Fit as a Fiddle and Ready for Love

They say that aging is not for the faint of heart. Neither is writing about it, unless you are a glutton for punishment. There is not a spot on or near my body that does not come under attack at least 20 hours of the day. But I’m neither a whiner nor a crusader – just a reporter.

I once guessed I would live to age 53, a number conveniently half-way between the ages of my parents when they passed on.. Well, that day came and went many years ago. Now I am ancient. Not an age to be falling down on cold cement floors and breaking bones in my back. And not an age for catching pneumonia, nor 8 or 10 other malevolent infirmities with names I can neither spell nor pronounce. Yes, I have also taken 5 or 6 bottles of different memory restoring pills. Still. I can’t remember their names.

I wrote a book in 27 days last August, using AI to help bring in a lot of facts that were up to the minute. It had a political theme, such that it was obsolete by November. That’s why dabbling in politics is better left to those more familiar with stagnant swamp waters than me.

I’m becoming a bit of a menace nowadays while driving. Arthritis in my neck limits my field of vision such that I can’t see the yahoos who find and stay in my blind spot. I’m thinking of buying a golf cart for my critical runs to the grocery store, pharmacy, and the local wine and sandwich shoppe—all within 3 or 4 miles of my house. I’m pretty certain I don’t need a driver’s license for driving on sidewalks. I don’t even know who has the right-of-way – me or the pedestrians.  I’m also not sure of who can run faster. But I’m keeping my Wal-Mart GPS unit to save me the embarrassment of needing to ask my neighbors for directions to my house. They all look alike from the sidewalk.

I was always prompt about paying my bills. Now I have a new plan. I use three hats for my bills. The first hat is marked “bills I intend to pay right away,” the second is marked “bills I intend to pay sometime,”and a third is marked “bills I will never pay.” I put all bills from questionable creditors in Hat #3. If they refrain from using harsh words, I consider moving their bill from Hat #3 to Hat #2.

Every community in the South has a snooty enclave of rednecks that take up residence behind gated walls. I drove to the entrance of one in search of a my dream golf cart. I was greeted by an artificial voice planted in the wall. She wanted my name, address, phone number, anticipated length, and credit card number. I gave her the mayor’s info and phone number then drove away.

With that summary, I bid you all a fair-to-middlin’ year in 2026. As for me, I’ll have to settle for these amorous words: “Now the days dwindle down to a precious few--September, November. But these few precious days, I'll spend with you. These precious days I'll spend with you.“