On the edge of time, age 53 getting ready to scoot into 54, as I find my self getting older, I find myself not realizing birthdays coming up. I was cutting the lawn today, and even though we had talked about it, I actually had to stop and think there was a birthday coming up-mine. Then, and this was the hard part, to remember what year it actually was. Have you ever done that? Forgotten or at least temporarily misplacing your age, let alone your car keys, wallet, forgetting when you last bathed, you know, typical stuff? Being born in the last century didn't help. I had to use the new math to figure it out, subtracting the year I was born from the current year, which required borrowing and carrying ones.
There are a whole lot of changes I've gone through, probably you as well. If you're younger and walking down the age path like me, you're experiencing these things. You people who are older, you're already there. Sit back and smoke your pipe.
Look I'm not dead, not by a long shot. I just won a major battle with those invading little roof rat bastards. Slaughtered them and their children and cooked them with the morning bacon. I had climbed up into the attic, going toe to toe with things that go bump in the walls. Just got checked by the doctor and she said my blood pressure and labs should be the standard for all men 51-57. I still do at least 30 minutes of cardio a day. What I am finding is as I get older, I don't care about things I use to build a whole plan around.
Like showering on weekends
Like hurrying-I'm walking slower now
Like clothes with wrinkles, leaving them in the dryer until I darn well want to take them out-sometime this week
Like mold on cheese-trim it off and keep going
Like the Oscars-haven't seen any of the movies and won't until Netflix has them
Like putting my hands in stuff
I developed that hand thing when I was a father with three kids. You could only run to the Brawny so often, eventually finding yourself no where near a roll of paper towels and if you weren't quick, something was going to run off the table, toilet seat, sink, or dashboard, unless you used your hand, usually followed by your shirt/sleeve. When I climbed up into the attic, I was in dust undisturbed since the middle of the last century. No worries, that's was shirts are for.
Bathing, especially on weekends, I can still do that daily, many times twice. I just kind of forget to shave, soap, and well, use deodorant. You know, I figured what it came down to-I just don't care.
Really.
Those of you who are older, its true, isn't it? Years and years of doing the same thing, day in day out, days, weeks, months of caring, being on time, making sure you're shirt is buttoned up, pants zipped, socks matching or at least in the same color spectrum, why? Why do we need to wash the towel every week? If its dry, its good to go. You don't cycle it until it starts to smell a little-funny. Then you let it dry for a couple of days, like on a weekend, when you know you aren't going to touch it.
What's wrong with going to bed at 7:30 at night? And frankly, what' wrong with taking your clothes out of the dryer after three days? So what if they're a little wrinkled? There is a style to wrinkleness.
When you go to your 10 year high school reunion, everyone is sharing what they are 'doing'. When you go to your 30th, the conversation centers around who is still alive, had their cancer removed, or something else added.
Comfort is the name of the game. Comfortable shoes is the answer to many of life's problems.
A good book at bedtime is the answer to many more.
And a dog asleep on your foot while you blog, fits everything into a perspective involving peace. If that guy in Iran and the kid in North Korea did these three simple things, there would be flowers growing in their garden and someone would be inviting someone else to lunch.
I have been told that 54 is the new 42 or something like that. I don't want to go back to 42. I like where I'm at. I'm at an age where I can still do many of those things from my youth, just not as fast and if that's the case, ah-I was good in my youth. Breaking down doors, guns, fear, adrenaline, the good fight, aye-the good fight.
I still have fight. That's what's kind of cool about this age. No one expects the old man to have much fight. We hide it until we truly need it. Hoping we don't need it because we know, from experience, we're going to get some crap on our wrinkled shirt. We'll win-we'll have to cheat, but we WILL win. We'll just get crap on our shirts. Then we'll take our time to wash it. It will sit in the hamper until is forms a firm ball.
We'll just let people think we have no fight left. I help them with that image with a fine scotch and a good $4 cigar. I like peaceful music and dancing in the cereal isle. I could change my grand kids diaper with a couple of paperclips, a red Expo marker, and a clean sock, taking them to Home Depot with one-ONE diaper tucked in my back pocket. We dance in the fastener isle there.
Nope, I like where I'm at. So do my dogs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need think if I've showered today.
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