Tag Archives: aging

Things on me are changing…

Things on me are changing
My parts are rearranging
These changes are incessant
I guess I’m acquiescent

My belly, it is growing
I’m not sure where it’s going
My belt size not withstanding
It seems to be expanding

My skin is getting wrinkly
Rugged, jagged, crinkly
More age spots are appearing
I don’t find them endearing

My ears are getting hairy
It’s really kind of scary
I trim them with a shearer
While looking in the mirror

My hair is getting grayer
I won’t be a naysayer
They say it adds some mettle
With that I’ll have to settle

My nails are growing thicker
Perhaps it’s all the liquor
I trim them very often
They just don’t seem to soften

My joints are getting tender
My back, the worst offender
My knees, sometimes a bother
I get that from my father

My sight is getting hazy
My eyes are getting lazy
I’m not in any hurry
For my vision to be blurry

But though there’s changes changing
And parts are rearranging
I don’t think I’m declining
It’s more like I’m refining!


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So Many Days Before

One day he woke up an old man.
He rolled over in his bed and saw his wife was not there.
But he knew she had awoken before him and gone downstairs.
Just as she had so many days before.

He rolled his old, worn body out of his bed.
And rubbed away the remaining sleep from his  eyes.
Arthritic pain and stiffness reared its ugly head.
Just as it had so many days before.

A glance in the mirror revealed deep creases in his skin.
He wondered where those wrinkles had come from.
He remembered the days when he seemed invincible to aging.
Just as he  had so many days before.

Downstairs the windows were opened wide.
And a fresh, cool, country morning breeze was flowing through.
He felt blessed for another day of reasonable health.
Just as he had so many days before.

His wife glanced up at him from the other room.
Her long gray hair in a  pony tail and glasses perched on her nose.
She paused from her book, smiled and said “good morning”.
Just as she had so many days before.

In the kitchen he poured a cup of coffee.
Into his favorite coffee mug with its brown stained porcelain.
The deep, rich aroma awakened his senses.
Just as it had so many days before.

As he took the first sip from the coffee cup.
He stared out the window at the fenced pasture outside.
Where his animals would be spending their day grazing.
Just as they had so many days before.

For a moment he thought about his children.
He wondered what they would be doing today.
Spending their hours working hard and raising his grandchildren.
Just as they had so many days before.

He wondered what the weather was like where they lived.
Whether it would be sunny and warm or rainy and cold.
And he missed them and wished they lived closer.
Just as he had so many days before.

He thought about what he might do today.
What activities would  fill the many hours available to him.
He remembered the days when so much freedom seemed implausible.
Just as he had so many days before.

He was reminded of those years when there just wasn’t enough time.
When excuses for putting things off were readily available.
He thought about some of the things that he’d never accomplished.
Just as he had so many days before.

But in reality he knew he had accomplished so much.
He knew that he had lived and loved and been a good husband and father.
He knew he could still write words that might have a small effect on someone.
Just as he had so many days before.

So he sat down at his computer and began typing.
The dark veins in his hands pulsed through his thinning, aged skin.
It reminded him of his grandmother’s hands when he was a boy.
Just as it had so many days before.

He typed a post about life and love and growing old.
A post about finding the time to do the things that are important to you.
The words flowed onto his computer screen effortlessly.
Just as they had so many days before.

When he finished he knew that he had produced something meaningful.
He knew he had written something small, yet substantive and important.
Words that would be eagerly read and digested by friends and strangers.
Just as they had so many days before.


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OMG are those OMB’s?

Let me tell you a story about a guy I know.  It’s not me… it’s just a guy… you know…that I know.  He thinks he might be getting… you know… a little bit of OMB’s.  He always figured the OMB’s would hold off until he was… you know… older… like maybe in his sixties.  He might even give in and say it would be okay in his fifties.  But not his forties… you know, he’s only forty-three… you know… this guy… that I know.  Sure he’ll turn forty-four in September, but that’s only forty-four years young. They’re far from full-fledged OMB’s.  They’re just starting to be OMB’s.  Let’s call them early-onset OMB’s. They’re OMB’s that are just starting to hang a little lower than they used to.  They’re nothing like eighty-year-old OMB’s.  Not that he’s ever really seen eighty-year-old OMB’s, but he’s no dummy. I… uhhh… I mean… uh… he… has a pretty clear vision of what eighty-year-old OMB’s probably look like.

This recent discovery hasn’t affected him in any noticeable or significant way, other than a slight downgrade to his personal self-image and psyche.  He just happened to notice his OMB’s in the mirror the other day. He had stepped out of the shower and was drying off and you know, the hot water had already caused them to hang down a little farther than usual. He said to himself “yeah dude, you need to start working out again… you’re looking a little soft in the middle… and man, you’re starting to get OMB’s.”  He looked closer and they seemed to be just kind of hanging there, sort of sad-looking, like a set of old, overused punching bags that had long ago lost their elasticity. He had visions of the punching bags in the inner-city Philadelphia boxing gym from the 1970’s Rocky film… just hanging there with their Everlast logo worn off.

It’s a tough day in a middle-aged guy’s life when he notices he’s starting to get OMB’s.  There are certainly many other signs of aging that a guy has to deal with. First a few brown spots and wrinkles all over his skin, then his metabolism slows down and each year his weight starts to inch up. Perhaps his fabulous coif of hair thins out a bit, but at the very least a few gray hairs start to appear.  That’s all okay. Lots of guys have the benefit of “aging gracefully.”  The gray hair looks distinguished.  The slight paunch can be disguised under a nicely pressed Oxford dress shirt.  The wrinkles on his face give that touch of rugged handsomeness.  But then one day he looks in the mirror and sees OMB’s… those dreaded OMB’s.  It’s an indisputable sign that the aging process is now in full swing and that the momentum in the epic battle between man and the overwhelming power of age and gravity is starting to shift. He thought it would hold off. He thought that those somewhat regular trips to the gym and a healthy diet would keep the balance on his side.  He thought that he was ageless and invincible.

This guy… you know… the guy… that I know… you know? So he gets out of the shower and he notices he’s starting to get OMB’s… he briefly considers switching from boxers to briefs. But in reality he figures its all down hill from here.  Then he remembers the squirrel…

... you know, the squirrel.

… and he looks in the mirror and says, “I don’t give a fuck about OMB’s.  I’m still a fucking stud and I’d stand in the desert and let someone take a goddamn picture of me and my OMB’s… just like the squirrel did…

… cause squirrels know what the fuck it’s all about.”

… and then he sang this song.

Do your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder,
Like a continental soldier?
Do your balls hang low?

I’ll bet that kick-ass squirrel sang that before he got his picture taken!


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