Boomer’s Journal:
The Older I Get, The
Faster Things Go!

I was filling up my medicine thingie the other day, you know, the one with SMTWThFS on it. And I marveled at how recently it seemed that I just did this. Another week in the books, I mused. What the heck happened to the last one?
This phenomenon is happening more frequently than desired, honestly.
Now, I can go back and trace the events of past days, thankfully. Holidays spent with family, distanced, but at least acknowledged, time exercising by the lake, some reading… stuff like that. But, bottom line, it seems that that old clock is running faster than usual.
Tom Anselm
It’s like watching an hourglass, full of sand, knowing that the grains are trickling, trickling to the opposite position. Hardly a change is noticed in the top piece, yet we can gradually see the slow, inexorable filling of the bottom. Like sands through the hourglass, so go the days of our lives (seems I have heard that before …ha!)
Isn’t it so in our own day-to-day? Being retired, I have a lot of time to do stuff, but not a lot of stuff to do. I don’t woodwork, garden, or build. I do play golf, fish and walk a lot.
Reading is great, but after an hour or so, I get bored, or my eyes start to water. Napping is an activity, right? Get those pillow-times in with regularity.
I get to remembering the days when there weren’t enough minutes available, with kids going hither and yon, Jill and I crossing paths taking one to practice, another to a game, another to a friend’s house. Feeding them in the morning, dressing for play, more food midday, more play, down for naps if we were lucky, another meal, baths and bedtime. Then fall into bed exhausted, hoping for a night of uninterrupted sleep (seldom if ever!).
Up the next day as The Dawn Patrol is standing by your bedside with a fuzzy, “Mommy, I’m hungry.” Aaaannnndddd, here we go again.
Time then did go so, so very fast, because, well, there was so much to do. So why is it flying by now, with so little on the daily agenda?
At almost 72, I am edging by the second towards the latest statistic of life expectancy for a male in the U.S. of A .of 75.3 years. By my masterful calculation, that gives me a solid 3.3 still in the tank. My Dad lived to be 82, Mom beat him to get to 86. I modestly think I am healthier than either of them were at this current age. So maybe one could say, looking good for sailing past the 3.3 on a run. Or at least a fast stroll.
Of course, I have many times mentioned the idea of that truck and me meeting up someday, out of the blue. Or an illness sneaking inside me, with odds of the latter more likely in today’s lovely world of floating-in-the-air scourges. Still, the upper chamber of that old timepiece continues diminishing without respite, without pause, and there will come a time when the last grains slip through.
What to do, then, with the time remaining?
Learn Italian? Buy a kayak? Skydive? Pack up the Rogue and drive to Montana (all of which I have threatened to do… well, maybe not the skydiving… probably code before the chute even opens)?
Time waits for no man, or woman, as the adage goes. Lots to do, time’s a-wastin’. Chop, chop. Get a move-on, pardner. Pass the biscuits, Maranda.
So, with that, I say, “Fino alla prossima volta.” Starting that I-talian today!

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