A TURKEY BONE GAVE ME PAUSE
I began pondering this on Thanksgiving when I almost choked on a turkey bone, no doubt a well known way of checking out when old age has taken center stage and youth is far behind you.
Mind you, I don't find it true that there's such a thing called "old." I've never been sold on this theory that seniority is the one way trip on the good ship broken hip, aching back, heart attack, stroke or that big joke about you're too up in years to use that lump of clay between your ears for thinking, learning and burning with a mad desire to set the world on fire. Well, maybe not ablaze, but still a spark or two to let the world know you ain't through doing what you used to do and hope you never mope it through.
I always am annoyed by those who avoid the chance to take another hot shot at romance, learn new skills or seek new thrills or face new dares because nobody cares or shares your story about that unrealized moment of glory you still dream about. It seems without that constant drive you have no reason to be alive.
But here you are and there's the star you should be reaching for to score another small success on the way to endless happiness. What other chances have you got? Laziness, haziness, stress, emptiness and nothingness.
I'm arthritic, a diabetic, diagnosed and dosed with pills to minimize and tranquilize the booby-prize awaiting me. I've got Parkinson's, bouts of runs and constipation, constant urination thanks to an enlarged prostate situation.
I get my share of aches, but I've got fake teeth to chew my steak and take it rare except when it's tough. Then I chew and chew until my teeth get loose and fall into my tomato juice or dinner plate, my coffee cup or on the floor where I can't stoop to pick 'em up.
But I'll endure and, for sure, go on until I awake one dawn and when I can't get out of bed I'll know that, finally, I am dead.