Friday, April 5, 2013

Senilality and Age

It seems to me....
One of the advantages of getting old is that you get to repeat many of your favorite stories (  or stones  ) to the same people  -  and  -  you are somewhat forgiven because of your senility   I take pride in this.  My mom did it on a regular basis.   Before I continue, let's take up the senilality or senility.  I have never had the occasion to type such a word.  Spell check goes with senility.   I prefer  Senile - a - lity.  What me Senile?

So should I forget that I have recited a recital  or recitative on these pages, I will be forgiven.  After all, I am approaching my Senile years...not with glee...but unstoppable.  I believe it was someone like George Burns who said that getting old is not for the feint of heart...or...was it not for sissies.  There is only one other option for getting old.  

What kicked me into these thoughts were two events recently.  One of them today.  If you have bothered to read below you know that we are redoing our roads out here in Bluffview HOA.  We did a stretch of the road a couple years ago and are doing another stretch this year.   An extra $400  was due to the HOA this year for roads.   Next year?  Probably another $400 and another stretch of road.   We are so fortunate to have this honor ( Fiddler on the Roof reference here).  
A rock base was spread on top of our old  asphalt earlier.  Thursday, a fine sand is to be spread to help the asphalt adhere.   One of the homeowners - Sean - has a small 1936 tractor (in need of restoration)  which is used to spread the sand.   So we pay this company to bring a really long dump truck to our road - it is a  "flow-boy."  The truck drives slowly up the road leaving a one to two foot high mound of sand...sorta conveyer belt running out the end.   Fine.
I have done nothing yet on the road.  Went down yesterday at 8:30 as requested with my rake and shovel.  I did.   Sand truck didn't show.   At 10:30 I went home and got a drink.   Back down there at 11.  The truck shows.  I was told to go home and wait - we'll call...nothing for me to do yet.   I did.   Back at home I ate left-overs, which I might add is one of my best skills which I would attempt with my rake and shovel if the spouse would allow.   Finished, back down the road scurried I.  Nobody there.   Instead, went to the mailbox and got the mail; I did.   Home again.   About 1:30 a big sand truck appears in front of my house and making a U turn in the Cul-de-sac.  (I love speaking French to impress all comers.)
I followed the sand truck soon.  I did.  There was the truck in the middle of the road, stopped.  Shortening this stone a bit - turns out the truck ran out of gas.  It did.   It has 2 tanks, one left side and one right.  The left tank was full; the right tank was empty.  Truck stopped.  How can this relate to age?
The truck driver was old...creepingly old.  He was about a foot shorter than I (yes, it is possible).  He was so ragged, missing teeth, Salvation Army clothes throw aways,  the whole bit.   Twice as we stood waiting for the diesel to arrive he makes a comment about how old he is.   His boss showed up, another geezer, yes, but a full size geezer, tummy and all.   Again the driver made a remark about his age.

His comment was, and I do paraphrase here,   " Can't blame me;  I'm old,  62 years old ....."  Yes, this dried up prune of a wart proclaimed he was 62 years old.   62.   He looked 101 and should have his photo on the Today show's gallery of really old people.   62, let me repeat that.  62.   Ten years my junior.  
Little side stone here:  he made the comment that he could solve the gas problem if he had a really long Oklahoma credit card.   Our HOA leader had never heard of the Okla credit card.  I thought it was general knowledge.   You don't know?  Think long rubber tube stuck down in your gas tank, siphoning off the tank of gas.   That is an Oklahoma credit card.
62.  Gads.  I bet he is looking forward to his Golden Years living off his social security.
. 2nd stone:   I may have told this before  (see top paragraph for excuse).  My wife and I were walking through the flowers of the Dallas Arboretum a couple weeks back.  We walked one path after another.  It was very nice.  Walking up this one winding path, we hesitated between two "ancient" ladies parked on a metal bench to the right and some beautiful blooms on the left.  The flowers were quite vibrant,  and my camera came out for a photo op.
One of the old ladies said to my wife:  "Your shoe string is untied." 
Heads turned down to see the right shoe with dangling strings.  My wife smiled; I do believe she smiled towards the ladies and made a minor comment.
Then came the "age" comment.   The lady on the left emitted,  "Would you like for one us to tie it for you?"    Let the rolling of the eyes commence.  I quickly turned towards the blooms not knowing what my wife would respond.   She thanked them - then -  and this part I love - she bent at the waist, knees locked, bent over at the waist and tied the shoe without a hesitation.   Can you do that?  I don't think I can bend at the waist and tie my shoes.  I can flounder on the ground and accomplish same.  Then, the ancient ladies would have to help me off the ground.

So with that I will almost close.  In the beginning I mentioned that my mother repeated stories.  In her youth - college even - she was a cheerleader type able to do the splits - and other big cheerleading moves of the 1930s.  Later in life she would let us know that she use to be able to sit on the floor with her legs alongside all day long.  As she aged she could no longer squat down on the floor.  I use to pass it off - but as you can tell, it made an impression on me.  Now that I have the same age affliction, the floor is no longer my sitting friend.  Give me a chair - a chair with a thick cushion - please.

P.S.  FRIDAY - Asphalt is to begin today.  Walked down there about 9:30 - all workers with their lime green vests were sitting in the shade.   One of the machines has broken down.  When will it all end?

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