Okay, so here I sit and there is a dog on the floor beside me who is morally (possibly even biologically) opposed to humans using technology when he’s nearby. In other words, he’s smarter than most humans, including me.
Despite the canine objections…seeing as how I’m well into retirement, I was struck with this thought: At what age does a man become a codger?
So I clicked over to Quora. Lots of ideas and discussion [and ads, but I’m sure you’re as adept as I am at looking past that stuff.]
And it set off my idea machine [ten ideas ideally on a single topic] exercise for the day:
Find ten writing topics from this page on Quora.
1. When did I become a codger?
2. Does my dog think I’m a codger? [An interview]
And I came across, this guy on Quora, who fed me all kinds of topics—
He says he still believes in ‘silly little things like:
3, “Life is simply a never ending series of decisions.”
4. “We are in control of our destiny, although politicians think they are.”
And my favorite…
5. “Worry is the most egregious mistreatment of imagination that there is.”
This person is also shooting to live to 112 1/2—a source of multiple topics…
6. “What if I knew I’d live that long? How would I live my life right now?”
7. “Do I want to live that long?”
8. “If I knew the exact date, or even month, of my passing, how would I treat those last few months?”
And circling back to the original ‘When did I become a codger?’…
9. Would there be a new classification/label for someone who’s hanging around at 112?
10. Where would I be warehoused at that age?
11. Would I still have a dog at that age?
12. When should we decide to NOT have a dog? [i.e. don’t want to leave him ownerless/homeless if I should pass—or— don’t want to be so feeble that I can’t take good care of him]
So these are thoughts that might have entered my mind as I celebrated World Baking Day yesterday. Instead, I focused on chocolate chip-peanut butter-cranberry cookies and a fresh loaf of Italian cheese bear bread.