Sitting on the porch this morning, I began to ponder the wonders of aging.
For example, I wondered, how long has it been since I had a beer for breakfast?
Were those wild days really real? Or just a ffffft in my memory synapse? Is my mind playing make-believe with itself? Do I embellish stories because I used to be in politics? Detractors would say it’s because I used to be a reporter. Ignore them.
(Insert segue here.) I did remember that any weekday morning is better grocery shopping than the weekend. Nobody’s there. Well, a few. There are always about a dozen old Buicks playing bumper cars as we jockey for the few handicap-parking slots available.
You can always tell the temperature by watching Social Security recipients step outside. If it’s below 70 degrees, we wear a stylish windbreaker. Some of us, however, always sport heavier outerwear for expeditions to the frozen food section.
(Segue Two.) This week, I got back on my bicycle. Took longer to recover from winter surgery than I wanted. And, I got soft. I always brush my teeth before riding in Minneapolis. You never know – it might be Mary Tyler Moore giving you CPR.
This confuses the Mystery Woman. She thinks pulling the plug has something to do with jerking the power cord from my laptop so I will carry out the trash.
(Segue Three.) I drink a lot of water, too. Keeps my veins plumped up.
Not nearly as much fun as I think I remember the beer was.