Gary's Arrival At Geezerdom... (Bring it ON!)

A 4th musketeer? Time for Halloween? No, it's Geezer Gary, in costume for a musical saw performance. (Photo by Robert Rice)

Well, it came in the mail today. Here it is, a week to go before my 60th birthday, and somehow they knew. Of course, conspiracy theorists would probably opine that the state knows everything anyway. I suppose they must, because it came in the same mailbox as those uninvited tax forms come in every January.
(Then, too, this is probably way more information than you need to "digest," but it came with a "regularity" that I'm not feeling as often as I used to feel, either.)

I'm referring to receiving my Golden Buckeye Card.

Geezerdom has come for me at last. I have an AARP card too, as well as a few other cards in my wallet that could show the world that my twilight years have arrived. Ah, the serene falling leaves of life's autumn, as it were.

Many of us mark our lives by the decades. The first ten years, we learn, the second ten years, we know it all. The third ten years, we learn more, the fourth ten years, we pretend that we are back in the second ten years and we know it all, all over again. The fifth ten years, some of our doctors stop smiling at us as often as they used to. The sixth ten years, we are no longer smiling back at them either, and so it goes. Honestly, every time I see my undertaker friend, he seems to be measuring me up, but I digress.

I have this theory: One's chronological age is directly correlated to the minutes required to drag one's self out of bed in the morning. Truthfully, if it's not the back muscles or the knees, it's the hips or the rotator cuffs...Making your way down to your toenails to trim them becomes a real adventure when you mess up a leg ligament..and of course, coffee too hot, or tea too cold, will give those few real teeth that you have left an adventure that you will long remember...That is, if you can remember anything anymore anyway...
Now what was this column about?

Oh yeah, Geezerdom. Now some might say that when one arrives at the ripe old age of 60, one attains pillars of wisdom and strength. I don't know about other 60-year-olds, but if my bladder muscle is any reflection as to the strength of the rest of my muscles, I'm in serious trouble. As for wisdom? Look, I've written over a hundred columns in this paper for FREE. Now what does THAT say about my wisdom? Now what WAS this column about, anyway?

Oh yeah, Geezerdom. You know, a century ago, 45 was considered a fairly advanced age, and 60 back then was comparatively ancient. These days, with life expectancy in the 80's and beyond, people tell me that 60 is still the age of a relatively young spring chicken. Of course, many of those people aren't 60 yet, and you know what happens to those spring chickens....

When I was born, there was no Rock and Roll. TV was this huge mahogany veneer box with a little round screen that only was on for a few hours each day, with only two or three black and white channels to watch. We used to watch the test pattern just for fun. Just when you thought that you got a good picture, a rain or wind storm would come along and disrupt the rooftop antenna, and you had a barely discernible snowy picture, or perhaps one that would endlessly flip vertically. Dad would fiddle with the controls in the back of the set and you were threatened within an inch of your life NEVER to go behind the TV set, or mess with any of the controls underneath the spring-loaded control cover on the front. Of course, we always did anyway.

There was always the radio too, with serial drama shows that always stopped right at the peak of the action, forcing you to "tune in tomorrow...." Many shows had commercials about soap, flour, or toothpaste. Sometimes, when atmospheric conditions were just right, you could listen to "skip" and hear stations far away.

I was sick a lot when I was a kid. Some of my best memories come from being sick in bed, with Mommy doting over me like I was some sort of young prince. You had those long-john jammies that you climbed into through a rear flap that buttoned up. You played "cave" with a flashlight under your sheets, exploring every nook and cranny of your bed in the wee hours of the morning, at least until you started to wonder what might be going on in the underworld UNDER your bed. Every noise in the night brought terror to the imagination.

I used to play "Army" with little soldiers hiding along the "hedge-rows" that Mom's chenille bedspreads always had. The thicker and fluffier the chenille, the better (although Mom was always finding those little plastic soldiers in the wash).

When the polio vaccine arrived, the risk of getting a dreaded children's disease was virtually wiped out overnight. You took that one with a sugar cube. Before that one came along, you also got other shots, including a vaccination in the arm that left a permanent tattoo-like scar, and then you had to wear this clear plastic shield taped over it for a few days so you wouldn't scratch it (which is exactly what you wanted to do, more than you ever wanted to do anything in your entire life!).

One good thing that came out of all of those sick days was that I learned to read well. Mom used to read with me all the time until I learned how, and then there was no turning back. To this day, I find myself wanting to go into every book store that I come across.

Of course, when you get to be 60, you sort of expect people to come to you for advice. I'm still waiting for that to happen, and I expect that I will be waiting for a long time before that ever happens. Well, it's about time for my milk and cookies and a good nap. Ah, Geezerdom. Now what was this column all about, anyway?

My still very much alive 91 year-old dad tells me that at some point, you start living your life cycle all over again. Dad, for example, still has no idea what he wants to do when he grows up!