Now that I’m playing at the UIC Chess Club, I’m starting to recall how I used to play chess. The last time I played chess seriously was in high school about thirty-two years ago. Somehow, my chess skills have gotten rusty! The chess atmosphere has changed a lot since then. I kind of miss the cigar smoke while playing chess.
These players in the UIC Chess Club are really into chess, but their attitude is completely different from mine. When I got into chess, I felt impelled to learn everything possible about the game. I learned the history of chess, the important chess players, the terminology, and the classic chess openings. As I played the last two Tuesdays, I tried to remember some of the terminology, but no one knew any of it–or even seemed remotely interested in learning terms like rank, row, file, or column.
One player touched a piece and said, “I adjust.” I said, “You mean, ‘J’adoube.'” My remark was met with a blank stare. Hmm.
One player asked advice of another, and I never heard anyone talk about “control the center” or “castle early.” This was like culture shock to me. Later, a few players discussed the merits of learning book openings, and the consensus was that learning openings wasn’t necessary to become a talented player. I was so rusty that I lost most of my games. I was surprised that I won any games at all. I would inadvertently give away pieces or set myself up for a knight fork. When I was playing chess, I used to open P-K4; now it’s E4. This will take some getting used to. My biggest surprise came when I had to take back a move because I was in check. No one says, “Check!” when they check your king. I’m so rusty that I didn’t realize that I was in check.
Well, I improved when I returned the next Tuesday. I try to be realistic and try to evaluate just how well I played when I was in high school. Even back then I made bad moves or gave up pieces. But I’m sure I will improve with a little more practice.
Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com
My brother Danny called me so I could give him a ride to the hospital in order to get a medical procedure. He gave me a three-week notice, but he didn’t specify what medical procedure he would undergo. But he did ask me a few questions about my health and health care. Well, I’m 52 and he’s 50, so he mentioned that we were both at the age were a prostate cancer exam is recommended. My brother has been going to the doctor a lot the last few years. He asked when I last went to the doctor. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I went to see a doctor. I have had a lot of bad experiences with doctors, so I try to avoid them. For as long as I can remember, I would get acute pains in various parts of my body.
Once in high school, I felt pains between my ribs around my heart. It felt as if someone put a broomstick between my ribs and was prying them apart. I was about seventeen. My mother thought I was exaggerating and told me the pains were all in my head. But they weren’t. I kept complaining about the pain to my mother until she finally took me to the doctor. When I described my pains to the doctor, he stared at me blankly and said that they were just growing pains. That was the end of my doctor’s visit. The pains persisted for about a week, but eventually went away just as mysteriously as they came. And, thankfully, I didn’t die–obviously!
About twenty years ago, I felt a sharp pain in one of my testicles. I continued my daily run despite the pain. I have this uncanny ability to block out pain. The pain increased so much that I eventually made an appointment with a doctor. He told me that I should wear an athletic supporter when I went running. That was all the advice the doctor gave me! I said, “But I feel a lot of pain!” “What are you worried about?” he asked. “Cancer,” I said. He then told me that I was too old to get testicular cancer. I felt much better after that information.
Another time, the white part of my eye had turned completely blood red. When I woke up and saw my eye–oddly, I didn’t feel any pain while I slept–I panicked. I called my optometrist and he told me to come in immediately, probably due the urgency in my voice. When he examined me, he said, “It’s nothing to worry about.” “What do you mean? My entire eye is red!” But there was nothing he or anyone else could do for me. Eventually, my eye cleared up.
So when my brother called me, I tried very hard to remember the last time I saw a doctor. He asked me who my doctor was. Well, I don’t have a doctor. Do you want to know why? Because he died! My doctor and I were both about the same age; I could tell because we both had the same chronological reference points. He used to tell me how I should watch my diet and exercise and all the usual doctorly advice. One day, I had the flu really bad and I tried to make an appointment with my doctor. He wasn’t available. The next time I saw him, my doctor told me that he had had a heart attack. I thought, “Doctor, heal thyself!” This was the doctor who was advising me on how to live a healthy life! About a year later, I had one of those mysterious, sharp pains in my side by my kidney. I immediately called my doctor to make an appointment. He wasn’t available. And he would never be available for appointments ever again. He had died of a heart attack the week before. That was the last time I saw a doctor.
When I was in Mexico, I learned that I could trust all the Mexicans with whom I dealt. My first trip I was extremely cautious on the road since I traveled alone. When I met up with my family in Celaya, I realized that I didn’t really know anyone since I had not seen some of my relatives in more than twenty years and some had not even been born yet the last time I was in Celaya. However, I always felt I could trust all my family members without any reservations.
The only Mexicans that I felt that I could never trust were in Nuevo Laredo when I crossed the border. They just looked like shady characters to me as they tried to hustle me into hiring them as a tour guide to get a visa and auto permit. Perhaps, I was merely prejudging, but I didn’t feel safe around them. I just sped past them with my windows rolled up. There were some people who were outright begging there.
I had flown and taken the train on my previous trips, but I had never driven to Mexico before. I asked advice for my driving vacation from everyone who had ever driven to Mexico. The consensus was to stay on the main toll roads even though I would have to pay tolls because these were the safest roads in Mexico. My cousin advised me not to drive after midnight. I wanted to ask her why not, but then I realized that I would feel any safer not knowing why not. I didn’t drive after 10 pm because I had no idea what to expect.
For example, I didn’t know about la propina, the tip. When I needed gas for the first time in Mexico, I stopped at a Pemex gas station. I didn’t realize that was my only choice since the petroleum industry is a government monopoly. First, I was surprised to be greeted by an attendant who asked me what kind of gas and how much I wanted. I can’t even remember when I last saw a full-service gas station. I tried to pay with my credit card, but they only accepted cash. I didn’t realize I was supposed to tip him, so I didn’t. However, he never gave me any kind of signal that I was supposed to tip him, and he never complained to me as I drove away. Later, my cousins explained that everyone in Mexico lives off tips. From then on, I tipped everyone. And generously, whenever possible.
One of the things I liked about Mexico was that car washes were available at many parking lots. When I’m in Chicago, my car is always dirty because I don’t like to go out of the way to go to the carwash. In Mexico, the carwash comes to you. I went with my sons and cousins to the mall in Celaya to see Kung Fu Panda. An elderly man approached me after I parked my car and asked me if I wanted my car washed. I asked him how much and he was reluctant to tell me. Finally, he told me thirty pesos. He was going to wash my car and then I would pay him when I returned. He trusted me. But I knew we would be in mall for a few hours, and it was already 6:00 pm, so, he might not be there when we came out–unless he stayed just to wait for me. I asked my cousin if it was okay to pay him before we went in. I trusted the man at his word and knew my car would be washed when I returned. My cousin was noncommittal. So, I paid and my car was washed when we returned about midnight. The man had been long gone by then.
I trusted everyone and I felt comfortable in Mexico. I had no reason to be distrustful of Mexicans in general. Once, when I stopped at a tire shop for air, the attendant inflated my tires. He stood there for a moment without saying a word. I asked him how much I owed him. He said whatever I wanted to give him. I gave him twenty pesos and he seemed happy with that. Anyone who did anything for you accepted whatever amount you gave them and was always grateful for it. I was always afraid that they would overcharge me. In fact, I was so happy that they didn’t, so I would end up over-tipping them.
Unfortunately, the White Sox season ended yesterday. But no one ever gave them a chance to even finish better than third or fourth place in their division. So, everyone–except the White Sox and their fans–was surprised that the Sox made it to the post-season. They were in first place for most of the season before slipping down in the standings, but they battled their way back into first place by playing an extra playoff game against the Minnesota Twins. They gave the Tampa Bay Rays a good fight and they lost the series to a team with ninety-seven regular season wins (not the Cubs!).
The Cubs were given a celebration rally downtown for their first-place finish in the National League Central Division. And the White Sox. ¡Nada! Not even a pat on the back!!! But alas, the White Sox and their fans hail from the much-maligned South Side. Those scrappy White Sox of 2008 are representative of the working-class, no-nonsense fans who support them. Yes, they’re a little rough around the edges, as witnessed by Sox fans who gloated when the Sox beat the Rays in game three. Yes, they berated the Cubs and their fans for being swept from the playoffs in a mere three games. But the big, bad White Sox lost in four games! The Cubs had their dream team and were supposed to go all the way to the World Series. The Sox, on the other hand, fought to win every single game. And even though they lost, their fans cheered them on until the very end.
Dr. D. running for the Beatrice Corporate Marathon Team.
I’ve often heard that “work” is a four-letter word. No wonder I try to avoid it at all costs. But wait, “word” is also a four-letter word! Hm. And so is “four!”
The more I think about work, the less I like it. I’ve worked all my adult life despite never having a job that I really loved, or at least liked even a little bit. I mean, I can work extremely hard as long as what I do isn’t classified as “work.” If I have to do physical or intellectual labor for someone else, and hopefully, for a salary, I’m unhappy and resentful.
I can work out all day just for the fun of it because I’m doing it just for me. Years ago, when I ran marathons, I used to run more than one-hundred-mile weeks just because I loved running marathons and I wanted to run my fastest marathon possible.
One of my pet peeves of having a job is having a boss who bosses me around. But worse than me being ordered about by someone on a power trip who loves to exert his or her authority just to show everyone who’s the boss, is having me in charge and having me order people around.
When I worked at the peanut butter factory, I did repetitive, monotonous manual labor. My first job was stacking sixty cases of peanut butter on wooden pallets. Each case weighed about forty pounds. I learned how to save a step here, an arm movement there. When you work eight hours doing manual labor, every motion adds up. That was the only way to conserve my energy so I wouldn’t wear myself out. Sometimes when the assembly line broke down, I got to rest awhile. Eventually, I brought a paperback with me so I could read during my breaks and whenever the line was down. Well, my bosses couldn’t stand to see me sitting there doing nothing, so they would always find something for me to do like sweep the floor, stack pallets up, etc. Well, no matter how many things I was supposed to do during that downtime, I always figured out a way to do everything more efficiently. No matter. I still always had time to sit and read. My boss finally gave up on finding more tasks for me.
My mother used to get mad at me because I didn’t aspire to get promoted or take better paying positions such as mechanic. My mother coached me as to what to say whenever I was approached to advance on the job. The boss would usually ask if I could do a certain task and I was supposed to answer, “No, but I can learn!” Every time I was asked, I would say, “No, I don’t know how.” “Would you like to learn?” “No.” And that would be the end of my climbing the company ladder.
Somehow, my mother would always find out about my new job offer and yell at me for not accepting the promotion. She would call me lazy and unambitious. Back then I was really into kung fu, so on my days off I would work out all day. I want to build up my endurance and stamina. In fact, at work I could work tirelessly for hours. Then, one day, against my wishes–due to a shortage of manpower–I was promoted to assistant foreman on one of the peanut butter production lines. Suddenly, I found myself having to boss my fellow employees around. And they didn’t like it! They liked me well enough as a coworker but hated me as their boss. One likely reason was because I was younger than them. I was caught in the middle. My boss would give me orders to get certain things done, and I had to make the workers work. Well, absolutely no one obeyed any of my commands. So, silently, I started doing all the work that had to be done. And everyone just watched me. I didn’t complain. I just kept working, minding my own business. I didn’t know what else to do. At least, I wouldn’t get in trouble for not working. Eventually, everyone started working alongside me. I was shocked! When we were done, the foreman showed up and congratulated us on a job well-done. After that, I never bossed anyone around, but everyone did their job before I even had to tell them. Go figure!
Chicago USA 