I woke up sixty-five years old this morning. Turning sixty-five is a milestone. First off, if you grew up in the sixties you never thought you'd make it this far. Back then we thought anyone over thirty was brain dead, and you should never trust them. If you think Obama is a trip, try Lyndon Johnson, add a dash of Nixon and you get Carter. Castro ran Cuba through the whole mess. Kinda makes you wonder, but I digress.
This morning I woke at the usual time. I DID wake up, but I'll address that later. For me, Sunday is just another day, but THIS Sunday is my birthday. Yeah, I was born exactly fifty years before 9/11, lucky me. On that day, fifteen years ago I woke with a hangover. I'd celebrated with friends the night before, and after the first plane hit I thought it was like when the Empire State Building was hit way back when. When the second plane hit, like everyone else, I knew it was something different. Funny thing though, with all the experts surprised to see them fall, as I watched the news footage, I EXPECTED the towers to fall. When the first one went down, I just waited for the next. I can never explain how I knew that, I just did!
So anyway, I woke up sixty-five years old this morning. I always wake up with a positive attitude and then the planet screws it up for me, but no big deal, that's what locks on doors are for. Point of interest, there wasn't a University of Texas Longhorn cheerleader resting beside me, but I'm working on that. I'm looking for my perfect match and so far it's my dog. She licks toes. It's hard to find a girl who does that.
I've developed a passion for peach flavored tea. I tried raspberry, but it didn't work out for me. Now this is the weird part. Our Texas supermarket does this big ad thing about “all natural” this and that, showing some small Texas farm, complete with happy family, and the obligatory foxy daughter. Uh, they don't show all the illegals picking the peaches, but here’s the funny part. When I drink their “all natural” peach tea I'm good! Hey, I'm allergic to peaches, connect the dots. If I consume peach ANYTHING the dots are all over my face. Hope the daughter is all natural at least.
I'm actually not that much different from when I was forty, or fifty. I think the change came for me at thirty-five or so. I have a formula, now work with me on this; I believe you are over the hill when you can date a girl who was born AFTER you got your first divorce. Long about that time girls also start holding doors open for YOU!
I walk slower now, but not because I'm tired, or weak, or anything like that, but rather I've learned with my bad leg that if I place my feet carefully that I tend to fall on my butt far less often. The commercial, “I’ve fallen, and I can't get up isn't as abstract for me as it used to be.” I don't watch Doctor Oz, nor any of those Big Pharma commercials. Oz is an idiot, and the commercials irritate me. They always end with something like, “If you begin to lose your vision, hearing, have chest pain, paralysis on the right side or bloody diarrhea, contact your doctor immediately.” Then, you see this smiling old wench playing with her grandkids, and the voice says, “You can live without the heartbreak of a dry scalp!” Jesus! Rub some oil in your hair!
I find that I really stop at stop signs, and look both ways now. This comes from years of seeing what happens when you DON’T stop and look both ways. That, and I'm not in a big hurry to get anywhere anyway. I go to the supermarket every day because I like to ride the little cart. If your sixty-five, and in a cart at the supermarket you'll find girls will reach to the top shelf to help you get something. Young girl, shorts, tank top, stretching to reach the raisins . . . I digress again. I think the main difference in aging is that over the years you become acutely aware that you can go to bed, and wake up dead! At twenty you wouldn't even consider such a possibility, but the idea becomes more manifest as the years roll by. Also, if this happens when you're twenty there is a big investigation. At sixty-five or seventy or so people just think it's about time!
The bad part is my whiskey-drinking, smoking family tends to live into their late eighties or nineties. So, most likely I'll be rewriting this article someday. Wonder how many more articles I'll have written by then, and what will we be writing with? Maybe we’ll just talk into our palm, and people will know what you're thinking. I'll probably still be thinking about raisins on the top shelf.
This morning I woke at the usual time. I DID wake up, but I'll address that later. For me, Sunday is just another day, but THIS Sunday is my birthday. Yeah, I was born exactly fifty years before 9/11, lucky me. On that day, fifteen years ago I woke with a hangover. I'd celebrated with friends the night before, and after the first plane hit I thought it was like when the Empire State Building was hit way back when. When the second plane hit, like everyone else, I knew it was something different. Funny thing though, with all the experts surprised to see them fall, as I watched the news footage, I EXPECTED the towers to fall. When the first one went down, I just waited for the next. I can never explain how I knew that, I just did!
So anyway, I woke up sixty-five years old this morning. I always wake up with a positive attitude and then the planet screws it up for me, but no big deal, that's what locks on doors are for. Point of interest, there wasn't a University of Texas Longhorn cheerleader resting beside me, but I'm working on that. I'm looking for my perfect match and so far it's my dog. She licks toes. It's hard to find a girl who does that.
I've developed a passion for peach flavored tea. I tried raspberry, but it didn't work out for me. Now this is the weird part. Our Texas supermarket does this big ad thing about “all natural” this and that, showing some small Texas farm, complete with happy family, and the obligatory foxy daughter. Uh, they don't show all the illegals picking the peaches, but here’s the funny part. When I drink their “all natural” peach tea I'm good! Hey, I'm allergic to peaches, connect the dots. If I consume peach ANYTHING the dots are all over my face. Hope the daughter is all natural at least.
I'm actually not that much different from when I was forty, or fifty. I think the change came for me at thirty-five or so. I have a formula, now work with me on this; I believe you are over the hill when you can date a girl who was born AFTER you got your first divorce. Long about that time girls also start holding doors open for YOU!
I walk slower now, but not because I'm tired, or weak, or anything like that, but rather I've learned with my bad leg that if I place my feet carefully that I tend to fall on my butt far less often. The commercial, “I’ve fallen, and I can't get up isn't as abstract for me as it used to be.” I don't watch Doctor Oz, nor any of those Big Pharma commercials. Oz is an idiot, and the commercials irritate me. They always end with something like, “If you begin to lose your vision, hearing, have chest pain, paralysis on the right side or bloody diarrhea, contact your doctor immediately.” Then, you see this smiling old wench playing with her grandkids, and the voice says, “You can live without the heartbreak of a dry scalp!” Jesus! Rub some oil in your hair!
I find that I really stop at stop signs, and look both ways now. This comes from years of seeing what happens when you DON’T stop and look both ways. That, and I'm not in a big hurry to get anywhere anyway. I go to the supermarket every day because I like to ride the little cart. If your sixty-five, and in a cart at the supermarket you'll find girls will reach to the top shelf to help you get something. Young girl, shorts, tank top, stretching to reach the raisins . . . I digress again. I think the main difference in aging is that over the years you become acutely aware that you can go to bed, and wake up dead! At twenty you wouldn't even consider such a possibility, but the idea becomes more manifest as the years roll by. Also, if this happens when you're twenty there is a big investigation. At sixty-five or seventy or so people just think it's about time!
The bad part is my whiskey-drinking, smoking family tends to live into their late eighties or nineties. So, most likely I'll be rewriting this article someday. Wonder how many more articles I'll have written by then, and what will we be writing with? Maybe we’ll just talk into our palm, and people will know what you're thinking. I'll probably still be thinking about raisins on the top shelf.
No comments:
Post a Comment