The Pallet Boys

 If you sign up for a shift at the Community Center of Northern Westchester on any given day you meet a group of like-minded people. Each is giving their time to help those who need it. The tasks range from sorting donated clothes, to helping people pick out gently worn duds from the "shop" upstairs. You might pick up donations of food from local stores or farms, or deliver groceries to those stuck at home. Or you might help stock the shelves with vegetables or canned goods, or work the counter checking out those "shopping" and help pack their bags and carts. 

Each three-hour shift has its own cast, some regulars, some fill-ins. Volunteers all, they hail from all walks of life, from students to retirees to those who carve out a few hours a week from their regular jobs and worlds to be of help. As with any endeavor there are people of all types: quiet ones and outgoing sorts, deliberate workers and frantic ones, talkers and listeners. As one of the regulars, I can say it's all good: it's affirming to be around any type of person who shares the common bond of wanting to do good and help people who, for whatever reason, need a little extra at this point in their lives to get them through.

Deliveries and donations come in throughout the week, an ebb and flow that is hard to predict. But if you go on a Friday morning it's a little different, as that's the day of the biggest deliveries. One is from Feeding Westchester, the county food bank, while the other is from Driscoll, a commercial distributor. The amount varies week to week, but all told a typical Friday drop is 3 to 10 pallets, each weighing between 400 and 1000 pounds. There might be 30 forty-pound cases of chicken drumsticks, 20 forty-pound sacks of potatoes, the same of onions and beets, 30 cases of peanut butter, 20 of jelly, plus rice, mac and cheese, cereal, canned corn, dried beans, baby food and milk, both boxed and fresh. Add it all up and you are talking between 4,000 and 12,000 pounds of fresh, frozen and shelf stable foodstuffs. And that's the day The Pallet Boys come together.

Our nominal head is Anthony, the assistant operations manager who is on staff, and who has an actual plan to store and stage all that stuff. He has to captain and try to manage the rotating cast of characters that shows up to help with the juggle. That motley crew varies based on personal work schedules, vacations, doctors' appointments and injuries. The regulars include Rob and Rob, Paulie and Steve, and yours truly. Various others show up as available, some one-off guests, some former regulars or newbies: all are welcomed with genuine open arms and good-natured mocking. Honorary members include Crystal who handles the produce, James who checks in those coming to shop, and operations manager Nicole, who runs the volunteer program and is responsible for us all, not to mention the inventory. With no disrespect intended to that fabled assembly from World War II, some might call us a Band of Brothers. If you discount the trappings of the rap origins of the name and the facial grease paint, a more accurate description might be the Insane Clown Posse.

That's because, as volunteers, we sort-of answer to Anthony, but none of us are looking for a promotion or to build a career there. As such, the atmosphere is irreverent to say the least. Put downs and insults are the currency of the day, jokes and asides the coin of the realm. It's hard, physical work in all kinds of weather, be it heat, rain or snow. And we have to do it while not hurting ourselves or the clients whom the Center serves, no small feat for a bunch of generally older guys with iffy backs hauling sacks that have the consistency of dead bodies. It's a dance with hand trucks and boxes, a Nutcracker Suite with actual nuts, both human and shelf stable.

With any luck the trucks come early, the frozen blueberries get put away before they start to thaw and leak, and we knock it out by lunchtime. After that it's pizza to unwind and to continue any "important" discussions, review weekend plans and confirm who is coming the following Friday. After all, they're expecting 800 pounds of frozen salami, and it ain't gonna put itself away.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has been volunteering at CCNW for the last 4 years; it's become his second home and family. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Older by Steps

We tend to think of aging as a simple line graph. On the bottom is the calendar, one tick for every New Year's Day. On the left side is our age, a marker for each year we are above ground. It starts in the bottom left corner on the day we are born, and with a little bit of luck, ends somewhere in the top right eighty or ninety years later. It's a steady progression come hell or high water, one up, one over, a pattern that no one has ever figured out how to change.

On the other hand, we generally look at our health and the aging process as the exact opposite. That graph has the same left axis of years we are alive, but with your birthday at the top. Meanwhile, the bottom ticks represent our overall health from good to, well, less so. That line starts in the top left when we are born, when all systems are hopefully "go" and functioning perfectly. As the years click by that line steadily descends as things start to not work so well: a knee, a shoulder, your stomach, your teeth. The reasons vary, from an injury received, to the fallout from a bug or disease, to just normal wear and tear. Only one thing is for sure: the overall direction doesn't change, and both graphs reach their final points at the same time.

Every person has a slightly different trajectory, zigging here and zagging there. That means that your aging plot line is hardly as straight as its calendar sibling, nor the same as your neighbor's. But according to a recent study we actually all align at two major inflection points in our lives. These changes happen to every person at a molecular level, regardless of our overall health. Scientists at Stanford published a study in the journal "Nature Aging" that shows that humans get suddenly older around age 44, and then again around age 60.

The researchers followed 108 participants over several years, conducting a range of tests and collecting multiple samples of biological materials. They also kept track of each person's personal microbiome, charting their RNA, proteins and metabolites, the end results of the body breaking down food, drugs or other chemicals. All together they amassed over 250 billion distinct data points from which to draw their conclusions. Even adjusting for women in the sample experiencing menopause and its effects, the data showed no discernible difference between males and females, nor by race. It seems that we just have a sharp increase in molecular changes at middle age, and then again before social security kicks in. 

As to whether these changes are driven by biological alterations, behavioral ones or a mixture of both, the jury is still out. However, evidence points to the influence of at least some external factors. For example, the mid-40 cohort correlates with raising families and the stress that causes, which can also result in an increased use in alcohol, poor diet and reduced sleep, all factors which have been previously linked to age-related illnesses. In other words, your teenager might scientifically be causing you to get older. 

With that in mind, one wonders if the scientists shouldn't broaden their criteria and look for similar matches along the way. There are plenty of other inflection points that certainly seem to age us in spurts. Middle school takes a toll, not to mention freshman year of college. Your first job interview can wreak havoc, as does your first apartment. Marriage, first child, a dog: check, check, check. Unless your name is Dorian Gray or Benjamin Button, each of those inflection points adds (or subtracts depending on your outlook) a few years in physical, emotional and psychological wear and tear. Our aging graph starts to look less like a line, and more like, with apologies to Led Zeppelin, a stairway from heaven. 

Speaking from my own experience, I can certainly say that my personal graph moves in fits and starts, some days with way more starts. Being a sample of one, I hesitate to draw any widespread conclusions. But I can't be the only person who thought "this is gonna take years off my life" at multiple points along the way. I may have been pulling my hair out; I didn't know I was corrupting my molecules as well.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford feels older every day, some days more than others. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Take A Seat

One of our great joys of any summer season like the one just wrapped up is spending time outdoors with family and friends. Often that is at some kind of performance on the grass, usually music spanning the gamut from pop to orchestral to folk, and often accompanied by dinner and drinks. At these varied events we see lots of like-minded folk. And just as their dining arrangements vary... some have sandwiches, others takeout, others tables laid with full sets of china... so too does their seating span the spectrum. And while I am always curious what others are having for dinner, I am just as curious as where they are parking their butts.

After all, it's hard to think of anything that hasn't changed so much in 20 or 30 years that the newer thing is not seriously better. This is not about style: some prefer higher or lower hems, flatter or puffier coats, wider or tighter jeans. This is about advances in the underlying technology that renders stuff that is decades old obsolete, dangerous or just plain quaint.

It goes without saying that those advances include phones and computers: size, capabilities, ease of use and battery life all make current models not just evolutionary from their grandchildren but revolutionary. You can say the same about automobiles with their computerized engine management, anti-lock braking and driver assist features. Even cooking has advanced: back then no one had ever heard of induction cooktops or sous vide machines. 

In many cases it's not like you even wanted these advanced capabilities. Steve Jobs famously said, "Some people say, 'Give the customers what they want.' But that's not my approach. Our job is to figure out what they're going to want before they do." He's wasn't wrong. I didn't know I needed a mapping system that wasn't a folded-up piece of paper before I had it. Now I find myself keying in an address even if I'm just going 10 miles to find the least trafficked way to get there. 

But in other cases, I don't know if I need all that new stuff. Call me old fashioned, but my kettle boils water just fine. There are many other products that count their age in decades or longer that work just fine, and any advancements don't seem to do a whole lot in the way of advancement. Which brings us winding back to folding chairs. 

Ours have some serious history on them. Not the sand models that sit low that one uses for the beach, nor the higher version from backyard barbeques in the sixties made of nylon webbing that that leaves waffle marks on your thighs, they are as basic as can be. They have an aluminum strut arrangement like a squared off teepee that folds up, capped by a nylon seat and back. On each arm is a cutout for a drink, though at this point the mesh that makes up that pocket is ripped and disintegrated to be basically useless.

For sure we could upgrade... perhaps there is a better way to perch. As I look around at any event, I see the range of advancements that seating scientists have turned into the state of the art over the past 20 years. Over there is a model that sports a footrest. Over there is one that has hydraulic struts on the rear legs so that the chair effectively is a rocker. That one there has a canopy that flops over, while that one has two wide arms, each capable of supporting a plate with a slice of pizza. And that one there extends from the size of stout travel umbrella to what looks like a bucket seat. I watched the owner put Strut A into Slot B, Strut C into Slot D, Cross Brace F into Channel Y, and slide Collar M over and through Assembly CKG. Or was that into Channel JWP? As Ed Norton put it on the classic "Better Living Through Television" episode of "The Honeymooners" as Ralph demonstrated his Handy Housewife Helper, "Zip, zip! It's zipping the modern way. Amazing!"

The question is a simple one: for all their zipping, are any of them any better? Envy being a terrible vice, I have to say that from afar I coveted my neighbor's chair, indeed, several of them. One at a time I ordered them from Amazon, set them up and test squatted in them in the backyard, only to pack each up and send them back. I have come to the conclusion that I am a simple man with a simple butt. Or as attributed to Satchel Paige but ultimately traced to a Maine fisherman in the 1900's, "Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits." 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is still looking for a better chair. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

One Five Zero Zero

Legendary writer-editor Pete Hamill once said "When I go three days without writing, my body aches with anxiety; my mood is irritable. My night dreams grow wild with unconscious invention." Let me say this plainly: I am not him, I sleep just fine. I can easily go three days, a week, even a month without putting words on a page. I could take a bike ride. I could bake a cake or make dinner. I could play with my computer or practice guitar. I could take a nap. I could do lots of things, and do them without a second thought that they are drawing me away from the keyboard. But on this occasion, when the number that's at the top of my masthead is 1500, I do feel a kinship with Mr. Hamill.

One Five Zero Zero. A nice round number, in certain circles it stands on its own: a tax form (Pennsylvania Inheritance), a truck (Ram Pickup) or an address in Washington DC (the US Treasury Department). Even the mathematically challenged can factor it easily (15 X 100). But in this instance it represents a milestone signaling the current run of this column. Come rain or shine, work or vacation, sickness or health, I've done my level best to pump them out as regularly as weekly clockwork. At 52 instances a year, it means I'm about to enter the 30th year of the continual musing I've been doing in this space for the past 10,523 days, give or take a few hours. 

Hamill also said that "writers are rememberers," but I look at it a slightly different way. My inspiration (which is a term that gives it way more gravitas than it deserves) comes more from observation, from things that cause me to stop and go "Huh?" I look at them, tilt my head like Nipper the dog, and wonder if someone else (such as you) might find it as interesting as me. The task I set before myself each week is to learn about that thing and relate it in a way that hopefully causes you to tilt your head as well. Yes, I do need to remember these tidbits, but it's more about writing them down so I don't forget to tackle them, as opposed to plumbing the depths of my memories. Hamill again: "Getting out any weekly magazine requires many hours of reading, choosing, discarding, and thinking beyond the obvious." Substitute "column" for "magazine" and that's my weekly lift.

If you go to the beach you see people of all persuasions. Some people dive into the waves every time, some just curl up their toes on the edge of the surf, still others have no intention of ever going near the water. And so it is with this space: visitors run the gamut from loyalists to driveby readers. Some dive to the bottom every week, some sample every couple of outings, some just read the top line and move on. Whatever your predilection, I'm happy you have stopped by at some point for however long it suits you.

And so, depending on your cohort, you may or may not have been here late last year for #1461 and "Too Much Is Not Enough" as we looked at binge watching. Or deep in the depths of pandemic in 2020 when #1273 talked about Zoom habits in "Green (Screen) Is The New Black." Or way back in 2011 when I waxed rhapsodically over a sandwich made for me in #806's "In Praise of Lyndon." Other ruminations were on biometrics (#1473 "Is that Your Face?"), RV conventions (#969 "Not So Secret Society") or how life eclipses fiction (#711 "You Can't Make This Stuff Up"). Not to worry: if you have FOMO, the mood strikes you or you have nothing better to do with your life, oodles are available online where you can catch up on those you missed. 

Next week we will get back to making fun of the foolish. Maybe we'll try to better understand apostrophes, talk about folding chairs and, politics aside, the best ways to calm cats. But for now I will note on this rest stop what I have said at other similar mileposts: if you'll keep reading, I'll keep writing. I'll try and keep my eyes and ears open for something that might interest us both, use all 26 letters where possible, and bring a smile to your face whenever I can. 

One last thing, before we continue, and it is perhaps the most important: know how grateful I am for your attention and time, both of which are in short supply and high demand. As any reader of this space knows, I like to travel, and it's a lot more fun to look out the window when you have someone with which to share the journey. So thanks for taking the ride with me. And now? Break's over, time to get back on the road.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford plans to keep this effort going, if you'll have it. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.