Many of my friends are in the same boat with me when it comes to frequently foggy memories. I have to say, it gives me immense pleasure knowing I’m not floating out there alone. That sounds callous, doesn’t it? But mostly, it fills me with hope that I’m not, in fact, losing it. It being my mind. Granted, I never had a particularly sharp one. But these days I sometimes find my boat lost in a sea of fog.
Getting older hasn’t bothered me that much. I mean, if it weren’t for my stupid back, I mostly feel like a 30-year-old. I don’t have aching body parts a 64-year-old might expect. Maybe because I’ve always been active. Now don’t get me wrong; just because I don’t feel my age doesn’t mean I don’t look it. I certainly do. Sadly, I recently gazed into my 10x magnifying mirror and just for a second wished I was blind.
This same month 2 years ago I wrote, Out of the Ashes. And sadly, here we go again…
At 8:30 p.m., a week ago Saturday, our power was shut off for 48 hours. Unfortunately, we’re experiencing fires again in the hills of Northern California. People are evacuating while thousands of acres burn. High winds worsen matters, so Pacific Gas & Electric rotates the shutdown to various counties, some for hours, others for days.
Now don’t get me wrong; this is a delicate subject to blog about. I intend no disrespect to those suffering from the situation and my prayers are with them. But often with my blog, I attempt to write from a lighthearted perspective. So here’s what I experienced during this shutdown… Continue reading →
In honor of my godson’s birthday, here’s a post from May, 2015
I almost died the day my godson Martin was born. But more about that later…
Now don’t get me wrong; I may not be a church-going Catholic but I’m on good terms with the Big Guy. He knows, although I’m not a weekly parishioner, most days I attempt to be a decent human being. For instance, I’m pretty sure I’ve only violated three of the Ten Commandments. I can’t be certain though since I only remember four.
Actually, I’m lucky to be alive to break any of the Commandments.
That brings us to when I almost died the day Martin was born. It was November 4, 1992. His parents, Sharon and Jim, invited me to videotape Martin’s big entrance. But when Jim called saying it was almost time, I’d just finished a graveyard shift so was half asleep.
Still, I did my best Danica Patrick impersonation to reach the hospital 45 minutes away.
Speeding at 80 mph, I nodded off, almost hitting the center divider. I was heading toward the white light, if you know what I mean. Suddenly, it was as if my guardian angel gave me a whiff of smelling salts and snapped me awake. If my life flashed before my eyes, I was simply too tired to notice. Anyway, turns out I needn’t have hurried; Martin took his sweet time getting here.
Coulda been worse I guess. She wasn’t an awful hummer. And at least I wasn’t next to the guy 5 rows up who forgot his headphones though still enjoyed a comedy on his laptop. It was a Seinfeld episode – the one where Jerry can’t remember the name of his date but knows it rhymes with a woman’s body part. I know this because I, and everyone within 5 rows of him, heard every word. (If you’re wondering, her name was Delores.)
Over in Dallas, during a night of flash flooding and thunderstorms that shook our hotel and triggered our cell phone alarms at 3:00 a.m., we waited for a tornado to hit. Why do folks fear measly earthquakes? Texas can keep their tornadoes. Give me a ground shaker any day of the week.
Anyway, my godson, sporting a little ponytail, a goatee and a broad smile, proudly accepted his BA in Business. What a journey it’s been.
He’s the handsome one in the middle
I admit I had my doubts about that kid as a tyke, when he’d pull out tufts of his sister Caitlin’s hair or, from his car seat, bit off chunks of padding from the car door upholstery. Let’s just say he was quite a handful.
So after 8 months of sitting on my ever-widening rear end, I finally had my epidural a couple weeks ago.
I don’t normally consider myself a particularly patient person but I have to admit I’ve been uncharacteristically tolerant these past months, living like someone who abhors being active. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not like my friend Pam, who at 62 (a mere 2 years younger than me), runs 2 half marathons a week in addition to running another hard 9 miles in the hills one day a week. She lifts weights 3 days a week and takes yoga classes as well. Whew!
No, I’m not a masochist like Pam, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m simply someone who enjoys playing tennis, hiking now and then, biking with Pam (oh yeah, she also bikes), working out to yoga and Pilates tapes, taking an occasional jog and even snowboarding once in a while.
Have you noticed the longer one lives, the more ridiculousness one experiences? And by one I mean me. Naturally, you wouldn’t know how much ridiculousness I personally encounter because you don’t know me. Unless you’re a friend of mine, that is. In that case you most definitely know the degree of ridiculousness I come across because, let’s face it, I make sure you do.
If we’ve never met, then trust me on this one. Ridiculousness is all around us. If you haven’t noticed, you’re either too young to know better or you’re going through life with
That’s an actual saying. You can look it up.
Another nifty saying, Live and Learn, actually turns out to be true. I know I’m full of sayings today but what can I say? Other than let me tell you the latest ridiculous thing I’ve lived and learned… Continue reading →