My Life As A Hobby

  I walked about seventy-five yards from the visitor center, stepped to the railing, looked both ways, and I gawked. I’m not a big gawker. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I gawked. But the Grand Canyon will do that to you. It isn’t something you merely see. It’s something you behold. It is truly awesome. Which got me thinking about the word awesome. It may be the most abused word in the English language. It applies to the Grand Canyon and the Golden Gate Bridge. It does not apply to a waitress who got your order right at Cracker Barrel. That isn’t awesome. That’s being competent. Later that day, I climbed into my rental car, started the engine, and programmed Google Maps to take me back to Phoenix. As I pulled onto the highway, I began to wonder what else in our lives deserves the kind of awe we reserve for natural wonders and tall buildings.  We live in an age of awesomeness and we barely notice it. We carry in our pockets a slab of glass that can summon the w...

      There’s a specific time of year when I don’t need a calendar to know what day it is. All I have to do is pull into the YMCA parking lot and take a look around. Almost every space is filled. Just a week earlier, I could have parked anywhere I wanted, diagonal, sideways, maybe even backing in a space if I was feeling frisky. Now I’m circling like a buzzard over roadkill, hoping someone finishes their workout before I finish my patience.     Once inside, the evidence becomes overwhelming. The locker room is full of people I’ve never seen before. Not just one or two strangers, an entire convention of them. I had to wait in line for a shower, which at the YMCA feels unnatural. The steam room was packed, the whirlpool was overflowing with humanity, and, this one really stung, someone had taken my favorite locker. I don’t know how to explain this to non-YMCA people, but lockers are territorial. You don’t just take another man’s locker. That’s how turf wars start....

  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’...

        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...

                         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...