LISTEN TO YOUR BODY - Final Segment (Scroll down for previous segments)

     

       After several rounds, I went to my corner, exhausted.

    I talked to several men who had fought the same battle.  They gave me some excellent advice.  “Pay attention,” they said.  “You’ll see that your body is much more receptive to your wife’s voice; even responding to the mere sight of her.”  Their insight was uncanny.  

  
     The next morning my wife came into our bedroom while I was still in bed.  “Why aren’t you up?” she asked.  

     “I’ve been trying to get up for the last thirty minutes, but my body keeps saying, ‘I just need another fifteen minutes.’  I’m glad you walked in,” I continued, as I quickly threw off the covers and jumped out of bed.  “Those men were right.”

     “What men?  Right about what?”

     “Oh, nothing,” I answered.

     Since that time, I’ve noticed a similar pattern.  When my wife isn’t home, my body seems to have problems with simple things around the house.  The other day it refused to pick up my clothes on the floor.  It would step over them, but it wouldn’t pick them up.  It sometimes refuses to do other simple tasks, such as taking out the garbage.  I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t even fight it.

     “I’ve seen robots do more work,” my wife complained one day, as my body rushed to take out the garbage and pick up my clothes.

     “That’s because their bodies don’t talk back,” I answered.

    Last Saturday, I was relaxing in my recliner, limbering up my thumb for a little channel surfing when my wife walked in.  “I thought you were going to clean the garage today,” she said expectantly.

    “I was just going out the door when my chiropractor told me to go relax in the recliner.  Then she had me do some reaching exercises.  That’s how the channel changer got in my hands.  She said if I keep my thumb moving, I won’t get that dreaded ‘frozen thumb’ syndrome.”

     “She called?” my wife asked with a puzzled look.  “And told you all that?”

     “No,” I said. “She told me to listen to my body, and that’s what my body was telling me to do.” 

     Connie came over and put her ear to my stomach.

     “What are you doing?” I asked.

     “Listening,” she answered.  “In fact, I think I hear a still, small voice.”

     “What is it saying?” I asked.

     “It’s saying, ‘You get out of this chair, and go out and clean the garage, or there’s no dinner’.”

     “I’m surprised I didn’t hear that,” I said as I ran to the garage. 

     On Monday, Lester stopped for a visit.  

    “My chiropractor keeps telling me to listen to my body,” I told him, “but it rarely agrees with me.  It responds much better to my wife.” 

     “Don’t be alarmed. That’s natural,” answered Lester.

     “It must be.  Yesterday I wanted to go to the coffee shop, but both hands had a death grip on the sofa.” 

     “You’d better release that grip,” my wife demanded.  “If he doesn’t get to the coffee shop, there won’t be any peace around here.”  My hands let go, and off I stumbled for coffee.

      I’m glad my wife was home.  Otherwise, I would still be clutching the sofa.  

 

     “Maintaining youth is much easier when you’re sixteen,”   said Lester.


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LISTEN TO YOUR BODY - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

      That afternoon I decided I would work out on the treadmill, and then enjoy some fresh fruit and veggies.  Just when I started to step on the treadmill, my body balked.  “Forget the treadmill, “it said.  “We can do that later.”  Let’s get a bowl of ice cream and a handful of cookies, and go big game hunting.”

     I strongly resisted the temptation to shorten my life with ice cream and cookies, but my body used temptation to overcome my resistance.  Not wanting to create an ugly scene by fighting back, I wisely filled a large bowl with ice cream, grabbed a package of cookies, and went big game hunting.  This meant grabbing my remote and tracking down the top football games on the ESPN highlight reel.  Of course, it’s almost impossible to track down any football game unless you’re in a recliner with a built-in back massager. 

     As soon as we had successfully completed our big game hunt, I said, “It’s time for us to get on that treadmill.”  My body didn’t hear a word.  It was sound asleep.  I thanked my body.  I was almost asleep, too.

     The following morning I was struck with a profound truth, which left a small lump on the side of my head.  If I was going to follow Miss Slimmer’s advice, I would have to take a tougher stand against the will of my body. 

     Later that week, I decided to walk a couple of miles around the high school track.  My body began protesting immediately.  “What are we doing?” it questioned loudly. 

    “Just walking around the track,” I answered.  “My chiropractor said you would thank me for it; maybe even give me a nice card.”

      “Are you joking?  I don’t give cards, but I may consider legal action if we don’t slow down.”

      “Going too slow is not good; faster is better,” I continued.

      “Sitting is better,” my body went on.

       “Don’t you want to limber up, keep the blood flowing, live longer?” I asked.

      “Live longer?  This exercise is killing me! I’ll live longer if I lie down.  Hey! There’s a nice spot on the grass.  Let’s get over there before some other body takes it.”  My body ran over and slumped to the ground.  “Get up!” I demanded.  It didn’t move.

     Miss Slimmer hadn’t told me it would be this hard.  I was getting more exercise fighting with my body.


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LISTEN TO YOUR BODY - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)
 

     I knew there was a secret to aging gracefully, to looking sixteen when you’re actually sixty-seven.  I just had to find the secret.  If I didn’t, aging would stomp all over me.  I decided to seek out my chiropractor, Miss Slimmer.  I knew she could give me some good advice for maintaining my youth. 

     Why are you here?” she asked with a cynical laugh.  “You never ask me for advice.” 

     I’m trying to find the secret to aging gracefully; to looking sixteen when I’m actually sixty-seven,” I said.  After giving her time to get up from the floor, where she had crumbled in a heap of laughter, I continued.  “Besides, I’m writing this book and…” 

     “Oh, alright,” she said, “I just hope my advice isn’t falling on deaf ears.”

    “Not at all,” I answered.  “I’ve just had my hearing tested, and the doctor said its fine.  I should be able to hear almost anything, even chiropractors.”

     “If you really want to age gracefully and maintain your youth, you need to tune in and listen to your body, “said Miss Slimmer.

     “Come to think of it, I have noticed more chatter as I’ve gotten older,” I said.  “I often hear whimpering and whining.  The other night there were a couple screams, and some loud explosions; probably indigestion.  Then there was that fight that woke me up. 

     “Your body is trying to get your attention,” Miss Slimmer went on.

     After listening to her advice, I understood why it was crucial to tune in and listen to your body.  It’s so you can hear age coming.  If you’re not paying attention, age will sneak up and surprise you.

     “Yikes! You scared me.  I didn’t realize you were already here.”

    If listening to my body will help me to age gracefully, I’m all for it.  “Graceful” brings to mind a picture of a ballet, with a young lady gliding effortlessly and swiftly across the stage on her tip-toes.  I like this image far more than shuffling through the house, holding on to furniture.  Besides, I can’t afford to buy more furniture. 

     Miss Slimmer continued with her suggestions.  “If you want to hear your body say nice things, you need to feed it the right food, like fruits and veggies.”  

  

     “I don’t know what I fed it last night, but my wife said if it keeps talking like that, it can set up camp outdoors, some distance away,” I answered.

     “That’s why it’s important to eat the right food, “said Miss Slimmer.  “You also need to get plenty of exercise.  Your body will thank you for it; maybe even send you a nice card.” 

     I went home determined to follow Miss Slimmer’s advice.

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LISTEN TO YOUR BODY - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)     


     Growing up, I never gave much thought to aging.  I figured I could do that when I was older and had more time. 
   
     Then I got older, and learned that time was short.  Desiring to maintain my youth, I decided to join the war on aging.  Before I could join, aging declared war on me.  It was ruthless.  First was the hair.  It began disappearing.   My comb didn’t want to get out of his pocket, feeling as though it was a waste of time trekking through so few hairs each morning.  I tried to track down the missing hair.

        

     “Have you seen any hair around the house that matches mine? I asked my wife.

   “There was some hair in the car, but I think it belonged to someone else,” she answered. 

     Soon I noticed more hair was missing.  I began a frantic search for the hair.  I looked in the closet, under the bed, behind the bookcase, on shelves---anywhere you would normally find hair hiding.  It was nowhere to be found.

     “Maybe it’s clinging to life in the shower drain,” said Connie.  

     I put my ear to the drain, trying to hear pleas for help.  Not a sound.  I tore the drain apart---no hair.

     “Maybe it gave up and let go,” said my wife. 

     Not one to give in to hair loss, I checked several combs and an old hairbrush to see if any hair had gotten caught and was struggling to get free.  I found plenty of hair in the old hairbrush, but it wasn’t mine.  It was much older.

     I could see the war on aging was going to be long and drawn-out.  I might have to call in more troops.

   After the flight of the hair, came the wrinkles.  They totally ignored the “No Trespassing” sign.  I tried some wrinkle remover, but they fought it off.  I tried scrubbing.  They wouldn’t budge.  I decided against the steam iron.

     Without my permission, the wrinkles began inviting their friends.  I didn’t know if there would be enough room for all of them.  They appeared like giant waves rolling in off the ocean.  My cheeks began to look like the site of the North Shore Surfing Championship.  I could almost feel someone surfing the tube on the side of my face. 

     “How can I get rid of these wrinkles?” I asked my wife.

     “Duct tape,” she answered.  “Pull your skin back and duct tape it behind your neck.  If you wear a turtleneck, no one will notice.” 

     “What a great idea!” 

     “Just don’t yawn,” she continued.  “You might cause a tsunami.  Wrinkles coming back at that speed could break your nose.”

     To outwit aging, I was going to have to use all the tricks I had up my sleeve.  Then I realized I was sleeveless; I would have to take a different approach.   

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LISTEN TO YOUR BODY -  Opening Segment (Scroll down for earlier chapters)


      I’m not certain when the transition took place, but at some point in life I began dressing like an “old man.” 

     I know this to be true because every morning when I get dressed, my wife will ask, “Are you going to wear those clothes?” 

     “No, I was just putting on a fashion show.”

     “Well, those are definitely out of fashion.  They look like ‘old man’ clothes.”

     I have no idea what “old man” clothes look like, but my wife can spot them from a hundred yards in a thick fog. 

     Having been in the clothes section of Macy’s on numerous occasions, I’ve never seen the section for “old men.”  So I have no idea how “old man” clothes got into my wardrobe.

     I’m just thankful I can still dress myself, although that could change quickly if I don’t learn to identify “old man” clothes, and find something else to wear.

     All of this has prompted me to work harder at maintaining a youthful appearance.  But in my effort to look younger, I’ve learned it was much easier when I was sixteen; and less costly.

     After pricing wrinkle removers, face lifts, hair transplants, tummy tucks, and baggy pants, I now know why people are aging; they can’t afford to maintain youth.  

 

     Growing up, I never gave much thought to aging.  I figured I could do that when I was older and had more time.  

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ADJUSTING TO CHANGE - Final Segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     In another effort to make our move easier, I petitioned the city to have our septic tank at the farm moved to a sacred spot on our new property.  I thought the tank with a golden plunger mounted on top would be a nice memorial.  After all, I had invested a good part of my life in the old tank.  I had even planned to set aside one day a year, where we would stand by the tank, (holding our breath, of course), in a moment of silence.  Sadly, the city denied my petition.  Apparently, there was no precedent for a septic tank memorial.  I guess you could say the city threw a plunger into my plans.

     What we would probably miss the most was “mole town.”  At the farm, we had cultivated a nice-sized “mole community” in our front yard.  We had watched the community grow.   We knew many of the moles by name.  There was Bob, and Fred, and Digger, to name a few.  We were just beginning to attract tourists.  I had even printed up brochures, marketing our moles on the same level as the prairie dog towns of South Dakota.  If we would have been there one more year, I’m certain we would have made National Geographic.  Before we left the farm, I tried to secure a “starter” mole for our new home, but without success.  I guess it’s just as well.  You hate to break up established mole families.

     After being in our new home for several months, I was walking through our yard one day and discovered Fred and Digger had returned.  I didn’t realize moles had a homing instinct.  It was good to see them back.

     We also had an elk herd that would visit frequently.  We liked the elk, but they were hard to mow around.

     Even though we were no longer in the farmhouse, we would always carry the millstone, I mean memories, of drapes rustling in a strong wind,  power outages,  frost on the sofa, a bat hanging in the utility, a bird sanctuary in our daughter’s bedroom, and a septic tank backed up to the Canadian border.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

     Once our home was built, it was time to landscape.   If I would have thought about that before we built, I would have stayed in the farmhouse.  Everything was on a bank.  Most of my time was spent keeping my balance.  I could see I was over-matched.  So I read an article in a magazine called “Taming the Slope.”   It would have been easier taming a cornered badger.  We finally decided to go with an inexpensive, natural look; something that wasn’t pretentious; something that would irritate the neighbors.  So we went with the weeds.  We liked them.  They required little maintenance.  We threw in a few dandelions for color.  We added a few flowers for the deer, which they enjoyed immensely.

     If there are any of you that are interested in building a new home, I would be happy to act as your consultant.  I can help you with the necessary adjustments in making your transition a smooth one.  I also have some great landscaping ideas.   

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ADJUSTING TO CHANGE - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)     


     Within the cost of building, you have allowances for lighting, flooring, cabinets, cement work, appliances, etc.  Anything you want is more than the contractor has allowed for.  I asked him if there was a living allowance.  “No,” he answered.  “If you want to actually live in the house, you will have to give me more money.”

     Our lighting allowance was just enough to cover the garage.  Any lights in the house were extra.  So I started pricing candles.  We finally went with the hanging flashlights.  My wife doesn’t like jumping up to turn off a moving switch, but her timing is improving greatly. 

     Our new home came complete with climate control.  We had climate control in the farmhouse, but it controlled us.  In our new home, we controlled the climate.  It didn’t take us long to adjust to this change.

     During the planning, the builder asked, “Would you like a 50, 100, or 150-box garage?”

     “We would really like a two-car garage,” I answered.

     “I’ve rarely seen a car in a garage; it’s usually boxes.  The car is always up the street.  You take a taxi to the house.” 

     As it turned out, he had keen insight.   Once the house was built, we had boxes piled throughout the garage.  “Where’s the car?” my wife asked one day. 

 

     “Up the street,” I answered.  “I just caught a cab to the house.”

     “I think it’s time we get rid of these boxes.  If there was a car in here, we would never find it.  Anyway, most of these boxes are junk.”

     “They’re another man’s treasure,” I responded.

     “Well, if we’re going to get a car in here, you’d better find that man and tell him to come and get his treasure.”

     When you move into a new home, there is always an adjustment period.  It was no different for us.   After living in the farmhouse, it took us about three seconds to adjust.

     Still, I wanted to make our transition as smooth as possible. 

     Because we had lived along a busy highway, I knew we would miss the road noise.  Fortunately, I was able to get a great recording before we moved.  I put it on a CD.  When we went to bed, I turned it on.   We fell asleep listening to screeching tires, honking horns, some great compression braking, along with an assortment of boom boxes on wheels in surround sound. 

 

     We were also serenaded every night by nearby coyotes.  But they couldn’t compete with the compression braking. 

     Another farm tradition that I knew we would miss was the annual “Pipe-burst”, held each winter under our house.  It would start with a pipe bursting, and spraying water in the utility.  From there, it would spread under the house.  What fond memories!  We enjoyed so many get-togethers with the local plumber.  Connie would always make pipe wrench-shaped cookies for him.

    “With all the insulation in our new home, I’m afraid we’ll miss the Pipe-burst,” I told my wife. 

     “Maybe we could take out enough insulation to expose some pipes in time for a cold blast, “she answered.  “Otherwise, it could be a very quiet winter.”

     “Yeah, it would be nice to get together and freeze a few pipes for old time’s sake.”

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