Friends, countrymen, poodles and mongrels! Lend me your ears! Do you hear what I hear? Why, 'tis the waning whimper of 2021. Behold the arthritic, gasping geezer as he pokes his stuffy nose out the back door. Behold as he takes a step closer into the dark. You’re done here! Begone with thee! Good riddance!
But no! Harken to the noise on the front stoop. A new year stomps its baby feet and readies to crash through the front door. It readies to infiltrate the foyer like an insurrectionist. Plead with it. "Please, young delinquent… Put down the gun. Put on a mask. And for god’s sake, change your diaper." But there’s so much momentum: What's old in 2021 will be new again in 2022.
This morning I was so distracted by inner slings and arrows that I started to make the bed with Sue still in it. I caught myself mid-sheet and laughed like a lunatic. Is there a caregiver worth his salt who mindlessly buries his beloved under blankets? A few months ago, I attended an Alzheimer's workshop entitled, "Creating Confident Caregivers." At one point, as I was whining about having to hide the pie in the car and chain the refrigerator shut, the instructor butted in. “Hold it right there,” she said, a tad aggressively. "You have to have a sense of humor!" Okay, point taken. You have to laugh. As you discover that hats and gloves seem to have crept to very odd locations, you have to laugh. As you discover that the blueberry pie has seemed to walk off on its own, you have to laugh. Days are laced with dozens of tiny tempests in tiny teapots. They used to feel like thunderstorms - now they ping like inconsequential blips on the radar. No matter the bumps and slides of our outrageous fortune, Sue’s kindness will not be pried away.
Here's the rundown: Sue is good. Brendan is good. Elizabeth is good. For Christmas, Elizabeth wants one-way tickets with her betrothed, Andrew, to Hawaii. Brendan wants with his wife, Jodi, an annual pass to Nonna's restaurant. Sue wants another blueberry pie. I want a washing machine. When the present beast hits the rinse cycle, it morphs into a rhythmically banging monster that sounds like a back bedroom at a brothel. The neighbors have grown uneasy.
I turn 70 today. (Cue bottle rockets and kazoos.) Seven freaking zero! So, on this day of days, please indulge me as I reflect on a life of accomplishments: 1. Ran away from school in second grade. 2. Repeated ninth grade. 3. 1970 - Deported from Turkey. 4. 1973 - Spent a night in a Turkish jail and got beat up by a guard. 5. Got my hair yanked by an enormous State trooper while trying to take over the MSU Administration Building. 6. Got me a wife. 7. Got Kid Number One. 8. Got butt-searched on the Canada border. 9. Got Kid Number Two. 10. Had my last drink on September 10, 1989, before heaving the empty Pabst can across the back yard. Given the milestone, I thought the can would soar in slow motion as emotional music swelled. It got stuck on a branch. 11. Got three holes in one. 12. Snapped a sand wedge across my knee. 13. Got me a fishing boat. 14. Passed a kidney stone. 15. Got me a grandson. 16. Got nominated Employee of the Week (came in third). 17. Got 161 Facebook friends of whom nine I actually know. 18. Trying to land a northern pike, a fish hook stabbed clean through the fatty part of my palm. It was manly.
Geez, when you consider the whole glob of it, quite impressive. (Cue puffed up chest.) I feel your admiration. Thank you very much.
Grandson Oliver, who turns three in March, has joined the Paw Patrol. Along with his little furry cohort, he rescues good citizens from certain disaster. And atop a warm, cushy lap, he loves to inhabit the pages of his many books. He calls me "Pops", and when he does, Oliver doesn't realize how it melts my heart.
Come to think of it, we could use the Paw Patrol in 2022 to stand guard by the front stoop. Sprinkle in some Superman dust and we should be just fine. Remember? “Truth, justice, and the American way” with emphasis on the “truth”. Happy New Year!
