It's a Bird, It's a Plane...

“No Dad…the sky’s in the other direction. Let me help you back up.” And so begins my new journey.
Not a typical beginning to be sure. In stories I’ve written in the past they began in somewhat more scenic and exotic locations for the most part and not face down in a parking lot in north Scottsdale. This will be a first on many levels.
My doctor’s visits have been made; my meds have been adjusted once again in an attempt to regain a somewhat normal blood pressure level in my body. So now I can sit here with my green tea and a plate of cheese, meat, olives and fruit and begin to make some sense of what lies ahead for me.
Let me tell you right from the get-go…getting older is not all that bad. It’s not for the faint hearted either. Things you take for granted in life somehow take on a new life all their own and how you deal with them can be frustrating, humorous or downright disheartening depending on how you approach things.
As an example: The dashing international playboy with the chiseled body of yesterday has been replaced one night while I was sleeping by a genetic blending of Colonel Sanders and Mr. Clean. Not too long ago I won first prize at a Halloween party for my “Uncle Fester” costume. The problem was…I wasn’t wearing a costume but that didn’t deter me from graciously accepting the award.
I have been fortunate enough in life to avoid some of the physical mishaps men my age have had to deal with thus I have never taken Viagra, Cialis or such things. Yes ladies it’s true…I’m still organic but if you want to utilize my services please contact me between the hours of 2PM and 4PM after I’ve had my nap otherwise all bets are off. (A sick part of me would love to give those things a try while I still take nitrates for my heart. I’d love to see just how low blood pressure can go.)
I’m still a gourmet cook and aficionado of fine wine, good bourbon and stellar tequila. I just can’t have as much of it as I used to. Living like a rock star wasn’t a good fit for me. A) Because I’m stone deaf. B) Because it never occurred to me to learn a musical instrument. C) I am legally prohibited from singing in seventeen states, thirty-two counties and at least twelve cities around the world (I’m even prohibited from singing karaoke in Japan). And D) I never really looked all that good in spandex.
Living like a bohemian artist doesn’t work so well these days either. The older I’ve gotten the less clutter I can tolerate. Mismatched furniture hurts my brain. Sleek, modern and uncluttered is the world I prefer to live and work in these days. Partially because that’s where I am mentally these days and partially because all of these people with clipboards who have recently entered my life want me to have wide unobstructed pathways so I don’t fall and kill anyone on the way to the bathroom.
I’m anxious to start painting again but the remnants of my studio of long ago are locked away in a giant storage locker along with all of my other belongings that I have been banned from entering by my wife and children (even my eldest granddaughter has gotten into the act) so it’s anybody’s guess when that’s likely to actually happen. My wife, three daughters, three son-in-laws and four granddaughters have circled the wagons and placed guards to keep me out of trouble. Since that mishap on NYE with the glass I’ve been reduced to plastic cups. I’ve come to appreciate the philosophical underpinnings of that unfortunate song “Red Solo Cup” Toby Keith sings about. I used to hate it…now I’m starting to like it.
In the meantime I’m reduced to sitting here writing what Shakespeare once described as “a tale told by a fool, filled with sound and fury, signifying…nothing.”
For those crazy few who asked me to write more about what was happening to me. Please fasten your seat belts and put your tray tables and seat backs in the upright position… we’re in for an interesting ride.