Seems all our life (thus far) we've had 'structions'. For awhile, they're mostly born into us... turn over on the blanket... crawl... stand, HOLD ON!... we go from booby to "Oh Boy! STRAINED PEACHES!"....
Words? There's words for all this crap? Then, us, our fam, Missouri born, bred - it was our best intent to get ridda the cloth diapers by aiming, bombs away at the Jayhawk sticker Dad put in the urinal. And, ya got training wheels...
12 years of do this don't do that can't you read the sign? No chance for "we are poor little lambs who have lost our way, bah, bah, bah." Hall monitors, junior high PE coaches who check our name off as we exit the shower, EWW. Local newspapers publish this thing called the Honor Roll...... "Victor? Where's your name?" (I was dyslexic, lefthanded, mostly loved recess, PE and shhhhh, girls.)
Nowadays... kids can watch the (now old) movie On Golden Pond to learn how to suckface. That, kegs and "oh yeah, I gotta pic a major" kinda control college. A suit. Haircut. WHAT? I gotta pay my own rent? Buy my own car? Gas? No wonder they left the want ads on the coffee table.
Then, ya get married, have advice from family, clergy, counselors, good buddies and mostly, own 49% of the stock. This goes on for ten, twenty, thirty years - lightbulb, RETIREMENT COUNT DOWN IS ON.
So............ that whole path to "70-something, now what" is lined by folks like Helen Crump, Mr. Cottier... Mr Feeny... Edna Krabappel... Deans, Professors, Linkedin, Indeed, Bosses, General Managers, and someone mentioned financial planners but I offered 'what for?" I know, it's me.
NOW.
Now we're 70-something. Whereinthehell did the yellow brick road go? Lions and tigers and bear, OH MY!.......... NOW WHAT?
Oh there's a brief respite in there right before Social Security.. I'd get 5 letters a day, Medicare reps literally would come put postie notes on my door... HOW DO SO MANY KNOW I MIGHT NEED HEARING AIDS OR A BURIAL PLOT? And sure.. EVEN A TERM POLICY.
Now, back to 70. I guess we're stuck on Band-Aids to cover when we barely scrape our whatever wherever to cover up the purple blotch... and... Google, AI... Dewey Decimal System.
I'm reading it's important what we eat. How, when we move. Frequent visits to Nurse Ratched or similar... a calendar (or SMTWTFS pillbox at a minimum.) Google says work friendships will still exist be less and less frequent. HA, I'll never forget Ken... ahm, Kend.. Kender? Masty?
In all seriousness. I'm not one to ask. My idea of exercise is "I wanna change the channel but I left the remote over by the easy chair. Next time I gotta pee I'll change it." And, more seriously, 'It's just easier if I stay home" - and we all know that ain't a good thing - so, wherethehell is Mr. Miagi when you need him?
Bless you if you're reading this and you're a twosome. Always wonderful to have someone to lean on. The rest of us... we just gotta keep an arm out, use it to ensure 3-point travel in the home or wherever.
I like my age, I do. Realization sets in. Slow ain't necessarily a bad thing. I find I listen more than I speak. (Sorry about being so verbal here, but too, you clicked the damn link!)..
Just my take - being in, around youth, rubs off, or can.
I have no fun puns or ends. That, I guess, likens life. Lots don't change. I still don't like KU. We were, and are, 1985 World Series Champions no matter what some say. Ketchup is the bomb on hot dogs. Just say no gets hella easier. We paint our own time, and don't fret so much if we're outside the lines. I will have Chili Cheese Fritos, lasagna, spaghetti and fried chicken every week of my remaining life.
And, there's always room for a couple of beers. Make sure your barn door ain't down, and, that you have your teeth in. Repeat after me, "It's Saturday."
Cheers, Victurd
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