It's rejoicing about the colors of the world... not just those of our diverse brethren, but too, the wondrous ones of Nature.... the faded threads of our favorite shirt, coat, hat, slacks, jeans... and even the "Oh well" of the ones "there ain't no way in hell I'll ever fit in those again" as we toss the sack on the dock at Goodwill.
We can turn the sound up. I've got an app on my phone.... it listens for the birds and their chirping, shows ya when it finds a match... I can braggadociously tellya I've learned a half dozen or more bird calls. If you woulda told 20-something Victor that he would enjoy something like that later in life, I woulda searched for the rocker you just fell off.
Old age is using words like braggadociously, having grammar Nazi's underscore it in red, then, having the ability to "I call BS, I'm using it."
Back to sound. Oh yeah, those pings of metal bats once Spring finally gets here...the enjoyment and appreciation for those moments when we're given the ability to go, see, hear, real wooden bats again.
Frogs. Frogs in throat. The dadgum basta's makin' funna Mahomes's Kermit voice. Hearing Lester and Earl's 1949 rendition of "Froggy Mountain Breakdown," or something like that.
Singing songs with the wrong lyrics. SO?
For us old, single, divorced, widowed codgers- and maybe even some'a you ole married folks once Herbert has fallen asleep in the easy chair again, a date with YouTube, playing, listening to, any damn song ya wanna. Even, twice if you want.
Sound, coupled with touch. Instant message. Caller ID. Knock knock. Friend? Foe? Jehovah's? Police? Girl Scout cookies? Please please please please! Sirens. Oh, it's the first Wednesday of the month... it's just a test. Sirens, other days. Prayer.
Fun sounds. A baby's giggle. A basketball swish. Marching soldiers. Remembering the first cussword ya ever heard. For me, I was mebbe six, Uncle Jim's "Ahhhhhh Ssshhh****ttt" sneeze.
Taking that remote... closing one's eyes... pressing play to listen to voices of those gone before us. Accompanying smiles... sure tears too.... and the acknowledgement "yes, they are gone... but they are a part of what's in us, the decisions we make, the way we treat people, the love we learned to offer."
The accompanying noises we make when we stand. Sit. Walk. Earned, well earned them noises are
Golf. VICTOR? Uh huh? We don't all play golf. That ability, being a blogger, to write whadever ya wanna, whenever ya wanna. Like FORE. The moaning "Cha ching" when you hit an all too costly ProVI into the woods, accompanied by the solace "The jokes on you, I found TWO balls on the last hole", even if they were Noodles. Another missed 4 foot putt and the positive outlook "I'm consistent" .
Humor, in golf. "Does your husband play too" after a 50 yard drive... Having honors, teeing off first, then announcing to your partner "Ya might wanna wait a minute Tommie, I just farted." You notice your putt roll across fresh goose poop up to 'gimme range', "Hey Tommie, you mind grabbin' my ball?" Three of the four, donning bicycle helmets just before Mac steps up to hit because last week, he violently threw his club after a shank on 6. Winning the all important 'George' after it's handed to you on the deck of the course. Losing the next time, but smirking, as you hand over two rolls of pennies.
Old is when ya are but ya think ya ain't. It's MY turn signal and I'll leave it on 12 miles if I damn well please. Old is fast food apps, the 55 and over menus, half price days at the Thrift Store.
If you're afflicted... VICTOR, most of us ain't afflicted! That ability, being a blogger, to write whadever ya wanna, whenever ya wanna. Ya hop in a geezer scooter at WallyWorld. 35% charge. Ya cuss. That's legit cause to cuss. It's rollin' down that Notions aisle, seeing fellow geezer on geezer scooter, asking "Got a notion to race me?" (Geezer scooter continued)
You're in the cracker and cookie aisle. Ya shouldn't be, but long ago ya lodged that "Screw you, I'll eat what I want, when I want" attitude.. There's a lady ahead. Twelve foot wide aisle. Six foot of her is blocking the left part of the aisle. Her cart is blocking the right. She's oblivious. This is legit cause to cuss... but ya don't. Ya think "What's my hurry, I'm retired, take as long as you need Gladys." (Geezer scooter continued)
This here is where fellow blog readers call you a Misogynist due to the "Gladys" comment. Well, I'll Johnny Mathis lookya in the eyes and say "Chances Are" good, very good, it was a lady. Sorry, but not really.
Old age is when one rambles. Fellow blog readers are reminded, thinking about the Animals.. and "We gotta get outta this place"...
So, you Alvin type "OK OK OK OK" then, you think, I wonder if there are any whippersnappers here reading, and if there are, why? And they might respond "Who the hell is Alvin?"
I get it... that's a thought that goes thru the brain of every Senior Citizen every day. I need to leave, OK. First, i gotta pick out 17 scratchers tickets.. "Yep, and finally #22 there.. say, did I ever showya pics of my hound Gabe? We usedta go for a ride and he'd stick his head outta the car and snap at cars going the other way!" (Back to sounds... "Ahems" from the lady two back in line.. the tapping toe of the snotnose right behind ya.)
OK OK OK, I'll go..............
HEY WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT! I left ma' teeth in the cart!
Victor, parts of that were crude. Crude is legal, rude ain't.
Old age is Blessed..Not everyone is afforded the opportunity. Happy Valentine's Day
Love, Victurd
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