I have a camera in my head. My eyes are a lens. I blink and take pictures. They come out in words. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I take a lot of shots. They develope on their own: that night, the next morning, a week or a month, maybe years in that dark room called the unconscious. About what? About a gallon of what not to do’s, a quart of what to do’s, three cups of curiosity, two of satisfaction, one of dreaming, an ounce of wisdom and a sprinkle of jimmies. Tell me your thoughts.
I dedicate this page to Sister Margret Leonore. An angel of a woman who took me under her wing as a 3rd grade street kid.
The five stages of aging: When a cop calls you sir, or mam. When the bartender doesn’t ask for Id. When a clerk says, senior citizen? When you’re complimented that you don’t look sixty and your only fifty five. When old friends start talking about being ground up instead of being planted. When a good scratch or BM feels better than sex.
Write for the health of it.
Being older lets you figure yourself out, after all the years of trying to figure out others.
I look back on my life and conclude two things: that it’s impossible to be perfect, and that we should never stop trying.
Aging. I practice it every day, all day, and I’m not an expert?
Theologically, a miracle is an act of God. It’s beyond scientific explanation. I think everything is a miracle, from a bug to the night sky. Our greatest asset is are our love of discovery.
I know about young guys. I’ve been one for eighty-eight years.
At eight score and eight, you can call me what you want: old, ancient, Methuselah, I love it.
Just don’t put me in the past tense, like: used to be, once was, over the hill. Cause I’m a better me. I can do things I couldn’t do before and I can do things I did before, only slower and more in rhythm.
Truth is I enjoy old age.
Wearing old cloths,
Driving an old heap,
Bunking in an old house,
Being with my old bride. (I hope she doesn’t read this.)
Thinking of old stuff to write about.
A short-short story about the Optometrist and me:
I closed one eye, then the other one as I read the small letters on the far end of the wall.
Then I looked in the optometry equipment while the doc scanned my eyes.
Everything looks good, he said.
What, no new glasses?
Whatever your wearing is fine.
I can still use my dollar store glasses for reading?
They gave me glasses when I was a kid, age eight, I said.
I Threw them down the sewer, twice.
Good thing, or you’d be wearing coke bottles. See your next year
Hold your breath, that’s how long you should hold grudges.