My Life As A Hobby

  I’m standing by my chair, waiting for a senior yoga class to begin. That’s because I am a senior, and someone convinced me that bending myself out of shape for an hour would make me feel better. I think it’s a lie, but I don’t have any evidence to prove it. However, a lot of people do believe it helps, because every week several dozen seasoned citizens walk into the YMCA, grab a chair, then twist, turn, stretch and bob. And I’m here too, just one more hopeful member of the geriatric yoga group. I always was one to follow the crowd.  Before we began stretching and grunting, I struck up a conversation with a little old lady sitting next to me. Maybe I shouldn’t say old, because I’m old too.  However, I’m sure there are lots of people in this class who are several years my elder.  What a nice person my classmate Charlotte was.  We begin to talk about a number of things, including our grandchildren - because by law, that’s what older people have to do. That’s when she asked me a ve

  My wife Carol has been strongly suggesting (I call it nagging) that I visit my doctor and get the once over.  I told her that even though it’s been 6 months beyond my usual check-up time, I feel fine. She responded that I would never let my car go 6 months past its oil change date, even if it was running great. I hate it when she uses logic and common sense on me.   So after I made an appointment and checked in, a nurse escorted me to the exam room. The instant I walked through that door I smelled it: the tart, medicinal odor of isopropyl alcohol. My heart began to race, and a tense feeling came over me. That’s because this scent reminds me of my childhood visits to the doctor’s office. Usually, I was sick, which meant there was a good chance I was going to get a scary, painful injection.  And decades later, one whiff of that alcohol conjured up those same feelings of dread I had as a little kid.  It’s all in the nose.  Apparently, the section of the brain that processes odors is

Since I had knee surgery earlier this year, I’ve been looking for a low impact method of exercise.  Actually, my wife has been looking for me. My choice was no exercise - that’s low impact, right?  Of course, she  completely ignored my comments and promptly enrolled me in her water aerobics class at the YMCA.  I should've reported her to the DHR.  Whoever paired exercise with swimming pools should be forced to wear a Speedo that’s three sizes too small.  Pools are made for slothful activities like sunning on a lounge chair, or hanging on the side with an adult beverage in hand. Swimming laps or diving (unless it’s a cannon ball), should be against the law.  Nevertheless, I agreed to go to water aerobics because I could use this for leverage the next time I wanted to go on a golf trip. So in a couple of days, I walked in the Y, flashed my ID, and for the next hour, was SOL.  I changed, went outside, and was greeted by a swimming pool chocked full of people. It looked like Gu