Old Age

Old As Shit

Yeah, Another Blogger142 Comments

I picked up after the first ring when my editor Edgar Reewright phoned me last week, because I figured he was anxious to discuss the essay for Yeah, Another Blogger that I’d emailed him the day before.

“Hello, Edgar,” I said. “How goes it? What do you think of the article? Will it need much editing?”

“Neil, have any of your pieces ever not needed loads of editing?  I mean, it’s all I can do to make your writings even somewhat presentable. I haven’t looked at your latest opus yet, though. I’ll get to it fairly soon. But I didn’t call to talk business.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“I haven’t been in the strongest frame of mind lately,” Edgar said, sighing loudly, “so I’m hoping that maybe you can help me put things in perspective. I’ve been thinking about mortality a lot, you see, and it’s getting me down. I became a senior citizen ages ago, but until recently I didn’t consider myself an old man. All of that changed when I celebrated my 86th birthday with my wife Loretta last month. Towards the end of the meal, Loretta went into the kitchen and came out a few minutes later with a big birthday cake. There were 87 candles, one of them for good luck, burning brightly on it. The number of candles absolutely stunned me. They took up so much space, you barely could see the top of the cake. I’m old as shit, Neil, and I don’t like it.”

“Yes, Edgar, you are old as shit. But, overall, you’re fine and dandy nonetheless. Oh, except for the medicinal help your mighty sword requires in order to perform halfway decently with Loretta, of course. And the adult diapers you wouldn’t dare leave the house without wearing. And your incurable bad breath that rivals the odors at a garbage dump. Have I forgotten anything?”

“No, you haven’t. And how I wish you weren’t privy to such information. Even though we’ve never met in person, it’s entirely my fault that you know about these things, since I have trouble keeping my trap shut whenever we speak on the phone.”

“Very true. However, your tendency to divulge sensitive and embarrassing matters does make you a bit loveable. You’d be intolerable, otherwise. Anyway, I’m now going to try and cheer you up.”

“Thank you, Neil. I appreciate it.”

“Let’s start with some humor. Edgar, did you hear about Thomas I. Toldyaso, the aged astrophysicist who kicked the bucket last week?”

“No. What about him?”

“Everyone expected him to pass away with barely a whimper,” I said. “Instead, he went out with a big bang!”

“Not bad, Neil, not bad. That joke makes me wonder about my exit from this mortal coil. Will a horrible disease do me in? Will anyone actually care that I’m gone? I tell you, I feel the end isn’t too far off. The Grim Reaper has me in his sights. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?”

“Relax, Edgar! You’re strong as a bull. Even if The Grim Reaper taps you on the shoulder any time soon, I have no doubt you’ll grab him by the cowl and throw him back whence he came.”

“Whence? Are you kidding me, Neil? Only you would ever use the word whence. I better never see it in one of your blog stories. They’re awkward and lifeless enough as it is.”

Edgar paused for a moment, possibly deep in thought. Then he continued. “So, you think I’m strong as a bull, do you?”

“Absolutely, Edgar. I’m certain you have 10 more solid years in you. And 15 is more like it, most likely. Why, your energy and focus leave me in the dust, even though I’m a decade younger than you. Don’t be down in the dumps, Edgar. Just keep on keepin’ on!”

Once again Edgar took a moment to consider what I’d said. When he spoke, he was back in the saddle.

“Neil, all of a sudden I am feeling so much better. I wasn’t at all sure that you’d be of any help whatsoever when I decided to call you a little while ago. But I made the right choice. Thank you so much! The skies have brightened. I see a lengthy, excellent future in front of me. I now will get back to work, tackling the undoubtedly sorry-ass article you sent to me yesterday. Oh well, such is the life of an editor. Have a good day!”

“Goodbye, Edgar. It’s been a pleasure. Sort of.”

Driving Me Crazy

Yeah, Another Blogger150 Comments

As readers of this publication know, fairly often I make mention of the facts that I’m f*cking old (my internal tree added its 76th ring a few months ago), and that I ain’t thrilled about being way closer to the end than to the beginning of my residency on Planet Earth. I’m not obsessed or anything like that with these thoughts, but they clearly are on my mind.

Still, the nature of my life isn’t all that different from what it was 25 or more years ago, except that I no longer work fulltime. I’m in decent shape and health, and I continue to pursue my interests: writing pieces for this website, for instance, and leaving the comfort of my abode to take in concerts, movies, art exhibitions, restaurant meals and the great outdoors pretty regularly. I’m damn lucky, overall. I have little to complain about.

That being said, I’m now about to lodge a major complaint, as there is one activity that annoys the crap out of me and puts me on edge. Consistently. Up until about 15 years ago it didn’t, which makes me think that becoming old as dirt has made me more sensitive to its challenges. Or maybe I simply reached an inevitable breaking point. Whatever, here’s what I’m referring to: driving my car.

There’s no such thing as a casual, pleasant drive anymore. Not for me, anyway, a guy whose nerves apparently are half-shot. I’m just fed up with the enormous number of vehicles out there, the roadwork projects and lane closures you’re destined to run into most days, and the tricky situations you constantly have to navigate. Not to mention the assholes running red lights, tailgating, and blithely turning in front of oncoming traffic. Basically, me no like!

Hell, even on my quiet neighborhood’s residential blocks (I live in Willow Grove, a town near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA), it’s a miracle when a delivery truck or other vehicle isn’t partially or fully blocking my way, or when my view of potential cross-traffic at intersections isn’t obscured by cars parked head-to-toe along the curbs. If I resided in Philadelphia or some other city with a good public transportation system, I could make do without a car. Here in the burbs, though, I need one. So, I grit my teeth and keep my fingers crossed when behind the wheel.

On my way to the supermarket, on Old York Road.

The other day was a classic, driving-wise, and not in a good sense. There I was, in late afternoon, hoping to make a right turn out of my neighborhood onto Old York Road, a major corridor. My destination? A supermarket about three-quarters of a mile from my house. Holy shit! I couldn’t turn, because traffic was backed up for 500 or more feet on Old York, the result, undoubtedly, of a train sitting at, or approaching or leaving the Willow Grove train station (I wasn’t able to make out exactly what was going on). After what seemed like forever, I nudged my way into a long line of cars on Old York. And several minutes later, the vehicles in front of me finally able to inch along, I reached and crossed the railroad tracks. At last, the supermarket was almost within shouting distance. Hallelujah!

On my way home from the supermarket, on Old York Road.

What made the afternoon extra special is that I became enmeshed in a similar situation on the way home from the market. As I neared the train tracks, the gates that descend when a train is approaching did their thing. Down they went, the red lights attached to them flashing. A train eventually pulled into the station and eventually continued on its way. And eventually I arrived home. Man, I could have made the trips to and from the supermarket faster on foot than in my car, a laughable and pathetic truth.

Okay, rant over. In memory of the days when driving commonly was fun for me, I’ll leave you with a smoker from Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers: Runnin’ Down A Dream, which was released in 1989. The recording, as potent as freedom, almost is enough to convince me that carefree driving experiences might come my way once again. Here’s hoping.

75 And Counting

Yeah, Another Blogger155 Comments

Eleven months ago I published a piece in which I noted that I couldn’t believe how fast 2021, and hence my life, was flying by. Well, somehow 2022 has equaled or maybe even surpassed 2021’s fleetness. And I have no doubt that 2023 will tear out of the starter’s block like Usain Bolt and then do nothing but pick up speed. Man, time unquestionably is the most precious commodity of all. It’s unsettling too.

Now, not everybody would agree with my perception of time. Most young people, for instance, don’t sense time as being a high-speed train.  Hell, for the most part they don’t think about time at all. Like many senior citizens, however, I have time on my mind pretty often. Meaning, I’m anything but oblivious to the facts that I’ve been on Planet Earth for a good long while, and that I’m a whole lot closer to the end than to the beginning. I don’t become badly depressed about it, or anything like that. However, the reality of the situation definitely gets my attention now and then.

I mention the above because I was stunned big-time a couple of months ago as I neared the completion of my 75th journey around the Sun. I did not feel at all celebratory about the upcoming birthday. The cockles of my heart refused to warm even one little bit. “75? Are you shitting me?” I asked myself. “How is it possible that I’ve become so f*cking old?” I mean, it seems like only yesterday that I was in my twenties, let alone in my 40s. Holy crap, where in the world did the time go?

By anyone’s definition, 75 is old as frigging dirt, or nearly so. Yeah, I know that plenty of people are older than me. Not as many as you might think, though, nor as many as I thought until I researched the subject earlier this month on a website that can tell you where you fit, age-wise, on the human population ladder. (Click here if you’d like to see the site. When it opens, click on Let’s Go. Next, click on My Place In The Population, which is where you enter your age.)

The answer, for 75-year-old me, was not joy-inducing. That’s because I learned that I am older than 96% of the people on our beautiful, polluted planet. That figure was an absolute kick to the balls. All I could do was shake off the pain and acknowledge the bad joke with a half-hearted chortle. And then I got right back to doing the things I love, such as palling around with my wife and other friends, exploring the natural and man-made worlds, writing, reading, and imbibing cool music. They make for a good life. With luck, this regimen will continue for a bunch more years.

With 2023 a mere handful of days away, the time now has arrived for me to wish all of you a most Happy New Year. May it be rewarding. And may peace, love, understanding and freedom fully permeate the human condition one day. They are in short supply in many parts of the globe, as we know all too well. So, as I’ve been thinking about freedom a lot lately, I’ll conclude this essay by presenting a song, Miles And Miles, that knocked me off my feet when I heard it for the first time recently. It’s a brilliant rocker, released this year by The Heavy Heavy, a young British band that I wouldn’t mind hanging out with for a while, traveling with them from gig to gig and absorbing their vibes. For the song’s about being flushed with freedom as you groove to life’s rhythms and grab hold of the good stuff out there in the world. I tell you, that orientation has appealed to me exquisitely since I reached adulthood many moons ago. I hope I never stop feeling, and acting, that way.