Curve Ball


Here you go boys & girls, Friday’s post.  You will be happy to know, this post has no mention of Twitter, Facebook, Malware or medicine to treat an ugly rash under your right armpit.  In other words … It is just a taste of life. 

This morning I find myself sitting in the well worn comfortable chair at Buell’s Barbershop waiting on a haircut and a shave.  And I notice all of the hair in this small town country barbershop lying on the floor is a gray color. 

Which made me think to myself, perhaps I will write a post on that. 

So here it is.

Life threw me another curve this week and I was not ready for it.  You ever notice as you get older, things sort of happen, when you are not paying attention?  I had the power washer out the other day doing some chores and when I went to shut it down, I tipped it up to unhook the hose (this is more convenient than bending over or stooping down to remove it) and some gasoline ran out of the tank onto my left foot.

At the time, I of course was oblivious to this, and did not notice it at all.

Later on I am headed to town for lunch and I keep smelling gasoline in the old truck and I am wondering to myself, “What is wrong with this thing now?” (It has close to 160K on it so it is prone to break things)  All the time it is the left foot that has all the gasoline on it that is creating the odor.  Later on in the day, I disrobe to shower, and my left foot is all red (in the area of the tennis shoe spill) and I freak out.

“Holy mother of Gawd … What the _____ is that?”

This is what happens to you when something out of the ordinary happens to you as you grow older … You freak out.  Unfortunately, it also kicks into gear, quickly bringing everything to a head, the worry or anxiety feature of adult living.

Man, should I call the clinic?
How will I drive and stop the bus with only one foot?
Do they give you a discount on tennis shoes when you only have to buy one?
How will I ever get up on a horse again.

This morning I am running the gauntlet of human emotions trying to ascertain why “all of a sudden I am really red on this one foot.”  After my third cup of coffee it finally came to me (The Ice Man’s Head melts) “it was the gas on the tennis shoe.”  All is now right in my world, but believe me, “it is not easy being me.”

Fast forward to the next day.

In am at the RV repair shop and I am inquiring about some batteries for my coach, much like humans, they wear out too.  I happen to strike up a conversation with this guy, and right off the bat, he informs me (a total stranger) that he is seventy-four years old.  This in turn makes me think about all of these folks I run into, who for no apparent reason inform me of their age.

Kind of a modern day mystery or social oddity here lately.  We seem to have this preoccupation with our age these days.  Might be because we are all growing older and America is quickly graying out.

Not long ago, a few years perhaps, I find myself standing on the south rim of the Grand Canyon, a huge tour bus pulls up and out of its innards comes a slow moving procession of elderly folks.  They all line up at the overlook and instead of hearing … “What a moving, inspirational sight … or … Look at the grandeur of that .. How far do you suppose it is to the other side?” …

I hear: 

“After my last operation they put me on this … My doctor said that I should take two of these every morning … I am now urinating in shifts, it is really irritating the ____ out of me … No seriously, I am tellin ya Frank, those little blue pills really work.”

Life changes you not only physically but the way you think too.

When you are young, you walk up to complete strangers and announce in no uncertain terms, “I am four.”  Usually holding up the corresponding fingers to verify the statement.  Then you move onto fractions, “I am eight and one-half, nine and a quarter” when you tell someone or answer up when they inquire of you your current age.  Then it is the “almost there years.”  I am almost thirteen, I am almost sixteen, soon I will be twenty and no longer a teenager.

Life is like that, I don’t know why, but it is.

“Don’t trust anyone over thirty” remember that one. Then there is this middle age thing, which is kind of ridiculous.  Most folks when they hit forty-five or fifty claim to be “middle aged.”  Who do you know over 100 years old, few if any.  Then almost magically you find yourself pushing sixty and over the hill to seventy and find that this age is the new sixty, which I do not get at all.

Last time I saw my doc, he said “you have the start of cataracts” and I asked him what causes that, and he smiled and said, “too many birthdays.”  He also told me that my cholesterol was not good and I was my perfect weight if I was seven feet tall.  Suggested that I get some exercise in my later years, so I took him up on the offer.

Just been to the gym. They’ve got a new machine in.  Could only use it for half an hour, as I started to feel sick.  It’s great though.  “It provides me with everything I need – KitKats, Mars Bars, Snickers, Potato Crisps, the lot..”  Now if I could just locate some suitable loose fitting clothing, I would have it made. 

Not bad, for sixty-four and three-quarters, whadya think? 

Have a great weekend … see y’all on Monday.

OOO

2 thoughts on “Curve Ball

  1. I love that machine!

    Like

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