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You Know You're Getting Old When...


Earlier this week the book I was reading wasn't doing it for me and as I sat there on the couch staring off into space my mind started to wander. I started thinking about how old I was and the life I've lived and how it all seemed to pass so fast over the last 64 years. Don't get me wrong. It's been a great life and there's very little I'd change but I was starting to think about my mortality and how my cancer over the last ten years had kind of put a crimp in things.

Remember the Who singing "I hope I die before I get old"? There was a time, years ago, I believed that. Not so much anymore.

And who can forget that line from the aging, tossed-aside film star Nora Desmond in one of my favourite films Sunset Boulevard; "I am big. It's the pictures that got small".

But like Desmond I'm not fooling anyone. Not even myself. I am old.

Like when I go to bed. Geez, I'm under the covers, hearing aids removed by 8:30pm. Good thing there's "On Demand" for television which means I can usually watch whatever I want whenever I want. Otherwise, says my brother Whitey (y'all remember Whitey?), the television networks would have to move prime time to 5:00pm. And, damn, I'd have eat supper at 4:00pm. And at that time I would have only just finished lunch. And because I have some kidney issues and am diabetic the meal wouldn't be very exciting. I find the older I get my meals tend to be a little more off schedule and a little blander. No more cheeseburgers and poutine for me, for example.

You know what I did earlier today? I belong to this Facebook group of classic rock music lovers and we all post music videos from the past. I'm partial to the 60s and 70s but today I posted Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour On The Bedpost Overnight by Lonnie Donegan Lonnie was a skiffle artist and released this song in 1959. I was all of seven years old at the time but I loved hearing this song on the radio. My comment on the Facebook post was "Yes, dammit, okay I'm old."

And speaking of being a kid I used to love things like Kentucky Fried Chicken and Cheez-Whiz. I bought some of each w while back and yuck. I think my taste buds have died. They just weren't the same.

I used to laugh at people who talked about walking into a room and forgetting why. Now I do it all the time. And don't laugh, dammit. I have to walk back out of the room to remember.

Once in a while I wear my T-shirts inside out and have to have my wife tell me to turn them right side out. I wear crocks (shock, I know., eh Whitey? I guess they're old people shoes.) and half the time wear them outdoors instead of remembering to change into my shoes.

I could go on but I can't remember half the other stuff I do, or don't do.

Sorry, I have to go. It's 4:00pm and I'm having grilled, skinless chicken and twice-boiled potatoes, some raw broccoli and carrots for dinner. Unsweetened applesauce for desert. Yum, yum.

Now, why did I come into the kitchen?


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I Do

It was noon. The sun shone brightly in the sky. Birds chirped merrily in the trees. The sounds of traffic drifted up from the street. George picked up his keys and headed for the apartment door. This was a special day. Perhaps the most special day of his life to date. Today was the day he would ask Georgina to marry him. Georgina was his girlfriend. French. From France.

He'd covered all the bases. He'd bought the ring, a bouquet of flowers and a set of knee pads. If she said "no" at least they'd have a good laugh over the knee pads. If she said yes they'd remember him down on his knees this day forever.

He grabbed everything, locked the apartment door and descended the stairs. The restaurant was nearby so he decided to walk. As he waited on the corner for the light to change he thought of spending the rest of his life with Georgina. Not that he was being presumptuous but he had a good sense she felt the same way too. He was sure it was kismet. And besides wi…