Sunday Scribblings - "Aging" - 3/29/09

The first thing that came to mind when I saw the Sunday Scribblings prompt of “Aging” is a line from Jeff Dunham’s very funny ventriloquist act: Jeff: “Women age like fine wine.” Walter (dummy): “She ages like milk.”

I think that 2008 was the year that I became aware I was curdling. I have always been reluctantly aware of aging, but last year it became impossible to remain in denial. If I were an automobile, every warning light would be illuminated and all gauges would be pegged to the minimum values. My doctor started using words like biopsy, nodule, mass, cyst, polyps, etc. And what is up with skin tags? I am getting so many of them I am starting to look like a Trill. I had x-rays, cat scans, and MRIs of body parts that doctors had never had any interest in before. Every time they ask my family history my response is met with a slight grimace and a worrisome amount of medical transcription. Both my parents died of metastatic cancer, origin unknown, at a fairly young age. I am careening towards that age.

The older that I get, the faster the months of the calendar tear off. Years, sometimes decades, pass without me really noticing. I have been divorced for over 22 years, much longer than I was married. I have been retired from the Air Force for over 16 years. I still have nightmares about both tours of duty. But most shocking to me is that the final episode of Seinfeld was broadcast 11 years ago. Of course that doesn’t stop me from watching reruns every day. I am certain that when the poet, Virgil, coined the phrase “tempus fugit” he was in my demographic.

Some of the aging signs are physical and some are mental. Some are subtle and some are dramatic and undeniable. As a very corporeal person, who considers himself ten feet tall and bullet proof, physical corrosions are the most obvious.

Not long ago, Skooter and I were walking on the beach. Some guys were tossing a football and it got loose near us. I picked it up and elected to throw it back to the guy who was about 30 yards down the beach. One thing I was blessed with was a very strong throwing arm. So I gauged the effort required to complete this pass with a tight spiral would be little more than a flick of the wrist. I cocked and fired and it flew like a duck that had been hit by anti-aircraft fire. Not only did it not make the 30 yards, it went end over end and did not fly out of my shadow. I think, even my dog was embarrassed by my futility. The only thing that could have been worse would have been an attempt to kick the ball and add a groin pull to my damaged pride. There was a similar event featuring an alligator and a golf ball that my son, Josh, revels in witnessing but I will not detail here.

My golf game has lost 50 yards of driving distance in recent years but I have not yet achieved the “old man” accuracy that usually replaces it.

There has been an irrefutable loss of mental acuity. I often enter a room without any knowledge of a reason for being there. I have often read several chapters of a book before realizing I had read it before. These small, seemingly insignificant, lapses are actually more disturbing than the expected physical deterioration. How close am I to being the guy who forgets to put his pants on before leaving the house?

But the most disconcerting indication of my aging is that I have reached that magical point in my life that a woman I find attractive and desirable may be interested in me as a dating possibility…………….for her mother. Stop laughing!!