Santa had come and gone. The children were nestled all snug in their beds but the sugar plums that once danced in their heads had been devoured and, by now, the resulting ‘high’ subsided settling things back to a dull roar. Even the nastiest little crumb cruncher hadn’t received coal in his stocking and all was well.  Or was it?

Here it was New Year’s Eve and each year the same two things always amaze me. The first is how the nature of my celebration has changed with time.  The other is our tradition of getting misty-eyed over a song to which most people know the words but few know either the meaning or how to spell it.

For years I held that Christmas was the holiday for kids and New Year’s was the adult holiday.  To prove it, I’d whip up a batch of lethal Read the rest of this entry

As you tread the long road between first tooth and last, you stumble into some things that most of us are never really ready to do … you just do them and work out the consequences along the way. Getting married, having kids or buying a house are a few of the ‘just do it’ things that leap to mind. If you examine them too closely or too logically, you’ll end up lonely, childless and renting a one room flat where the bed folds out of the wall, because you won’t do any of them. I believe retirement ranks high on that list.

My concept of retirement was to be able to do all the things I’ve always wanted, without worrying about being successful at them or having to impress anyone. That included working at my own pace, not someone else’s. Read the rest of this entry

About the time I was entering my teens, I remember counting the decades on my fingers to figure out if I’d be alive in the year 2000 for the arrival of the new millennium. With the typical hubris that heralds the arrival of excess growth hormones and causes a kid to walk ten paces in front of his parents at the mall, I decided I’d probably still be here … but I’d be so bleepin’ old it wouldn’t matter. Well, I was and it does! It’s interesting how your perspective changes, depending upon which end of the telescope you’re looking through. Here I am with the millennium just a speck in my rear view mirror and I still feel an excitement about watching the mile markers zip by, especially on New Year’s Eve.

It wasn’t until after I graduated from home that I was able to grasp why so many people made such a big deal out of December 31st. Read the rest of this entry

Back when I was still trying to figure out which end of my body my head was on, if anyone had suggested that someday I’d be sleeping with a grandmother I would have told them they were as mad as a hatter. The world certainly rotates in a different direction at twenty then it does at sixty-something. Here I am in the ‘something’ category, merging wrinkles under the covers with a lady of  grandmotherly persuasion and loving every minute of it. Somehow, she just doesn’t fit my lifelong image of a cotton-haired little old lady shuffling around the kitchen with a bowl of Farina in one hand and a rubber spatula in the other.

It’s amazing how ageless age can be … and therein lies the rub! When it comes to femmes fatale, with soft curves and jiggly things, let’s establish right up front that guys never stop looking. As long as they are still drawing breath, their last drop of testosterone is routed to their eye sockets even before their hearts and lungs. I know women look too, but I won’t pretend to know very much about it. If I had any real understanding in that area, my premarital youth might have been squandered more effectively … and I would most certainly be a headliner in Guinness’ Book of Records.

Now don’t confuse looking with shopping, those are two different things. Looking is just what it says, although the criteria can vary widely as you’ll soon see. Shopping means that you probably intend to take something home, and unless you shop carefully, you might end up paying a considerable price! It wasn’t until I was around forty when I realized why they call the years from that particular mile post to infinity ‘middle age.’ Only a portion of the term involves longevity. The rest has to do with who and what a guy is comfortable ogling.  Not only is the suitability of the oglee age-related but as the mileage on the ogler’s odometer changes, so does his view of the road.

Men-in-waiting, such as high school and college boys, most often limit their lusts to young ladies near their own age. An ‘older’ woman of twenty-five or thirty nudges them toward ‘Mrs. Robinson’ territory (Coo coo ca-choo), and whether or not they know it they are beginning to shop, squeezing fruit to see what the stand has to offer.

As manhood overtakes him a guy becomes more careful about the shopping experience; he is beginning to realize he might want to buy something. While locking the keys outside the car may be an endearing quality during dating, he may not want to explain the purpose of a door handle to his wife for the rest of his natural life. He is now looking at the whole package … seeking the perfect blend of brains, beauty and body parts!

Once firmly anchored by the bonds of matrimony and with a few temporal miles on their tires, something strange happens. Guys may begin to observe the female form in a way that now disassembles the ‘package’. They have arrived at a point in life where they can appreciate parts … some like casabas while others prefer different diversions like ‘wheels’ and buns. I’m a leg man myself, although I’m a sucker for a slight overbite or a certain glide in a lady’s stride that we of the male chromosome just aren’t hinged to perform. The age range for the recipient of this ocular attention broadens as well.

When I crossed over that proverbial middle age marker, I discovered a world of wonder that ranged from nubile twenty-somethings to feminine preserves of sixty. If you’re not going to buy anything, the world is a Wal-Mart! As my own years continue their forward march so does my age range of suitable subjects, although quality parts are getting harder to find and entire packages are fewer and farther between.

Looking has nothing to do with connubial bliss or with loving one’s spouse. It’s just what guys do. These days, I find myself enjoying a fuller appreciation of womanhood than ever before, all the while maintaining the creative detachment of a sculptor chiseling a statue or a painter capturing the beauty of nature … especially if he jiggles his canvas a little!

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

Smells of smoldering charcoal and simmering burgers drifted across the meadow as I settled deeper into the leather of my time machine … top down, stars up and my best girl reclined in the seat to my right. A gaggle of children painted pictures with sparklers as they giggled and whirled their way across the grassy knoll in front of us. A single fireball shot skyward, confirming our perfect parking place for the pyrotechnics to come.

I pictured nights like this the moment I saw the new ‘retro’ look Ford designed into their ’05 Mustang. Having owned a 1965 some forty years earlier I knew I had to have one, while I could still fold myself in half enough to get in and out! Not only has the date ON the car changed but, naturally, the date IN the car has changed too. Vigi is standard equipment, unlike the bevy of beauties who rotated through the right hand seat half a lifetime ago … although the blond ponytail pulled through the back of a pink baseball cap still brings back more than a few lascivious memories.

Some other things have changed during that time as well. In ’65 I’d put the top down and enjoy the wind whistling through my thick, wavy locks of pompadourian splendor; now I just let my scalp flap in the breeze or wear a hat to keep my head from lobstering. Nevertheless, there’s more at work here than mere transportation between shopping malls or depositing traces of Michelin on the pavement. There is instant transportation back to a time of simplicity and youthful liberation, even if the only fool being fooled is the nut behind the wheel. Add a dash of Del Vikings, a sprinkling of summer sun or a few fireworks on a moonlit eve and the recipe is ripe for romance with the greatest date I ever had in my life.

For whatever reason, we arrived early. I’m rarely early for anything and, come to think of it, haven’t even been on time for much that I can remember. It turned out this was a great time to make an exception because, it not only put Veege in a better than usual mood, but gave me some time to reflect on other Fourths of July … like when we had a lake house and used to take our boat to the festivities. We’d bob around at anchor with the colorful orchestration of fireworks above and explosions of delight below, as a blast of boat horns echoed across the water accompanying the usual “Ooohs” and “Ahhhs” of approval from hundreds of nautical spectators.

As another test rocket rose and faded, I couldn’t help but think of the last shuttle mission that would be launched in a few days from Cape Canaveral. It was July 20th when I watched the first men walk on the moon … 1969 but it could have been yesterday. On about that same date, now 42 years later, they’d effectively be closing out America’s manned space program when Shuttle Atlantis returns from the International Space Station. This time, with so many of our historic achievements fading like the glare of that rocket, the single stroke of another budgetary pen has transformed us from daring space pioneers into quietly bringing up the rear. I sank a little deeper into my leather upholstery, feeling kind of empty for a few minutes.

Suddenly the sky erupted, filling me with the sounds and the brilliance and the pride I have learned to expect on our nation’s birthday! The cheers of the fireworks and smell of the crowd brought me back to the moment. In the end, it was an even more patriotic night than we had anticipated, not because of any flag waving or bumper sticker slogans but because we felt so incredibly fortunate.

Reflecting upon those events of nearly a month ago, there’s a small butterfly that occasionally flutters around in my stomach reminding me of the gentler times during which I’ve been lucky enough to live. More than ever, I’m particularly grateful for my little red ‘ragtop’ and the permanent date that usually occupies the right hand seat of my time machine.

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that the only constant you can count on in life is change. I was wrong. That statement is not quite true, which is somewhat like being only a little pregnant. The lightbulb that usually hovers just above my head began to glow when I visited my favorite bank recently and saw a sign on the wall right next to the shadow-boxed .38 Police Special and old-time gas mask. It’s a fascinating old bank that has been preserved pretty much the way it was in the 1920′s, with bullet proof glass and ports through which the tellers could poke a gun in case of a holdup. Rows of once electrified wires adorn the top of the teller area, just above the four inch spikes … with stone, marble and mahogany everywhere, adding to the impression that if Jesse and the boys rode in, they’d be riding out with empty saddle bags.

The sign that had pulled my attention away from these historic bits of early bankdom read, “Christmas Club” and announced payment number 21 was due that week. I didn’t even know they had those anymore! I figured folks just pulled out the plastic and dug the hole deeper at Christmas like they do the rest of the year. But when I remarked about it, the perpetually smiling face on the other side of the two inch glass informed me that Christmas Clubs are still very popular. For whatever reason, perhaps being a throwback to much simpler times, I found that thought comforting … kind of like seeing Lipton Tea on the grocery store shelf or a water pistol in the toy shop window. These things had survived the ravages of time. They were things you could still count on. Then, I really scared the daylights out of myself … I couldn’t think of anything else to put in that category!

As it turned out, the log jam between my ears had more to do with square pegs and round holes than any dark vision of life I might have been nurturing. My blockage broke up a few mornings later, when the smells of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying brought back the same “all is right with the world” feeling I had experienced at the bank.  That’s when I realized I had mistakenly been trying to apply the weight of textbook logic to simple items that sprang from emotion! Before long, my list began to fill up with little sensory things like the taste of cold chocolate milk on a hot day, the smell of a summer shower when the earth has been baking all afternoon, and the feel of a soft fuzzy puppy with a cold wet nose.

Little boys still smell of bubblegum and earthworms, phone calls with old friends still fuel the fires of time … and if you put one hand softly on the cheek of a woman who loves you, the other on her waist, pull her close and kiss her softly on the lips, she’ll still kiss you back. Things like these have been constants since fig leaves came into fashion as garments, and I’d like to think we can count on them remaining constant until the last leaf has turned to dust.

Of course, every coin has a flip side and you can usually count on what’s over there too. For instance, every time I get hooked on a favorite food I can always be sure that either the store will discontinue it or the manufacturer will improve it right out of existence. Remember the expression, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?” That’s another great thing about my bank … so far, they’ve kept their stick out of the spokes.

As surely as a seventeen year old can count on a new pimple just before the prom, a sixty-seven year old can be assured that hair will grow everyplace but where it’s wanted … and, one day, the washing machine will decide to shrink your favorite shirt for no apparent reason. Come to think of it, the thing has been shrinking a lot of my pants lately, too!

You can count on the weather prognosticator calling for rain until it finally appears, costs going up, endurance going down, and not getting out of this world alive. What’s that? Money? No, you can’t take it with you … count on that, too. It burns!

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

I finally solved one of life’s little mysteries last Saturday, while loitering in the middle of our kitchen. “What are you doing?” Vigi asked quietly, as I stood there sort of swaying like a new calf or an old dog. “I came in here for something, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what the heck it was!” replied a voice that sounded incredibly like mine. If there is even a smidgen of gray in your hair, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You send yourself on a mission. It’s not like going to, say, Shanghai or something. Often it’s just an excursion into the next room … but once you get there, the rest of the directive is obscured by something I call “Brain Fog.” It’s from the Latin, brainus foggus, which loosely translated means “Wait, I knew that a minute ago.”

For the longest time I’ve been puzzled by why it takes me longer to do things now than it used to.  There are still sixty seconds in a minute, right? Suddenly, Saturday afternoon, lights flashed and trumpets blared! It was so simple. When I was a kid, I just did stuff. When I was finished, I kept going and did more stuff. There were no limits! Now, I spend half my time trying to figure out where I put something or what I’m doing somewhere … then spend the other half working at a speed approaching molasses on Prozac, instead of my former legendary warp factor nine. Think of it in terms of throwing a fastball over the plate: When you’re younger you just rifle it in to a catcher. Now you toss, toddle sixty feet six inches, change gloves and catch your own pitch, on one bounce!

The good news is that such episodes are temporary, and a quick retrace of my steps usually causes the tumblers in my head to click into place. Failing that, sometimes just sitting down hard can jog the missing debris down to my primary thought center. The bad news is that it all chews up valuable time in a changing world where minutes seem to perceptibly have fewer and fewer seconds!

By the way, the first cousin of “Brain Fog” is “Mind Vapor” … from the Latin, vaporus mentalus, which is the complete disappearance of a thought or idea in mid-sentence. You don’t have to travel at all to trigger this one. I’ve discovered that retracing words in a conversation can be even tougher than retracing steps into a room … especially once I realized no one was actually listening, including me! Like my mission directive the missing piece is usually retrieved, although sometimes not right away. Veege is frequently puzzled when I pipe up with something like, “Hey, remember when I was telling you about … (fill in topic) ?” Of course, not only doesn’t she remember the conversation but she can’t figure how I don’t know where I put my glasses five minutes ago, yet I can suddenly remember exquisite detail from an incomplete conversation last Tuesday!

If these tendencies toward fog and vaporization continue, it shouldn’t be long before I can start thinning out my extensive DVD collection. In a few short years, we’ll only need to keep a couple of discs around … watch a movie and it’s brand new again by tomorrow!

Most young people can’t really apply these little inconveniences to themselves. After all, it’s not their own reflections they see in the fun house mirror. Not yet. The first gray hair or squint line may herald some reality for newly christened middle-agers, but the idea of operating at less than light speed is beyond imagination. At thirty or forty,  when the world is at your feet and you’re ninety mile-an-hour fastball is still popping the catcher’s glove, it’s impossible to picture a time when just finding the plate may occupy a significant portion of the day. That’s something that only happens to … old people.

The next time I run into some multi-tasking lightening rod who acts like he has all the answers or thinks older folks are kind of funny, my tolerance will be increased a hundred fold … because not only am I the one who understands most of the questions, but I know who’s going to have the last laugh! I hope I can remember that.

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.