The earthquakes reported today up and down California reminded me the Big One is coming, and maybe sooner than later. But like the satanically twisted and perverted sick minds responsible for so much noise, cruelty and graphic violence with blood and gore portrayed by Hollywood, on TV and in video “games,” polygamous raping of children in the name of religion and other forms of abuse there really isn’t much I can do about these things. But with mildly detached interest, being too old for anything more than being a spectator to even the most cataclysmic events, I ask myself when that huge magnitude earthquake hits the coast of my native state and millions may need to take refuge inland who would want them; Blythe, Bullhead City or Needles? Will they be as welcome as Typhoid Mary or Katrina survivors and fare any better?

There really is such a thing as news fatigue, information overload of too much and incessant bad news. Eventually you become fatigued or even callous to the bad news of so much suffering throughout the world. Henry Thoreau quipped that if you heard of a murder, railway or boat accident you need hear of no others. Even in Henry’s day he pointed to the “great flapping ear” of America in which a man upon awaking from a nap would immediately ask what news transpired while he was asleep, as though the day would be ruined without a constant barrage of the news. Henry compared the main street of Concord to running the gauntlet, one in which each person would want the latest bit of gossip as you tried to make your way through town.

Ah, but the great flapping ear of America Henry knew in his time was without radio, TV or satellite communications. One can only wonder what he would have to say of today’s great flapping ear. Nothing good, I imagine.

Here in the Kern River Valley it is admittedly of more than passing interest to me that Isabella Dam has been called “dangerous” and susceptible to failing, especially in the event of even a mild earthquake. But I live above the lake level and I’m not overly concerned, and since there is nothing I can do about the situation why worry about it? So I don’t. You see, at my age I prioritize the things I worry about. When your future consists of simply being able to use the bathroom each day, brush your own teeth (and grateful they are my own teeth and not dentures) and do the minimum necessary to keep body and soul together your priorities concerning worries changes. In the words of Jesus, the evil of the day is sufficient for me and I no longer worry about tomorrow. The evil of that day will be sufficient as well and tomorrow will take care of itself without my worrying about it.

Certainly one should prepare and plan for the future. I did, and as a result own my home and am free of debt. But that’s about as far as I could plan. I have the required battery radio and flashlight, canned goods and water in case of emergency, but that is only prudent. I keep the weeds cut around my place in case of fires, as a smoker I never smoke in bed and always put out cigarettes in a bowl of water, never in an ashtray. There is a distinct difference between prudent and careless.

So, there isn’t very much I find worth worrying about. I write and address the grievances I have about government and a variety of other issues; but never do I delude myself that I am really changing those things over which I have no control, things like earthquakes or who will be our next president for example. Unlike Snoopy I can’t say my life has been one of “unsuffered consequences,” but I’ve outlived the consequences and quite frankly have little left to suffer from them.

Gerry Trudeau did a strip about the homeless being fed on Thanksgiving, and when asked about it one fellow’s concept of plans for his future was whether he was going to have another piece of pumpkin pie. At that, I easily understand the fitting parody of Caesar Bush’s resemblance in face and actions to Alfred E. Neuman of “What, me worry?” fame.

I freely admit there are things that legitimately qualify as worth worrying about, and one needn’t act the fool about such legitimate things. But the future is for this generation, not those my age and those of this younger generation are not beating down the door asking for my advice. So at the risk of incurring a “What, me worry?” stigma today the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I live without want and if the Big One should strike tomorrow there is nothing I can do about that. So, I’m simply going to confine my worrying about the future to whether I will have another piece of pumpkin pie.