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.   

To be continued...check back soon.    

   

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.  

New Segment Coming...check back soon.

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.   

New Chapter Coming...check back soon