45 And Still Alive
I turned 45 on April 18, and, as is my birthday custom, I’m taking stock of my life.
I’m now nearer to retirement than to the beginning of my work career, unless the Social Security Administration does some more “tweaking.” (“Dear Abby: My government insists it’s committed to my retiring someday, but keeps changing the date --supposedly for the sake of the kids. Should I pack up and leave?”)
As far as forced retirement, why are age policies so different between the secular world and the Catholic Church? A guy in a regular job is handed a gold watch and hits the door. Hand one of the cardinals a watch and he gushes, “Oh, yeah – I remember when they invented watches!”
The older I get, the more responsibilities and stress I feel from juggling family, work, and church. Some days I feel as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders. No, wait – that’s just my falling hair.
Father Time’s relentless march only makes me appreciate oldies radio stations more. But some songs get more depressing every day. When I hear the Beach Boys sing “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older…,” I want to give somebody some “good vibrations” upside the head.
Even Jim Croce’s beautiful “Time In A Bottle” hasn’t aged well. I tend to modernize it as “If I could save time in a bottle, somebody would put a @#$% child-proof safety cap on it!”
Life is rushing by so fast, I’m trying to be more observant. While driving, I pay more attention to the roadside. I’ve seen things I’ve never noticed before: a gazebo in a back yard, a misspelled word on a “No Trespassing” sign, blue lights in the rearview mirror…
I haven’t really had that many milestones in the past year. I did overcome my cotton allergy. (“Cotton: the look, the feel, the fabric of your sleep disorders.”) And we boldly leapt into the 1950s by purchasing a dishwasher, to keep Crocodile Hunter from capturing my dishpan hands for his trophy room.
Okay, I did start a blog (a web log, for those not Internet-savvy), mostly for archiving favorite columns and posting family pictures. Like many a project, I’ve shamefully neglected it. It’s an old Tyree motto: “Don’t do anything halfway, when you can get away with doing it quarter-way.” (View the blog at http://dannytyree.blogspot.com.)
My birthday wasn’t all bad. Melissa and I celebrated by attending the two-person play “Love Letters.” I enjoyed it immensely, although I was holding out for “Large Print Love Letters.”
Melissa gave me a set of “Red Skelton Show” DVDs. They provide wholesome entertainment, although they also magnify the irony of aging. How is it I can remember Clem Kadiddlehopper or seagulls Gertrude and Heathcliff from 40 years ago but can’t remember why I just entered a room? And don’t try to bluff your way out of a memory lapse. Guessing wrong about why you entered the bathroom can be disastrous.
Check with me next year to see if I’m any less obsessed with the calendar. Maybe those sunshine boys at the College of Cardinals will take on a more youthful attitude as well. . (“Kiss my ring? I’ll tell you what you can kiss if you don’t turn down that music, you little punk!”)
I’m now nearer to retirement than to the beginning of my work career, unless the Social Security Administration does some more “tweaking.” (“Dear Abby: My government insists it’s committed to my retiring someday, but keeps changing the date --supposedly for the sake of the kids. Should I pack up and leave?”)
As far as forced retirement, why are age policies so different between the secular world and the Catholic Church? A guy in a regular job is handed a gold watch and hits the door. Hand one of the cardinals a watch and he gushes, “Oh, yeah – I remember when they invented watches!”
The older I get, the more responsibilities and stress I feel from juggling family, work, and church. Some days I feel as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders. No, wait – that’s just my falling hair.
Father Time’s relentless march only makes me appreciate oldies radio stations more. But some songs get more depressing every day. When I hear the Beach Boys sing “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older…,” I want to give somebody some “good vibrations” upside the head.
Even Jim Croce’s beautiful “Time In A Bottle” hasn’t aged well. I tend to modernize it as “If I could save time in a bottle, somebody would put a @#$% child-proof safety cap on it!”
Life is rushing by so fast, I’m trying to be more observant. While driving, I pay more attention to the roadside. I’ve seen things I’ve never noticed before: a gazebo in a back yard, a misspelled word on a “No Trespassing” sign, blue lights in the rearview mirror…
I haven’t really had that many milestones in the past year. I did overcome my cotton allergy. (“Cotton: the look, the feel, the fabric of your sleep disorders.”) And we boldly leapt into the 1950s by purchasing a dishwasher, to keep Crocodile Hunter from capturing my dishpan hands for his trophy room.
Okay, I did start a blog (a web log, for those not Internet-savvy), mostly for archiving favorite columns and posting family pictures. Like many a project, I’ve shamefully neglected it. It’s an old Tyree motto: “Don’t do anything halfway, when you can get away with doing it quarter-way.” (View the blog at http://dannytyree.blogspot.com.)
My birthday wasn’t all bad. Melissa and I celebrated by attending the two-person play “Love Letters.” I enjoyed it immensely, although I was holding out for “Large Print Love Letters.”
Melissa gave me a set of “Red Skelton Show” DVDs. They provide wholesome entertainment, although they also magnify the irony of aging. How is it I can remember Clem Kadiddlehopper or seagulls Gertrude and Heathcliff from 40 years ago but can’t remember why I just entered a room? And don’t try to bluff your way out of a memory lapse. Guessing wrong about why you entered the bathroom can be disastrous.
Check with me next year to see if I’m any less obsessed with the calendar. Maybe those sunshine boys at the College of Cardinals will take on a more youthful attitude as well. . (“Kiss my ring? I’ll tell you what you can kiss if you don’t turn down that music, you little punk!”)
posted by Danny Tyree at 7:22 PM
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