a yellow gate. We were welcomed by a “No Tresspassing” sign we promptly ignored.

“Just squeeze through.” Walter said. Easier for him than for us.

For the next couple of hours we waded and walked. Looked up and down and left and right. No tree to be found.

“It’s here somewhere.” Neil was becoming exasperated. “I know it is.”

Neil looking for the tree.

Expect more to come about this journey. The Tree. Freedom Commerce Center. The debacle. The Save. For now, I’ll move on to the theme of this story. Planned Obsolescence.

So, yesterday, which happened to be Good Friday, I woke up early. Mid-week I had a procedure at MD Anderson. The Baptist Hospital system has a process which posts test results in a digital file a patient can access. It’s through a portal. The term makes me shiver for some reason. At any rate I kept trying to enter my portal. UGH. Tried the phone. Things kept spinning. I finally received a “code” to enter into my portal for access. Meanwhile I lost the opening to that hole. Got on the computer. I kept going down worm holes “slimy portals.” I messed up my tried-and-true launch page on my desktop. Lots of buzzing and lots of clicking led me nowhere. Access denied.

I felt my blood pressure climbing. Ineptitude fired more nerve endings than it should.

The phone buzzed it was Neil.

I started, “You know I’m a very rational person. Not a conspiracy theorist by any means. But I feel like there is a force out there that just wants us elders to give up and die.”

Neil: “You may be right.”

“I think that we are costing the government way too much money and it’s better to be rid of us.”

A laugh from the line. “Yeah, let’s just frustrate them to a point that death looks like a pleasant option.”

“Planned obsolescence. For sure.”

The Bible is pretty clear on the fact that three-score-ten (70) years is what we are designed for. That’s our planned point of obsolescence. Luck will shorten or lengthen that number. But reality is we don’t live forever.

Since I’ve passed that threshold I’ve been keenly aware that the end is near. I’m working as hard as I can to get all that I want to do finished. That may not happen but I’m giving it a shot. This TAXODIUM project has put new wind in my sails. Neil, Walter and I are determined to find that tree. I’m writing like crazy. Painting like crazy. Wake up in the middle of the night with ideas. I like it like that.

I have no desire to live forever. Nor do I want to overstay my welcome. There is an expiration date stamped on my bottom. Best by December 2023. But hopefully I’ll get another thirty years beyond that.

Mama and me in 2019. She was 95.

I decided to pray to Jesus to ask for enough time to finish what I’m working on. I knew Mama had him in a fitting room trying on a new silk suit for Easter. The idea of a grown man walking around in a robe and sandals didn’t fit well with her. I know she had picked out some nice suitable wing-tips for him. So I prayed to her instead.

So anyway, I asked Mama if she would convince Jesus to give me a bit more time. Knowing her, she’ll get her way. I didn’t commit to cleaning myself up, but It’s a consideration. Meanwhile, I’ll work like a dog and enjoy each and every day.

I suggest you all do the same.