Not long ago, I was sitting down on the cold curb of existence, inhaling the exhaust fumes of the past, contemplating the meaning of life.

It was unfortunate that at that very moment, my wife called for me to take out the trash. It destroyed my poetic vision and yanked me solidly, and not too gently, back to the reality of who I am. And who am I? An overweight, balding, bearded older man who is winded playing solitaire.

But that was not always so. At one time, I was dapper - even dashing! I had a 32-inch waist and was two inches taller than I am now. I had hair on top of my head and I could play "Red River Valley" on the harmonica without fear of cardiac arrest.

I had fewer memories then, and because of it, got into more mischief. That is not to say I don't get into mischief 50 years later. The other morning, I left the lid off the peanut butter jar on purpose. And that evening, I did the exact same thing with the toothpaste tube.

I don't want my wife to start taking me for granted or thinking I don't have "it" anymore. This way, she knows I still live on the edge.

When I think back to the things I could do all day without breaking a sweat that now take me all day to do, I get very melancholy. This reminds me that my mom told me that horses sweat and people perspire. So, I've taken poetic licence in saying "without breaking a sweat" rather than "without breaking perspiration."

Because the wrong sounds right and the right sounds wrong!

At one time, I could ride a bicycle, run up and down stairs and wink at pretty girls. Now, I avoid curbs and will only drive a car or a scooter with four wheels.

Recently, to let my wife know there's still a lot of life left in me, I winked at her with a sly smile on my face. She rushed out of the room and then slunk back in, sidled over to the chair I was in, grabbed my jaw, pushed my head back and leaned in close.

I hadn't expected that reaction, but I wasn't at all surprised. When you have it, you have it! I was ready for a great romantic kiss! You can imagine my shock when she squirted my eye with Visine. I think, at least for a while, I'm going to hold back on the winks.

Perhaps I'm no longer debonair and svelte, but I was told by a panhandler that I looked very distinguished. Of course, it was after I had given him five dollars. Still, he seemed like an honest and observant young fellow. I very proudly told my wife what he said when I returned home. She just smiled.

I could do a lot more when I was younger and young, but I don't know if given the opportunity to go back that I would. It's somewhat nice walking and not feeling I have to be running. I like counting my pennies instead of looking forward to a pay cheque that seemed to vanish in a few short days.

It's good to know my wife keeps Visine handy and that if my eye gets locked in a wink, she's there to rescue me.

It doesn't matter if a person looks distinguished or not, I guess, as long as they can still laugh - especially at themselves. Even if I could still ride a bicycle, I have nowhere to ride it to. And I live in a rancher, so there's no need for me to climb stairs. I may no longer be able to move fast, but I'm no longer racing, let alone trying to win the race. Slow is kind of a nice speed.

Maybe I am winded playing solitaire, but I usually have time for a nap, so one works for the other. And what does it matter if I decide to explore my poetic side and sit on the cold curb of existence inhaling the fumes of the past and contemplate the meaning of life - only to have my wife call me to take out the trash? At least it shows that I'm still able to do something, and that I'm still needed.

I don't take up much space anymore, and the space I've got is a good space. So, if someone rushes by me and gives me a bump, I just say: "Hey, don't worry about it. No perspiration!"
(That last bit's for you, Mom).

SEPTEMBER 2011 SENIOR LIVING MAGAZINE VANCOUVER ISLAND
SEPTEMBER 2011 SENIOR LIVING MAGAZINE VANCOUVER & LOWER  MAINLAND