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Please Spare Me - Ten Pins & One Rotator Cuff

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It began innocently enough. Most bad things do. Nobody ever says, “Hey, I’m let’s go to the bowling alley and see if you can suffer an injury in front of your grandchildren.” But there I was, standing under the glow of fluorescent lights and the smell of rented shoes, about to learn yet another important lesson about aging. It wasn’t my intent. I had just stopped by because I knew my son was at the bowling alley with three of my granddaughters. I decided to make a surprise guest appearance and watch them bowl. And that’s when it happened. One of them asked me to bowl a frame. One frame. That’s two rolls of a bowling ball. Two. Not climbing Mount Everest. Not competing in the decathlon. Not wrestling an alligator. It’s bowling - the . sport most commonly associated with pitchers of beer, chili-cheese fries, and men named Earl. In fairness, I used to be a decent bowler back in the day. I even bowled in a league when I was a kid. I owned my own bowling ball at one point in life, which...
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It Wasn’t My Time

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  There are moments in life when the distance between an ordinary day and tragedy is measured in inches. I’ve thought about that a lot today - with good reason.  Yesterday started out as a good day, even though it centered around a funeral home. My wife Carol, my oldest son Matt, and I had gone to pay our respects to the family of lifelong friends. As strange as it sounds, it turned into one of those bittersweet gatherings that reminds you how deeply connected your life is to other people. We saw old friends we hadn’t laid eyes on in decades. There were hugs, old stories, laughter, and the kind of catching up that somehow picks right back up where it left off. A wonderful event, though it was obviously wrapped in sadness. Afterward, the three of us went to eat. Nothing fancy. Just a pleasant meal and good conversation before heading home. It felt like a completely normal evening. Ordinary in every way. And then, within a matter of seconds, it almost wasn’t. We pulled up...
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Have a Nice Bidet!

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  I’m in my bathroom, standing in a nasty puddle of water, with a plunger in one hand and a bent coat hanger in the other. It’s hard to believe that just twelve hours earlier, I was eating breakfast on a cruise ship, while a man in a white jacket asked me if I wanted more smoked salmon with my omelette. Now, I’m at home trying to unclog a toilet - talk about a fall to earth.  After about an hour, all I had managed to do was slop disgusting water everywhere. So it was time to move out of the  coat hanger era of plumbing and into the 21st century.    I went to my laptop and booted up Chatty Cathy - my name for ChatGPT. Despite having no real world plumbing experience, which still puts her slightly ahead of me, she suggested that I bail out the toilet, then pour in a cup of dishwashing liquid and a half gallon of hot water.  Ol’ Chatty was right - it unclogged, until the next morning, when it backed up again. That’s when I gave up and called a plumber - after...
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The Flower Power Cruise: Old Bands, Old People, Old Music

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I’ve never been shushed at a concert in my life - until a few days ago. That’s when a lady in front of us turned around and said we were talking too loud and she couldn’t hear the blaring music. At an outdoor concert, no less. All I did, besides sing along with the band like everyone one else, was ask the guy next to me if he wanted my extra bottle of water. The couple to the left of us just shook their heads.   My wife said, “What’s wrong with her?”   “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s PMS - she’s way past the “M.”   “Well,somebody must have kicked her cat.”   But really, it was the law of averages. I suppose when there are a boatload full of old people, a few crabby ones are inevitable. And when I say boatload, I’m not kidding - because we were on a ship, aptly named the Flower Power Cruise.   If I had to describe it, I’d call it “Woodstock on the Water.” Only with better plumbing, significantly more food, and legal prescription medi...
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Two Dogs, One Bed, No Dignity

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  Two Dogs, One Bed, No Dignity I woke up at three AM, which is not unusual. At my age, the bladder rules. It was time to take a bathroom break, return to bed, and then think of something boring until I conk out again. That’s normal. What is not normal, however, is what I saw when I turned over and opened my eyes. Once they focused, there it was, no more than six inches away. I was staring at the business end of my dog, Roscoe. He was lying between me and my wife - and believe me, she had a much better view than I did. I felt like a puppy proctologist. Properly startled and disgusted, I quickly got up and made my pit stop. Upon returning to the bed, I discovered that Roscoe had moved, claiming my cherished sleeping territory. I suppose he thought that possession is nine-tenths of the law. However, since he doesn’t pay the mortgage, I whispered in my library voice, “Roscoe, move over.” He lifted his head, looked at me like I had just suggested rearranging the furniture during a...
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Too Old For a Midlife Crisis

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  I was two days out of knee surgery, lying on my bed in a Loratab-induced fog, when I sat up and uttered a sentence to my wife that I never imagined would come out of my mouth. “Hey, I’m going to get my walker, go to the kitchen, and take a Flomax.” The instant it passed my lips, I thought, “Sweet Moses…what did I just say?” “I don’t say things like that,” I told myself. “Old people say things like that - real old people.” Then the thought struck me like a geriatric thunderbolt.  I am 72.  And folks…that is old. For example, if I was involved in a car accident right now, the local news anchor wouldn’t say, “A man was injured.” No. They’d say, “An elderly man was transported to the hospital.” Operative word:  Elderly. That hits a little different when it’s aimed directly at you. I’ve also noticed something else lately. Fifty-year-old people say “yes sir” to me now. “Yes sir.” When did that start happening? I still remember being the guy who said “yes sir” to people w...
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