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Too Old For A New Truck

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  Well, it’s official. Today I learned that I am too old to buy a truck. On a day when most people rejoice because they have something shiny and new in their driveway, I’m a bit depressed. I’ve realized that what I just bought isn’t a truck with a computer, it’s a computer with four tires; and it may be above my pay grade.  Think I’m kidding?  Once we consummated the sale, I spent almost two hours sitting in the vehicle while the salesman hooked me up to the Internet,  and showed me how to use every device in the truck (which I’ve already forgotten, by the way). I never thought the day would come when I’d have to go to class after buying a car. I’m fairly certain the Apollo 11 astronauts didn’t have to contend with this much stuff on their trip to the moon. Before he left, the salesman told me to “push a lot of the buttons, read the brochure I gave you, and then we’ll get together in a week or so.”  He gave me homework!    At this stage of life, I don’...
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Shut Up & Take Your Medicine!

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        It’s official - I have what is commonly known in medical circles as the crud.      I’m sneezing, I’m stopped up, and I’m coughing like an old Buick trying to start on a cold winter morning. I feel like a sucked dry orange, and my voice is so raspy it sounds like an adolescent teenager.  Naturally, when my wife heard me blow my nose for the first time, she insisted that I march right down to a Doc in a Box. I know what she’s up to, and it’s not because she’s concerned for my health. Oh no. Instead, she’s worried about her own well-being.  Because, according to her, I am one of the worst patients on earth, which means her misery will be worse than my illness.        And unfortunately for both of us, she’s right. When I’m sick, I cannot suffer silently - not even close.  I whine, complain, and moan like a ghost in a haunted house. I’ve been known to say, “Tell the kids I love them,” when I have a head cold. Socie...
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If You Can’t Beat ‘Em Scoot ‘Em

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                         I can’t believe I posted this. No humility. “.   - What the hell did you do that for?” Is not something I usually say at one of the happiest places on earth. Yet there I was on my last trip to Universal Studios in Orlando, saying it to my wife. Because on the second morning, in front of my kids and grandkids, she committed a small but unforgivable act of betrayal, one that stomped my dignity flat. She ordered me an electric scooter.       Yes, I arrived with a bum right knee. Yes, I walked about eight miles the first day that felt like the Bataan Death March. Yes, I was downing ibuprofen like peanut M&Ms.      But still, an electric scooter is crossing a big line. I considered that thing a rolling obituary notice. In my mind, it’s saying to  world, “Yes, I have all my affairs in order.”        I’m not in denial about getting older. I’v...
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Sore Feet and No Seats

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      I’ve done some dumb things in my life.  On several occasions I have shown Heisman level stupidity, and I’m embarrassed to say I’ve added another one to my collection.      Take this as an official warning. All  y’all planning theme park trips; don’t do this. Don’t be me. Don’t be us.     I was in Orlando, visiting the Universal Epic Universe theme park, and let me tell you: the only thing “epic” was my epic lapse in judgment that brought me to wait in line of a particular roller coaster.       It was in Nintendo Land, and I spent over  2½ hours  waiting for a ride called Mine Car Madness. The only madness was the wait in line. To be fair, they told us it was “135 minutes.” And like geniuses, we nodded and said, “Sounds reasonable.” Apparently, we collectively forgot that 135 minutes is basically the run time of Titanic. The sign at the entrance said, “you must be to this tall to ride.”  It  sh...
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Cascade Plunge - Cold Water Jump

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      There I stood, a 12-year-old boy in a dripping wet bathing suit, heart in my throat, gazing out from the top of a skyscraper-sized tower that overlooked what appeared to be the biggest swimming pool on earth. I turned and saw that my buddy, the one who climbed up with me for moral support, had chickened out. He was already skulking back down the stairs. I did not need to see that show of cowardice because my own resolve was weakening. So instead of watching him retreat, I stepped to the edge of the platform and took a long look around.     The jumping tower resembled a giant letter “A,” perhaps 25 feet tall, although it seemed much higher to a kid with shaky knees. Along the way up were smaller platforms jutting out every six feet or so, ideal for those less courageous, or perhaps wiser than I felt at that moment.     The view was impressive. I could see the entire pool, which was roughly two-thirds the size of a football field. At the far end ro...
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Fruitcake and Other Feast Failures

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    Ah, Thanksgiving - the holiday built around gratitude, family, and if we are being honest, food. I could add football to the list, but most games on Thanksgiving are so dull they just hasten the inevitable post-meal nap.      It’s definitely an American holiday that’s based on abundance.  Every November, families gather around dining room tables that groan under the weight of golden turkeys, dressing, spiral ham, buttery mashed potatoes, and assorted homemade casseroles.     But lurking among these beloved dishes, hiding beside your mom’s mac and cheese and grandma’s field peas, are a couple of culinary outliers, foods that inspire grimaces not gratitude. Of course, I’m talking about  fruitcake and green bean casserole. If a Pilgrim wife had brought a fruitcake and a green bean casserole to the first Thanksgiving feast, the Indians might’ve killed them all on the spot.     Although they may be served with the best intentions, th...
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If The Clothes Don’t Fit , Why Don’t You Just Quit?

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      I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long time, in fact, it’s been years. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not looking forward to it. Apparently, the situation requires it, and I don’t have a choice.     I’m going to wear a suit and tie.     We received a last-minute invitation to a hoity-toity charity event that contained two words which chilled me to the bone: “cocktail attire.” So, after about ten years, it’s finally caught up with me: I must don a suit and tie. Until now, I’ve managed to get through funerals and all kinds of social events wearing  a blue blazer, casual  gray slacks, and a polo shirt. Occasionally, I have gotten by with  wearing jeans, a tweed jacket, a black T-shirt, and sneakers - that comedy look. But not this time.     As a result, I’m scrambling through my closet, digging through old pleated pants and paisley ties like a squirrel searching for a buried acorn.     When you begin r...
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