Author: Jim Hagarty

So there was an ad on the Internet. It offered a $250,000 life insurance policy “from $18 a month” with no health inspection necessary. The ad was accompanied by a picture of an old woman so it was obvious it was legitimate and targeted to seniors.

I’ve been looking at the ad for months and finally decided to check it out. I filled out a simple form, included my phone number, stated my age and, because I am not a greedy man, put down that I would like a policy which would pay only $200,000 after the Grim Reaper pays me a visit. I thought it would help my family pay off all the debt I racked up on the plastic surgery for my face.

I can afford $18 a month, I thought. Maybe even a little more.

Ten seconds after I pressed send, my phone rang. A very nice young man interviewed me. He asked me more questions than I was expecting about my lifestyle and my health and then told me to stay on the line while he came up with my free quote.

Finally, he came back to tell me what I could probably expect to pay.

“It’s expensive,” he said, “because of your age and a few other things. You’re looking at spending at least $1,356.”

I quickly calculated and thought that figure, though high, still amounted to just over $100 a month, which might be doable.

“That is high but I might be interested at just over $100 a month,” I told the sales rep.

“No, you misunderstand,” he replied. “That’s $1,356 a month.”

Well, that call ended quicker than many of the ones I made as a teenager looking for a date.

“You could get $100,000 for under $700 a month,” said the salesman, but it was too late. My dream was shattered.

So, for a mere $16,272 a year, I could have a $200,000 payout upon my death from extreme handsomeness. After 10 years, I would have spent $1,620,720 for my policy, leaving $37,280 for my heirs. After 12 years, they’d have only $4,736 to spend on my going-away party.

But I can now see where I made my critical errors. I shouldn’t have told the interviewer about my frequent skydiving, my penchant for hangliding, my deep-sea diving to explore sunken ships and my sideline as a homemade dynamite maker.

But I think what really did me in was the coughing fit I had during the phone call which seemed to make the sales rep very nervous. He kept asking me if I was okay.

Once again, my quest for riches has fallen through. So it’s back to making 20 cents an hour doing surveys.

On the Internet.

©2022 Jim Hagarty

By the time a man is rounding third base in this big hardball game of life, he has discovered some valuable truths that he could have used when he was a much younger version of himself.

Some men come to these verities through spiritual exercises such as meditation, others hike off into the wilderness to commune with nature (I might do that but bears live in the wilderness) while still others dedicate themselves to helping humankind, building schools and churches and digging wells in developing lands.

A few years ago, I came to my own Epiphanous Moment, which, while a little less lofty than what other men have arrived at, is of paramount importance in my life.

That Moment of Truth for me came in the form of a little clear plastic jar filled with brown, smoothy peanut butter. I had always known about the Wondrous Butter of the Majestic Peanut and fell face first into it now and then over the years, but it wasn’t until I combined it with the Clear Orchardian Juice of the Orange that I was knocking on Heaven’s Door.

PB, OJ and JH begin communing each night about midnight and these days can be seen standing over the kitchen sink repeating the cycle again at 2, 4 and even 6 a.m. These are my Mountaintop Moments.

In light of all this, it is vitally important that an adequate supply of PB and OJ be kept on hand at all times. Especially the PB. It is possible to substitute apple juice or even lemonade for orange juice but there is no replacement for the butter of the peanut.

Since the beginning of this pandemic, I have been all but locked in a shed in the backyard as it has been determined by other household members that the virus would not be kind to me, for various reasons I don’t fully understand. I haven’t minded this situation too much but it has left me dependent on others to provide me with my necessities. That system has worked out fairly well but a tragedy befell me earlier this week when our supply of peanut butter ran out. I thought we had one jar left. I was horribly wrong.

So by last night, I had gone three nights without my vital elixir. My nerves began to fray. My patience was gone. The dog hid behind the couch and the cat behind the water heater.

Each day I was told by the Authorities that my fix was on its way and each day I was let down as this reason and that prevented grocery store visits. Finally, last night, two family members ventured out to the store on a quest to find me my peanut butter. It was their Sole Mission.

Eventually, they came home, their goods were deposited here and there and they went to bed. I said goodnight and sat on the couch with my laptop and lapdog (I have a big lap), enjoying the quiet beside the Christmas tree and looking forward to midnight.

Finally, at the appointed time, I ventured smugly to the fridge and poured myself a big glass of cold OJ. I opened the cupboard where the PB is kept to find a big empty space. Unfazed, I headed out to our heated garage where our Covid-19 supplies are kept, expecting to see at least four beautiful green-topped jars on the shelves.

There were no jars to be seen.

A wee bit concerned by this time, I pulled on my boots and went out to the car to see if a bag of groceries had been left in the back seat or the trunk. This has happened before.

Nothing.

When the tragic shopping trip was reconstructed the next morning, the sad explanation was offered that the two family members were occupied talking about Christmas and forgot about the only reason they went to the store in the first place, buying little useless bits of this and that instead.

Another important thing to focus on as your sixth decade on this earth draws to a close is Forgiveness. Sometimes, that commodity is harder to find and serve up than the butter of the peanut and the juice of the orange. Nevertheless, if we want to make it peacefully from third base to home plate and beyond, it is our challenge.

Think of me. It’s getting cold in the shed.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

One of my favourite features on the TV remote controls we own is their mute buttons, renamed, since 2015, our Donald Trump buttons.

It is so handy to be able to instantly stop the sound of a terrible politician or the horrific scenes of war and natural disasters, not to mention the new blight of election deniers, dedicated doomsayers and committed conspiracy quacks. My getting to sleep at night depends on my mind not being filled with horsecrap and heartaches when my head hits the pillow.

Given all this, imagine my surprise and delight to discover this week that the remote control for my first-ever hearing aids has a mute button. I can now filter out sounds around the house I don’t want to hear including those being made by the people I live with.

I hold the little device discreetly in my right hand and if I need to take a break from listening, all I need to is press mute. All these years, in order to mute the voices of the people who I call my family, I have had to run into my bedroom and slam the door or race out to the shed and hide behind the lawnmower.

I don’t intend to leave the impression that I live with objectionable people. They are wonderful in every way it is possible to be wonderful. Nevertheless, there are a few phrases expressed now and then that I’d rather not hear.

I find my myself muting:

“And another thing …”

“Do you know where the fifty dollars in the cash jar disappeared to?”

“Did you eat the last …”

I don’t know if it’s right or wrong to mute your family. I guess I’ll find that out when I face my judgment in the next dimension after I ask St. Peter to please speak up.

But whether right or wrong, I have to say …

It’s kind of fun.

©2021 Jim Hagarty

When I was a kid, I had my antennae alert a lot of times for any compliments that might come my way. I was insecure about my value and worth to this world, and welcomed any sign of validation from anyone, even if the words could barely pass the praise test.

For a time, I even became an attention seeker and I didn’t like myself for that but seemed powerless to stop it.

All that was a long time ago and I think I have left most of it behind. I am not one of those hardy souls who brags that, “I don’t care what people think of me,” but I believe I have more balance than ever before in my life.

The other day, I read out a poem to my family as we were all sitting around. They listened intently, not knowing the origin of the piece, and when I was done, my wife said, “Did you write that?” I told her the poem was mine. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to.

For a writer, in my case anyway, the highest form of praise is to be asked the question, “Did you write that?” Whether it’s a story, a poem or a song, it’s fun to present it to others and hope someone will wonder aloud if it was yours and not the creation of some famous, world-renowned writer. Sometimes they do, other times they don’t.

And this can apply to more than just writing.

“Did you take that photo? Wow!”

“Oh my God. Did you make that coffee table?”

“You painted that? Holy mackerel.”

And those questions are enhanced if they are followed by:

“You’re kidding me.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“You’re telling me you actually did this?”

From the day we are born, our biggest fear is the loss of love. Our biggest hope is to win some love or to keep the love we have. To have others admire something about us, whether it’s the way we decorate our house, or our bodies or, with our art and the things we create with our hands, the world around us, is no small thing.

The important thing to remember, however, is that while what we offer might be great, we should never assume it is the greatest.

Unless we are talking about our children. Because they truly are the best.

And no, I’m not kidding you.

They are the best.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

Four years ago at Christmas, I was given a GPS tracker for my car. It’s a nice little jobbie which I have never used. I prefer the direction finder on my smartphone.

So, after taking my gift out of the box and fooling around with it for a while, I put it back in the box and set it on a high shelf in the garage.

There I found it yesterday when I was trying to tidy up out there. I brought the box in, charged up the clever little gizmo and hooked it up to my computer to update the maps. Then, realizing I still have no use for this amazing hardware and not wanting to possess it any longer, I put it up for sale on the Internet. I think it cost about $80 or $90 new, so I decided to ask $40.

Two things happened. Within an hour or two, half a dozen people declared their wish to buy it. This had the effect of making me think I was charging too little for it and my greedy nature took over. But it was too late. I will have to live forever with the knowledge that I could have gotten another $20 for it.

The second odd thing that developed was a little feature of human nature I have noticed before many times in my life. Because so many people wanted this thing, I suddenly wanted it too. I have no use for it. I could use the 40 bucks. But it’s kind of like breaking up with a girlfriend and then seeing her walking down the street with someone else a week later. Suddenly, the enormity of your mistake becomes very clear to you in situations like that.

However, I soon won’t own my GPS and out of sight, maybe it will be out of mind someday too. And I will try to comfort myself with the notion that someone else is making good use of something that has sat on my shelf for four years.

But there is one fear that haunts me. The eventual buyer of the item, realizes he got it on the cheap, puts it back on the Internet for $60 and makes the $20 I should have had.

I will have to go lie down now.

©2018 Jim Hagarty

One spring day in 1996, I was sitting with a friend in a coffeeshop when my cellphone rang. It was my wife Barb announcing that it was time to go to the hospital. So we went there and came home with our own new baby boy.

Twenty-two months later I was sitting in the same coffeeshop, again enjoying another coffee, when my cellphone rang, just as it had before. Off to the hospital. Bouncing baby girl.

Obviously something had to be done.

So, I announced to the manager of my favourite little diner that I would not be bringing my cellphone into his coffeeshop any more. And as I expected, that was the end of our population boom.

This reminded me of the story of the young Scottish farmer named Angus whose wife was about to give birth to their first child. The doctor showed up at the farm in the middle of the night and as these were the old days, there was no electricity in their little house.

“Angus, Angus come and hold the light,” commanded the doctor, so Angus did that and lo and behold, a beautiful baby boy was born.

Overwhelmed with joy, Angus went outside for some fresh air when he suddenly heard the doctor call again, “Angus, Angus come and hold the light.” So, in Angus went and did as he was told and soon, he had another baby boy, identical to the first.

In a bit of shock now, Angus went back outside to try to take in these new realities. “Angus, Angus come and hold the light,” yelled Doc. In went Angus. Out came baby boy number three.

Now Angus stumbled outside and could hardly breathe. How would they feed three young boys on the meagre earnings from their little farm?

While he was figuring this out, puffing nervously on a cigarette, he heard once again, “Angus, Angus, come and hold the light.”

This time Angus called back: “I’ll noah hold the light fer yu. I think the light’s attractin’ them.”

©2011 Jim Hagarty

I am feeling very good about myself tonight and after I explain to you the reason for that, I am sure you will agree I have every right to be proud.

It took me all day, this fine late autumn day, but lying on my side on my driveway with various tools scattered around me, I finally got my summer tires installed.

I ran into an old friend of mine one day in August and he pointed out that I still had my winter tires on. I felt a bit sheepish about that and pointed out that I have been driving on my snow tires for the past two years.

He shot me a grimace that seemed to have a lot of judgment behind it. Never one to enjoy anyone grimacing at me, especially an old buddy, I decided that this was a situation I could not let stand.

I needed to change my tires.

However, for me, intending to do something and doing it are often as far away as Ireland is from Hawaii.

So, it took me till today, Dec. 11, to get my summers on and now on they are. When August rolls around again, my old friend will not have the opportunity to shoot me some tire judgment.

Actually, the fact is, when I went out to get into my car this morning, it was to discover that my right front winter tire was as flat as Donald Trump’s hairdo and the other one was about six months pregnant.

My poor winter tires, lately, have held air like a pair of fishnet stockings might, and while I am all in favour of fishnet stockings in the right setting, apparently tires are in constant need of air. My summer tires perform that task more like a pair of big woolen socks might, so I should be good to go.

And, lucky for me, I hear we are going to have an early summer next year.

There is a fine line between being late to a thing and being early. I am going out on a limb to suggest that I am the first person in my town to have already installed his summer tires. I think that fact should score me some admiration from the community.

I just hope that someone, maybe even a committee, will soon be busy planning a parade.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

I was sitting at my desk this morning, quite placidly, reading the hair-raising news on the Internet. The phone rang at 10:50 a.m. It was the vet. I was supposed to have our dog Toby there for his annual checkup at 10:40. Sorry, I forgot. Rescheduled to 11:20.

Quick, try to convince Toby, at that early in the day, to go for his noon-hour walk. He knows when his noon-hour walk is. Took some pleading and trickery. Get his sweater on. Can’t find his booties. Walked him up the street to pee and poop. He did the former, not the latter. He knew something was up.

Got him in the car. He started crying. Cried all the way from my house to the vet clinic. Got him out of the car, still crying (both of us, by this time), and into the big building he knows and hates so well. Sat on my lap in the waiting room, crying. Finally taken to an examination room. Put him up on the table. He spent the next 10 minutes trying to get off the table. Wrestled with him like I might an angry cobra. Thought he might jump out the window.

Aw, finally, a vet. Short interview. Answer lots of questions. “The vet will be in soon,” she said. Rats. Thought she was the vet. Twenty minutes go by. More cobra wrestling. Finally, in comes the vet. More questions. Doggie’s teeth, ears and eyes checked and he gets a needle. He likes getting needles as much as I do. All clear given. Meet you at the front counter.

Go out there, let Toby run around. My bill is produced. Can I pay that in monthly instalments over the next five years? No instalment program available. Look down after paying to see a large dog poop nugget. Then another. Five in all. Fish out a doggie bag to pick up my poodle’s excrement. Lots of sorries all around. Sorry for missing my appointment, sorry for the dog poo, sorry for sobbing when presented with the bill.

Then I looked up to see a slide show playing on a computer screen. A bunch of nice pictures and “did you knows”. Did you know cats can crawl up in your engine to stay warm in winter? Check. Did you know dogs can get frostbite if left out too long in winter? Check. Did you know winter sidewalk salt can hurt their paws? Double check.

But the best one of all:

Did you know people who have pets live longer, have less stress and fewer heart attacks?

Nope. Didn’t know that one.

Went home. Fell into recliner exhausted. Toby ran around like a well-fed cobra, recently freed from captivity.

Looking forward to living longer.

©2018 Jim Hagarty

I have a very simple mind, no matter that some people think I look brilliant. Well, nobody has actually told me that but I know they are thinking it.

I am not stupid, just simple. And when a person has a brain like that, one feature of this condition is he is very prone to be open to the power of suggestion. For example, if someone in charge of meal planning at our place announces we will have a pizza for supper, that thought consumes me for the next five hours. When things change, for some reason, and there is a beef stew on the table instead of the promised pizza, the disappointment is epic.

Once lodged in my brain, however, it is only a matter of time before I am finally and happily swallowing pizza. On the sly, I will admit.

“Going out to check the mail,” I declare.

“Okay,” is the response.

All this to tell you about an encounter I had last week. I arrived at the medical centre early for my appointment with my doctor. I climbed the two flights of stairs and, a bit winded, passed through the big doors to enter the offices of the doctors who have practices there.

A young woman was sitting at a table before me. She wanted to see my health card and then asked whether I had experienced any of the following conditions: fever; dry cough; tiredness; aches and pains; sore throat; diarrhea; conjunctivitis; headache; loss of taste or smell; a rash on my skin, or discolouration of my fingers or toes; difficulty breathing or shortness of breath; chest pain or pressure; loss of speech or movement.

I thought about all these abnormalities and then told her, “You’re describing a normal day for me.”

I think she laughed, but I couldn’t be sure because I suddenly felt feverish, suppressed a coughing fit, became overwhelmed with tiredness, was acutely aware of a number of aches and pains, and could feel a sore throat coming on as well as a headache. I also realized I had a sudden loss of taste and smell, as well as a rash on my skin, discoloured fingers, shortness of breath and some mild chest pain.

To say the least, I was startled by the sudden decline in my wellness. At least I escaped diarrhea (that would come later.) And I don’t even know what conjunctivitis is so we’ll toss that to the side.

“Well?” the very patient nurse said as she waited for my answers to each of her questions, which seemed to me to be more like suggestions than questions. I thought it best to say no to all of them and I did.

She must not have been a psychiatric nurse as she didn’t try to stop me on my way out after my appointment was over.

I can see now that making light of all these things in these times is sort of like joking about having a bomb at an airport.

My condition improved almost instantly as I left the building.

I always feel better on the way out of the medical centre than I do on the way in.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

Every time I went to the malls many years ago, in the 1970s and ’80s, I headed straight for Radio Shack and spent a half hour there drooling over all the techno goodies on the shelves. Sony Trinitron TVs, Panasonic VCRs, wonderful stereos. I rarely bought anything, just did a lot of looking.

This week, a flyer came in my mailbox from Radio Shack, since renamed The Source, in Canada, and I looked it over with extreme intensity. Two things jumped out at me. I do not know what the function is of at least one-third of the items in the flyer. Little gizmos that have no meaning for me at all. But the bigger realization was that probably 95 per cent of all the items in the flyer (and in the store itself) were not even invented when I was wandering around that shop 35 years ago.

Yes, I was using a computer at work back then but it was a primitive one that would have not appeared out of place in Fred Flinstone’s stone house. But absolutely everything else – flat screen this, smartphone that, and Google the other thing, has come along in the past few decades. But the changes came about slowly as to be hardly noticeable.

One thing still haunts me though. Where did all the stuff that filled the Radio Shack stores back then go? Quietly discontinued, not re-stocked, currently unavailable, no longer sold due to low customer demand.

But that’s okay. I was at a Ford dealership a while back and I noticed there was not even one new Model T on the lot.

Times change.

©2018 Jim Hagarty