Facing 80

Posted: February 24th, 2025 | Filed under: Coping Today, Ruminations | 6 Comments »

I am now a denizen of the Land of Daily Medical Treatments.

I know my pharmacist better than the neighbors who live on either side of me at my condo building.

Last week’s smile inducer was discovering there’s a 24 hour/ 7 day pharmacy just five minutes from my place. On the Sunny Side. Paying the bridge tariff for the comfort of knowing it’s there just in case is but a slight nuisance.

In a couple of days, I’ll be an octo-.

Seems like yesterday that it took me an hour staring at the phone to get up the courage to call and ask Jenni Lehman to a hay ride in the 9th grade.

Time, whatever that really is, accelerates.

My pal Michael in New Orleans had a rule he invoked at our annual dinners during JazzFest at Galatoire, Mosca’s, Peche, GW Fins or wherever.

One medical conversation per meal.

Last year at Gal’s we did what my contemporaries do these days, started with sharing about stints, new parts, did you hear about Maury? We’ve learned that MOHS is not an acronym, but the guy’s name who invented the surgical procedure.

Michael didn’t stop us.

I asked him, “What about no invocation of what I call back home the Botnick Rule?”

“Can’t do it anymore.”

There I and my contemporaries be.

I, for one, grateful to be here, to be feeling the daily cricks that are epidemic.

 * * * * *

So, how do we fare?

Human contact.

It’s the antidote.

The Great Elixir.

Weekly lunch with pals, which we’ve been doing for years. Telling the same stories oft repeated. Which is of no consequence because none of us can hear worth a shit.

Periodic repasts with others who care about me though an inner voice keeps asking why?

I am blessed to be as obsessed with exercise as food, rock & roll and the U of L Cardinals.

Since I chat everyone up there, I’ve become pals with a couple of guys half my age. Ryan, because he has the heartiest laugh often rendered I’ve ever heard. Plus he’s the paradigm of a decent dude. Phil and I talk music.

Talking on the phone. I text as little as possible. When I grew up, a phone was for calling and talking. HI 2922. That’s how I roll.

 * * * * *

There are the perennials which have always provided succor.

The Louisville Cardinals. The love of my life since I went to my first game with my parents in December, 1952. 26,379 days ago.

I am grateful to still be here for their return to national relevance.

Rock & Roll.

Last night before bed, I youtubed a video of Dickey Betts melodic picking live on “Jessica.” Which I heard him do a number of times, first at RFK Stadium in DC in early 70s.

This morning, by coincidence, I heard the album version on the box in the car.

My day is full.

Sobriety. 15,442 days. Without which I’d be long gone.

Dogs.

I long for warmer weather. Walks outside. Petting: Three dog days make me happy.

Anne Lamott. Who showed that fix me books can really bring serenity.

Understanding there’s a yin and yang to life.

Such as the other day, the really snowy one, when I worked out in the little fitness room at my building.

The only one in there at first, I cranked my boom box to 11. Old school, a creature of long habit, I don’t do Spotify or ear buds.

A killer live Dire Straits album.

So facile and resonant was Mark Knopfler on a ten minute version of “Sultans of Swing,” I stepped off the elliptical and danced.

My day became full.

Soon a new owner entered the room, wanted to change the lighting and pull the shades. I respectfully asked that she not do so, it was kind of against how we handle things in our building. That I’d only be ten more minutes and out of there.*

*Be grateful you are only hearing the Reader’s Digest Condensed version. The few unfortunate friends I’ve shared the incident with had to endure a full  Chuck’s Famous™️ 10 minute packed with every detail rehashing.

She looked at me with daggers. Got on her cycle machine, smoke coming out of her ears. When finished I offered to turn on the lights, and pull the shades to her liking.

“I’ll do it,” she yelled at me,”just get out of here.”

I smiled.

Wished her a blessed day.

My previously felt serenity was not shattered. And not just because I had a tale to share, but that was certaianly part of it.

Most days all those tricks work.

Some days not.

So it goes.

Ob La Di, Ob La Da.

Life goes on.

It’s too late to stop now.

— c d kaplan

 

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