Lovemaking Tips for Senior Citizens

With all the terrible news and gut-wrenching changes in the country, it's easy - especially for us senior citizens who remember more civil and honest times - to despair over the state of the union. But it's also important to think, at least occasionally, about nicer things. Like, well, dancing the horizontal tango.

Of course, when one reaches a certain age, a certain amount of planning is needed in order fully to enjoy the delights of sexual union ...

1. Wear your glasses to be sure your partner is actually in the bed.

2. Set a timer in case you doze off.

3. Set the mood with lighting: turn all the lights off.

4. Before you begin, put 911 on your speed dial.

5. Write your partner's name on your hand in case you forget.

6. Keep the Polygrip close by so your teeth don't end up under the bed.

7. Have Tylenol ready in case you actually complete the act.

8. Make all the noise you want ... the neighbors are probably deaf, too.

9. Don't even think about trying it twice.

10. If it works, call everyone you know with the good news.

I have these hints on a handy, laminated card that I keep on the nightstand for reference as needed. You never know when they might come in handy ...

Have a good day, and enjoy the nookie while you can. More thoughts coming.

Bilbo

A Man's Age Expressed in Terms of a Trip to Home Depot

My brother sends me a lot of e-mail, most of which is political and designed to get me spun up. He also sends a lot of funny stuff, most of which is either obscene or just unsuitable for repeating in a general-audience blog. This one, however, I thought was pretty funny. I've seen variations of it before, but this one was the best. Readers like Mike and John will appreciate it now ... the rest of you will appreciate it later ...

You are in the middle of some home project: putting in a new fence, painting the porch, planting some flowers, or fixing a broken door lock. You're hot and sweaty, covered with dirt, lawn clippings and paint. You have your old work clothes on. You know the outfit -- shorts with a hole in the crotch, an old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what, and an old pair of tennis shoes.

Right in the middle of these tasks you realize that you need to run to Home Depot for supplies. Depending on your age you might do the following:

In your 20s: Stop what you’re doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes. Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because, you never know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout line. You went to school with the pretty girl running the register.

In your 30s: Stop what you’re doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change your shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else. Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror.  Still got it! Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the register is the kid sister of someone you went to school with.

In your 40s: Stop what you’re doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts.  Put on different shoes and a hat.  Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brut is almost empty, so don't waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot. Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing. The cute young thing running the register is your daughter's age and you feel weird about thinking she's hot.

In your 50s: Stop what you’re doing. Put on a hat. Wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don't want to get dog poop in your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror and swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat. The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it. Then you remember … the hat you’re wearing is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and it says, 'I Got Worms.'

In your 60s: Stop what you’re doing. No need for a hat any more. Hose the dog poop off your shoes. Forget the mirror, it only shows pictures of some fat, bald guy. You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants. The girl running the register may be cute but you don't have your glasses on, so you're not sure.

In your 70s: Stop what you’re doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until you call the drug store to have your prescriptions ready for pickup, and check your grocery list for a quick stop there … got to save trips! You don't even notice the dog poop on your shoes. The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize your balls are hanging out the hole in your crotch… but who cares, anyhow.

In your 80s: Stop what you’re doing. Start again. Stop again. Remember you need to go to Home Depot. You go to Wal-Mart instead. You went to school with the old lady greeter. You wander around trying to remember what you’re looking for. Then you fart out loud and turn around thinking someone called your name.

In your 90s and beyond: What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden? Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this? Who farted?

Have a good day. Enjoy getting older ... for all the drawbacks, it's better than not getting older.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Songs Everyone over 50 Should Own?

Yes, I belong to AARP, the American Association of Retired Persons. This makes me an official, card-carrying Cantankerous* Old Fart, dadgummit.

Although I am a proudly Cantankerous Old Fart (#grumpyopa), I don't always agree with everything AARP endorses, and one example is represented by this article from the AARP website: 16 Songs Everyone Over 50 Should Own. This is the list, compiled by writer Jacqueline Mitchard:

Once Upon a Time, by Frank Sinatra

Harvest Moon, by Neil Young

Lately, by Stevie Wonder

A House Is Not a Home, by Dionne Warwick

Little Green, by Joni Mitchell

Gangsta's Paradise, by Coolio

Landslide, by Stevie Nicks

* Hotel California, by The Eagles

You Shook Me All Night Long, by AC/DC

* C'est La Vie, by Emmylou Harris

* He Stopped Loving Her Today, by George Jones

For What It's Worth, by Buffalo Springfield

* Crazy, by Patsy Cline

* God Only Knows, by The Beach Boys

Jailhouse Rock, by Elvis Presley

In My Life, by The Beatles

Well ...

I don't think much of this list, although there are a few (five, to be exact) songs on it that are on my "Very Favorite" playlist (they're marked with asterisks before the title). I agree that Stevie Nicks belongs on the list, but I would replace Landslide with If Anyone Falls. God Only Knows is fabulous, as is Hotel California. Elvis and Neil Young belong on the list, but I'd go with Return to Sender rather than Jailhouse Rock for Elvis, and I'd represent Neil Young with Unknown Legend rather than Harvest Moon. I can't stand rap, so my list would drop Coolio or any other rap or hip-hop performer. And Joni Mitchell should give up her place to Judy Collins - either Song for Judith or Send In the Clowns ought to be on the list. No AC/DC - make it ZZ Top and Sharp-Dressed Man. The Beatles are okay, but I'd go with Eleanor Rigby, and I'd just drop George Jones, Emmylou Harris, Buffalo Springfield, Dionne Warwick, and Stevie Wonder.

Above all, how can anyone over 50 not own some Jimmy Buffett? I'd be hard-pressed to pick a single tune, but A Pirate Looks at Forty, Growing Older, But Not Up, It's My Job, and Perfect Partner are top contenders.

So, how about you, fellow Geezers, Geezerettes, and future Geezers ... what would be on your over-50 playlist? Leave a comment so we can share the tunes.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow, when we offer the next collection of Great Moments in Editing and Signage. See you then.

Bilbo

* And isn't "cantankerous" a great word? It makes for some good alliterative combinations, as in "cantankerous curmudgeon."

The Changing Nature of My Junk Mail

Junk mail, and it's electronic cousin, spam, are an unfortunate fact of life. The mailbox we wish was filled with chatty letters from friends and relatives is usually choked instead with advertisements, charity requests, bills, and other assorted wastes of paper, just as our e-mail in-boxes are filled with ads for Viagra and Cialis; breast enhancement and other types of cosmetic surgery; nutritional supplements; Russian girls in search of husbands; and messages from itinerant Nigerian princes in need of assistance with transferring funds.

What's interesting is how the percentage composition of this junk mail changes over time. Where a larger portion of my junk mail used to consist of come-ons from dating services*, I'm now getting lots of ads for retirement communities, Medicare supplements, funeral insurance, cemetery plots, and drugs targeting the various afflictions of the elderly**.

How do I get on all these mailing lists, and how are things targeted specifically at me or folks like me?

Well, we all know that every time you sign up for a store "discount card" or join an organization, the information you provide is immediately sold to information brokers***, who compile it and sell it to businesses who wish to separate you from your money. The percentage of my junk mail focused on age-based ads skyrocketed when I joined AARP, and as soon as we took our first cruise, we began getting come-ons from every cruise line and vacation broker on earth. Contribute to any charity and give them your e-mail address, and every other charity in the known universe will be trying to tap into your generosity. Register for a sweepstakes or other giveaway that requires you to leave your e-mail address or phone number, and you'll get onto dozens of mailing lists totally unrelated to what you thought you were signing up for.

I think it's funny that we get hysterical over Jackbooted Government Thugs^TM who want to harvest our personal information, and yet we willingly give it up to people, businesses, and organizations who tell us up front that are going to misuse it.

Well, I'd write more, but I owe that Nigerian prince an answer about helping him transfer money. I wonder if he'd mind if I sell his e-mail address to a Viagra broker?

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* Oddly enough, I still seem to get a lot of ads from Match.com, Christian Mingle, and J-Date ... proof positive that whoever is sending this stuff neither knows nor cares to know anything useful about me.

** Viagra and Cialis, as well as various drugs for diabetes, joint pain, and better sleeping.

*** You agreed to it in accordance with paragraph 692x(937)(zj)[866][yyy], subparagraph 397q(99)(gy) of the 462-page agreement you clicked to accept without taking it to your attorney first.

Filling the Void

If you felt the earth shake yesterday, it was probably because of the announcement that Playboy magazine ... beloved of generations of impressionable young men learning about the mysteries of sex ... will no longer publish nude photos in its glossy pages.

What's the world coming to?

In retrospect, it was probably a good decision, given the ubiquity of pornography available on the Internet. As the magazine's chief editor noted in the announcement, "(Nowadays) you're now one click away from every sex act imaginable for free. It's just passé at this juncture."

I guess boys will have to go back to reading National Geographic to see naked women.

I wonder which publications will step forward to fill the coming shortage of racy centerfolds.

Guns and Ammo can feature a monthly centerfold of field-stripped high-powered weapons with huge magazines.

Tree Services could contain foldouts of late-autumn trees, bare of leaves.

Catster and Modern Dog can feature the Bitch of the Month.

It won't matter what sort of centerfold Scientific American introduces; it will continue to be boycotted by hard-core anti-science conservatives.

Popular Mechanics? Look for the Robette of the Month ...

It's probably not PC to say so, but I'll miss the old Playboy, and the girl with the staple in her navel. Of course, I only read it for the articles ... but you knew that.

Have a good day. Read your favorite magazines.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Definitions of Success

I recently received an e-mail from my friend Bob that offered some thoughts on how we define success at various ages. It's good enough to share ...

Success at age 4 is not peeing in your pants.

Success at age 12 is having friends.

Success at age 16 is having a driver's license.

Success at age 20 is having sex.

Success at age 35 is having money.

Success at age 50 is having money.

Success at age 60 is having sex.

Success at age 70 is having a driver's license.

Success at age 75 is having friends.

Success at age 80 is not peeing in your pants.

The bottom line: it all comes full circle.

I'm 63, and I think I can speak with some authority on the subject.

Have an age-appropriate good day. More thoughts coming.

Bilbo

Retirement Options

It's getting close to that time when Agnes and I will need to really retire and decide where we want to live out the remainder of our allotted years. The Northern Virginia area has a lot to recommend it (including proximity to one-third of our grandchildren, lots of history, and plenty of great restaurants), but it's also got horrendous traffic, high cost of living, and has been poisoned by its proximity to the swirling vortex of greed and stupidity where Congress used to be. My friend Bob, himself long retired, has tried to help us make our decision by providing some commentary on a few potential retirement locations ...

We could retire to Phoenix, Arizona where ...

1. You park 3 blocks away from your house because it's the closest parking space in the shade.
2. You experience condensation on your butt from the hot water in the toilet bowl.
3. You can drive for 4 hours in any direction and never leave town.
4. You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
5. You know that "dry heat" is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open your oven door.
6. The four seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

or ..

We could retire to California where ...

1. You can have an income of over $450,000 and still can't afford to buy a house.
2. The fastest part of your commute is going down the driveway.
3. You need to know how to eat an artichoke.
4. You drive your rented Mercedes to the neighborhood block party.
5. When someone asks how far something is, you tell them how long it will take to get there rather than how many miles away it is (heck, we do that already here in NoVa).
6. The four seasons are: Fire, Flood, Mud, and Drought.

or ...

We could retire to New York City where ...

1. When you say "the city" you expect everyone to know you mean Manhattan ....
2. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can't find Wisconsin on a map.
3. You think Central Park is "nature."
4. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
5. You've worn out a car horn (if you have a car).
6. You think eye contact is an act of aggression.
7. The four seasons are #$@%! snow, #$@%! rain, #$@%! heat, and #$@%! snow's almost here again.

or...

We could retire to Minnesota where ...

1. You only have three spices: salt, pepper, and ketchup.
2. Halloween costumes have to fit over parkas.
3. You have seventeen recipes for casserole.
4. Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
5. The highest level of criticism is "he is different," "she is different," or "it was different."
6. The four seasons are: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road repair.

or...

We could retire to the Deep South where ...

1. You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
2. "Y'all" is singular and "all y'all" is plural.
3. "He needed killin'" is a valid defense.
4. Everyone has 2 first names: Billy Bob, Jimmy Bob, Joe Bob, Betty Jean, Mary Beth, etc.
5. Everywhere is either: "in yonder," "over yonder" or "out yonder."

or...

We could retire to Colorado where ...

1. You carry your $3,000 mountain bike atop your $500 car.
2. You tell your husband to pick up Granola on his way home, so he stops at the day care center.
3. A pass does not involve a football or dating.
4. The top of your head is bald, but you still have a pony tail.

or ...

We could retire to the Nebraska where ...

1. You never meet any celebrities, but the mayor knows your name.
2. Your idea of a traffic jam is three cars waiting to pass a tractor.
3. You've had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" on the same day.
4. You end sentences with a preposition: "Where's my coat at?"

or ...

We could retire to Florida where ...

1. You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
2. All purchases include a coupon of some kind -- even houses and cars.
3. Everyone can recommend an excellent cardiologist, dermatologist, proctologist, podiatrist, or orthopedist.
4. Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
5. Cars in front of you often appear to be driven by headless people.

Decisions, decisions.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Things Are Gonna Get Hairy ...

Those of you who have been reading this blog for very long know that I retired from the Air Force after 23 years of flying a desk in support of those gladiators of the air who flew more glamorous things. I still work for the Air Force as a contractor, and I consider myself to be a life member of the fraternity (and sorority!) of those who take the oath to defend the nation.

For those who are on active duty nowadays, things are tough. There are frequent deployments to garden spots like Afghanistan, with all the attendant dangers and the stresses of separation from families and loved ones. There's the challenge of "doing more with less" in an era of budget reductions, and the uncertainty of being able to continue a career in the Service as the force downsizes to meet the harsh realities of the new fiscal climate.

Keeping up the spirits of the troops in the face of adversity is always a big job for commanders and supervisors at all levels. They're always looking for things to boost morale ... especially nowadays, things that don't cost anything.

The Air Force has a morale-building tradition that dates back to the days of the Vietnam War. Here's how it was described in a 2009 article by 1st Lieutenant Elizabeth McLean of the 387th Air Expeditionary Group ...

"Mustache March originated during the Vietnam War when a fighter pilot named Robin Olds grew what he called a 'bulletproof mustache.' At the time mustaches weren't allowed to be sported in the military, but Olds, who was far from home on a military base in Vietnam, thought the mustache defined his individuality, so he kept it. This occurred in the month of March 1965. Thus the roots of Mustache March were born. Since then Air Force pilots have devoted one month of defiance of the Air Force facial hair regulations as a way of good-natured protest, and pay to tribute to General Robin Olds."

This year, the Air Force continues the Mustache March tradition as a way of giving the single-digit salute to war, budget woes, and all the other bad stuff going on in the world. The Air Force Chief of Staff, General Mark Welsh, has decreed an all-in Air Force-wide mustache-growing competition. And lest the women feel left out*, General Welsh points out that they, too, can participate ...

“Their job is to ridicule us nonstop about the idiotic look that these mustaches will have on most of us, as we try to look like Tom Selleck and end up looking like a three-haired mole,” he said. “Fight’s on.”

Now, I've never worn a mustache, and have never particularly wanted to. My father wears one and it makes him look distinguished, but I just can't see myself with a soup strainer. Nevertheless, in the interest of camaraderie with my active duty Air Force brethren, perhaps I'll give it a shot. Agnes has applied some of her PhotoShop skills to see how things might turn out ...

What do you think? Should I go for it?**

Have a good day. Keep doing the Spring Dance ... sooner or later it's got to work.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

* Most Air Force women don't have mustaches. I can't speak for the Army and Navy, much less the Marines.

** Hint ... the correct answer is "no."

All the Time There Is

I remember once reading the observation that, although we complain that there's never enough time, we have all the time there is. That's a fairly deep thought for this early in the morning. But on the subject of having enough time, here's a poem I found online yesterday that I thought was very perceptive ...

Time Enough

by Dennis O'Driscoll

The tally of years
added up so rapidly
it appeared I had
been short-changed,
tricked by sleight
of hand, fallen victim
to false bookkeeping.

Yet when I checked
my records, each
and every year had
been accounted for,
down to the last day,
and could be audited
against old diary entries
(client briefings,
dental check-ups,
parent-teacher meetings,
wedding anniversaries),
verified with credit
card statements
(multi-trip insurance,
antibiotics, concert bookings,
mobile top-ups).

And, although
nagging doubts
remained—an
inkling that I had
been ripped off
in some way,
given short shrift,
made to live at an
accelerated pace,
rushed through
my routines with
unseemly haste—
nothing could be proved,
no hard and fast
statistics adduced.

I had, it seems,
unknown to me,
been living my
life to the full.

I hadn't thought about it before, but there's a difference between filling up your life and living life to the full. There's always something more that needs doing, some chore to accomplish, some unpleasant task to finish. These are the things that fill up your life. On the other hand, we live life to the full when we make the time for things that are fun, that we dream about doing and - sometimes - manage to fit in around the other stuff. There are still plenty of things on my bucket list that I haven't done yet, so I guess I need to get moving. And so should you.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

I Resign

Dear Readers,

Having carefully observed the condition of the nation and the world, and the day-to-day lives of my grandchildren, I have decided to issue the following declaration ...

To Whom It May Concern:

I hereby officially tender my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of a six-year-old instead.

I want to go to McDonald's and think it's a four-star restaurant.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks.

I want to think Skittles are better than money, because you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and paint with watercolors in the park.

I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple. When all you knew were colors, addition tables and simple nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.

I want to return to a time when all you knew was to be happy because you didn't know all the things that should make you worried and upset.

I want to think that the world is fair, and that everyone in it is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible.

Somewhere along the way as I passed too quickly through my youth, I learned too much. I learned about nuclear weapons, greed, war, prejudice, starvation and abused children.

I learned about lies, unhappy marriages, suffering, illness, pain and death.

I learned about a world where men left their families to go and fight for their country, and returned only to end up living on the streets begging for their next meal.

I learned about a world where children were taught how to kill.

What happened to the time when we thought that everyone would live forever, because we didn't grasp the concept of death? When we thought the worst thing in the world was if someone took the jump rope from you, or picked you last for kickball? I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life and be overly excited by little things once again.

I want to return to the days when reading was fun, and music was clean. When television was used to report the news or for family entertainment and not to promote sex, violence and deceit.

I remember being naive and thinking that everyone was happy because I was. I would walk on the beach and only think of the sand between my toes and the prettiest seashell I could find. I would spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike. I didn't worry about time, bills, or where I was going to find the money to fix my car, pay my rent, or go to the doctor when I was sick. I used to wonder what I was going to do or be when I grew up, not worry about what I'll do if that didn't work out.

I want to live simply again. I don't want my days to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, suspense dates, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones.

I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.

I want to jump in big piles of leaves and think it's the funnest thing in the world.

I want to be six again.

Thank you.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Reflections on an Anniversary

Yesterday, Agnes and I celebrated our 30^th anniversary. We did this in two ways: during the day we tried to think of all the things we need to remember to pack for our upcoming vacation*, and in the evening we enjoyed a wonderful dinner at The Oval Room (800 Connecticut Ave NW in downtown DC) ...

All that got me to reflecting that 30 years is a long time to be married ... especially nowadays, when people seem to change spouses as often as they change underwear**. What are some of the things I can look back on over those 30 years? Well ...

Thirty years ago, we were a lot younger ...

The six-year-old girl in that picture now has two daughters of her own ...

My older son is the father of three, with a fourth on the way, and his oldest daughter will be a teenager next year (!) ...

Giving us a total (as of now) of five wonderful grandchildren ...

I've had the experience of living and working in the city that used to be called West Berlin, which - at the time - had a very big and very dangerous wall around it, with a government on the other side that shot at its citizens who tried to escape from the workers' paradise. This gives me a certain perspective from which to comment that those who bitch and complain about the oppressiveness of the US government and the lack of freedom they enjoy here ought to just shut the hell up, because they have no idea what they're talking about ...

I have learned to dance under the critical eye of Agnes, who is still capable of giving me a withering stare when I'm not dancing up to standard ...

I've started blogging, through which I've met (online, in person, and ... occasionally ... both) a lot of fascinating people across the country and around the world. Oh, and Mike, too!

I could go on, but I guess that's enough for now. After 30 years, I have nearly doubled in size (but not equally in all dimensions) and accumulated a great deal more gray hair, but it's all been worth it. I have a great wife, a wonderful family, and a good - if often frustrating - job***. I'm in reasonably good health for a person of my age and bad habits. I'm a lot crankier than I was 30 years ago, but then there are a lot of people who work hard each day to keep me that way.

In short, I'm a happy dog, looking forward to the next 30 years with the greatest lady on earth. Stick around and help me enjoy it!

Have a good day. More thoughts coming ...

Bilbo

* Until our heads started to hurt, and then we just decided the hell with it.
** More frequently in Hollywood, if they wear underwear at all.
*** At least, if Congress gets its head out of its collective backside, grows a brain and a spine, and does something about the looming sequestration disaster.

Hef's Wedding is Off...

Stop the presses! The engagement of Hugh Hefner, 85 year-old head of the Playboy media empire, to 24 year-old Crystal Harris has been called off by the prospective bride less than a week before the planned nuptials due to what Ms Harris says is a "change of heart."

You may recall that I wrote about Hef and Crystal's engagement back on December 29th of last year, and wished them luck. I got quite a few comments on that post, which featured words like "repulsive" and "nauseates" (the engagement, not the blog post), and led Mike to comment that "when she (Crystal) gets to be an old hag of 26, he'll dump her for a newer model."

Well, it appears that this time, Hef is getting to be the dumpee, rather than the dumper.

I'm sure he'll get over it, though, there being lots of busty blondes out there to choose from for another try ...

Last December, I wrote "...there's a part of me that's shouting 'Go, Hef - You carry high the banner of older men's dreams!' And there's another part of me that's saying, 'Ugh.'" Today, I'm just saying "ugh."

Give it up, Hef. Collect stamps, take up gardening, or build a huge HO-scale train set in the Playboy Mansion basement.

Retire with whatever dignity you can still muster, not as a vehicle for late-night talk show jokes.

That's all.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

I'm a Senior-ish Citizen!

Well, I never saw that hill coming, but it seems as if I may be over it.

Yes, at the tender age of 59 years and seven months, I am considered - in some corners - a senior citizen. An old fart, if you will (and many of you will). In some places - such as my local Bob Evans Restaurant, you are considered a "senior citizen" if you are over 55 - a crock, in my humble opinion.

I don't mind getting older, of course, for it clearly beats the alternative (if you get my drift). But somehow I don't usually feel my chronological age. When I dance with Agnes and the other beautiful ladies on Friday nights, I certainly don't feel like I'm pushing 60. And when I'm playing with my grandchildren, I don't feel my age, either ... until an hour or so later, when I usually feel like I'm well over 90 and someone's been beating me with a two-by-four.

But let's face it ... I'm getting older. I'm a senior-ish citizen. How do I know? Here are a few of the clues ...

I’m the life of the party, even if it lasts until 8PM.

I’m very good at opening child-proof caps. With a hammer and pliers.

I’m usually ready to go home before I get where I’m going.

I’m good on a trip for at least an hour without my aspirin, Beano, and antacid tablets

I know the location of every bathroom in every public place I regularly visit ... and the first thing I do when visiting a new venue is check out the location of the facilities.

I’m awake at least an hour before my body allows me to get up.

I smile all the time because I can’t hear a word you’re saying.

I’m very good at telling stories … over and over and over.

It's perfectly clear to me that other people’s grandchildren aren’t as bright as mine.

I’m not grouchy, I just don’t like traffic, waiting, crowds, children, gun nuts, religious wackos, and politicians.

I’m positive I did housework correctly before Agnes retired.

I’m sure everything I can’t find is in the secure place I put it so I wouldn't lose it.

I’m wrinkled, saggy and lumpy…and that’s just my left leg.

I’m having trouble remembering simple words like … uh ... let me get back to you on that.

I’m spending more time with my pillows than with my wife.

I realize that aging isn’t for sissies.

I’m anti-everything now: anti-fat, anti-smoke, anti-noise, anti-inflammatory, antipasto, etc.

I’m walking more (especially to the bathroom) and enjoying it less.

I've noticed that adults seem to be a lot younger these days.

If it's true that you're as old as you feel, how could I possibly be 150 when I get up at 4:00 AM on workdays, and 21 when the dance party starts at 9:00 on Friday evening?

I support many movements … usually by eating bran, prunes and raisins.

I’m a fountain of useless information … and the plumbing of my fountain is springing a lot of leaks lately.

On the whole: I’m a senior-ish citizen and I’m having the time of my life!

What time is it, again?

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Hill? What Hill? I Didn't See Any Hill!

People make lots of lists, especially around the beginning of the new year, when they are sometimes called resolutions. You know, resolutions - those things we swear faithfully to do in the new year, then promptly ignore because they were unrealistic and we were drunk when we drew up the list. Back when I was doing New Year's Resolutions, I always included things like "lose weight," "get back in shape," "get my finances in order," and "make love to Taylor Swift." Now, all these years later, I'm still pudgy, out of shape, broke, and prominently mentioned in Taylor Swift's restraining order.

So I don't make resolutions any more. But I do keep lists. Like this handy one that helps me evaluate just how far over the hill I've gotten with the relentless march of time ...

You know you're over the hill when:

1. You find yourself beginning to like accordion music.
2. You're sitting on a park bench and a Boy Scout comes up and helps you cross your legs.
3. Lawn care has become a big highlight of your life.
4. Your underwear starts creeping up on you ... and you enjoy it.
5. You tune into the easy listening station on purpose.
6. You take notes during commercials for laxatives and motorized wheelchairs.
7. When you light the candles on your birthday cake, people form circles and sing “Kumbaya.”
8. Someone compliments you on your layered look ... and you're wearing a bikini.
9. You keep repeating yourself.
10. You start recording daytime game shows ... if you can figure out how to operate the DVR.
11. At the airport, they ask to check your bags...and you're not carrying any luggage.
12. You wonder why you waited so long to take up macrame.
13. Your insurance company has started sending you their free calendar a month at a time.
14. At cafeterias, you complain that the gelatin is too tough.
15. Your new motorized chair has more options than your car.
16. When you do the "Hokey Pokey" and put your left hip out, it stays out.
17. One of the throw pillows on your bed is a hot water bottle.
18. Conversations with people your own age often turn into ailment one-upmanship.
19. You keep repeating yourself.
20. It takes a couple of tries to get over a speed bump.
21. You discover the words whippersnapper, scalawag, and by-cracky creeping into your vocabulary.
22. You're on a TV game show and you decide to risk it all and go for the rocker.
23. You begin every other sentence with, “Nowadays...”
24. You run out of breath walking down a flight of stairs.
25. You look both ways before crossing a room.
26. Your social security number only has three digits.
27. You keep repeating yourself.
28. You come to the conclusion that your worst enemy is gravity.
29. It takes you all night to do what you used to do all night.
30. You go to a Garden Party and you're mainly interested in the garden.
31. You find your mouth making promises your body can't keep.
32. The waiter asks how you'd like your steak ... and you say “pureed.”
33. At parties you attend, regularity is a popular conversational ice-breaker.
34. You start beating everyone else at trivia games.
35. You frequently find yourself telling people what things used to cost.
36. Your back goes out more than you do.
37. You keep repeating yourself.
38. Cafeteria food starts tasting good.
39. You refer to your $2500 stereo system as “The Hi-Fi.”
40. You attend all the RV shows that come to town.
41. You realize that a stamp today costs more than a picture show did when you were growing up.

42. You actually call movies "picture shows."
43. Your grandchildren don't know what stamps are.

44. Your childhood toys are now museum pieces.
45. Many of your co-workers were born the same year that you got your last promotion (as it happens, the last time I was in a traffic accident, the woman who ran into the back of my car was born the year I got my first driver's license).
46. The clothes you put away until they come back in style ... are back in style.
47. All of your favorite movies have been reissued in color.
48. The car that you bought brand new becomes an antique.
49. You keep repeating yourself.
50. You find this list tasteless and insensitive.

Happy New Year, by cracky!

Have a good day. Watch out for that hill. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Life Cycles

Authors, philosophers, and comedians have made fortunes over the years by trying to describe life and define the stages of life through which we pass. In his play As You Like It, William Shakespeare likened a person's lifespan to the seven acts of a play in this famous soliloquy ...

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

For those with less of a literary and more cynically humorous attitude, the stages of life for men and for women can be defined by the things we do and the way we act at various ages ...

The Male Stages of Life

Favorite Drink
17 - beer
25 - beer
35 - vodka
48 - double vodka
66 - Maalox

House Pet
17 - roaches
25 - stoned-out college roommate
35 - Irish setter
48 - children from his first marriage
66 - Barbi

Seduction Line
17 - My parents are away for the weekend.
25 - My girlfriend is away for the weekend.
35 - My fiancee is away for the weekend.
48 - My wife is away for the weekend.
66 - My second wife is dead.

Favorite Sport
17 - sex
25 - sex
35 - sex
48 - sex
66 - napping

Drug of Choice
17 - pot
25 - coke
35 - really good coke
48 - power
66 - coke, a limousine, the company jet

Definition of a Successful Date
17 - "tongue"
25 - "breakfast"
35 - "She didn't set back my therapy."
48 - "I didn't have to meet her kids."
66 - "Got home alive."

Favorite Fantasy
17 - getting to third
25 - airplane sex
35 - menage a trois
48 - taking the company public
66 - Swiss maid/Nazi love slave

Ideal Age to Get Married
17 - 25
25 - 35
35 - 48
48 - 66
66 - 17

Ideal Date
17 - Triple Stephen King feature at a drive-in
25 - "Split the check before we go back to my place"
35 - "Just come over."
48 - "Just come over and cook."
66 - sex in the company jet on the way to Vegas.

The Female Stages of Life

Favorite Drink
17 - Wine Coolers
25 - White wine
35 - Red wine
48 - Dom Perignon
66 - Shot of Jack with an Ensure chaser

Excuses for Refusing Dates
17 - Need to wash my hair
25 - Need to wash and condition my hair
35 - Need to color my hair
48 - Need to have Francois color my hair
66 - Need to have Francois color my wig

Drug of Choice
17 - shopping
25 - shopping
35 - shopping
48 - shopping
66 - shopping

Favorite Sport
17 - shopping
25 - shopping
35 - shopping
48 - shopping
66 - shopping

Favorite Fantasy
17 - tall, dark and handsome
25 - tall, dark and handsome with money
35 - tall, dark and handsome with money and a brain
48 - a man with hair
66 - a man

Definition of a Successful Date
17 - "Burger King"
25 - "Free meal"
35 - "A diamond"
48 - "A bigger diamond"
66 - "Home Alone"

Ideal Age to Get Married
17 - 17
25 - 25
35 - 35
48 - 48
66 - 66

House Pet
17 - Muffy the cat
25 - Unemployed boyfriend and Muffy the Cat
35 - Irish setter and Muffy the Cat
48 - Children from his first marriage and Muffy the Cat
66 - Retired husband dabbles in taxidermy, stuffs Muffy the Cat

Ideal Date
17 - He offers to pay
25 - He pays
35 - He cooks breakfast the next morning
48 - He cooks breakfast the next morning for the kids
66 - He can chew breakfast

So, how do you define the stages of your life? Inquiring minds want to know. As for me, I think I'm at the lean and slipper'd pantaloon stage Mr Shakespeare spoke of: Spectacles? Check. Pouch on side? ... well, actually, it's in the front ... but you get the idea.

And now, I'll go and chew my breakfast. I can still do that, you know. So far.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Birthday Parties

A birthday party for a three-year old child, attended by about 20 other children and their minders, is quite an adventure - lots of noise and frantic activity. Sort of like watching Congress in session, except that more gets accomplished.

Yesterday was granddaughter Leya's third birthday party, held at a local bouncing party emporium filled with inflatable slides, bouncing cages, and all sorts of other opportunities for small children to work off excess energy, followed by pizza and cake in the party room. We didn't have things like this when I was growing up. We played party games like "Pin the Tail on the Stegosaurus" and "Rock, Rock, Rock" (we didn't have paper and scissors until I was in high school).

Here are a few pictures of the fun ...

It's good to be the Queen!


It's a long way down...


But it's fun when you get there...


Even Opa thinks so ...

What happens when 75 parents try to take a group picture and everyone says "Look at the camera!" at once ...

The cake was really good ...

But, of course, not everybody likes cake or pizza ...

Balloons for everybody!


It's nice that Leya has so many friends and so many opportunities to have fun. She'll grow up to be a jaded adult like her Opa all too soon ... for now, though, life is good. As it should be when you're three.

Have a good day. Try an inflatable slide sometime, it's fun!

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

What She Said, What He Heard

I've been thinking a lot lately about getting older. Or, perhaps more positively, aging like a fine wine. Well, okay...just a wine.

As I noted recently, my oldest grandchild hit the double-digits this year when she turned the big 1-0, and I spend a good chunk of each weekend being run from pillar to post by another tireless granddaughter who thinks her Opa has an inexhaustible fountain of energy to match her own. Amanda, in her post yesterday about things her children will never know about, noted that I'm 24 years older than she is...a horrifying observation when made (however gently and well-intentioned) by a lovely young lady.

Yep, we ain't none of us gettin' any younger.

I try to be a pretty friendly person, and usually try to smile and greet people I meet on the street or while roaming the halls of the Pentagon. Usually, that attitude is repaid by those other people, although it can lead to some degree of misunderstanding, if not downright fantasy. A few days ago, Miss Cellania reprinted this cartoon, which applies:

Ah, well...someone smarter than I once said that imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not, and a sense of humor to console him for what he is.

Did I ever mention that I won the award for "Best Sense of Humor" in our high school senior class?

So...

If you're an attractive young lady, and a fellow with gray hair and a bit of a bay window smiles at you, smile back. It may be the best thing that happens to him all day.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

You're Not Old Unless...

Yesterday, my oldest son turned 36. My oldest grandaughter turned 10 (double-digits, gasp!) last month. And I have five - count 'em, five! - wonderful grandchildren. I'm feelin' old. Proud and happy, but old.

But how old am I, really? And how old are you?

Here's a quick test to check your age. According to the test, you're not old unless you can remember:

1. Being sent to the drugstore to test vacuum tubes for the TV - yep.

2. When Kool-Aid was the only other drink for kids, other than milk and sodas - yep.

3. When there were two types of sneakers for boys - yep (and a bonus point if you call them sneakers instead of athletic footwear).

4. When boys couldn't wear anything but leather shoes to school - check.

5. When it took five minutes for the TV to warm up - oh, yes...and they were long minutes.

6. When all your friends got their hair cut at the kitchen table - yep. (I love my dad, but he gave some pretty crummy haircuts).

7. When nearly everyone's mom was at home when the kids got there - yep.

8. When nobody owned a purebred dog (or knew there was such a thing) - yep.

9. When a dime was a decent allowance, and a quarter a huge bonus - and a five-dollar bill for your birthday was an absolute fortune - yep.

10. When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny - yep (and I still do it).

11. When girls neither dated nor kissed until late high school, if then - yes, dammit.

12. When your mom wore nylons that came in two pieces - check.

13. When all your teachers wore either neckties or had their hair done, every day (except for the nuns, of course) - yep.

14. When you got your windshield cleaned, oil checked, and gas pumped, without asking, for free, every time (and the attendant didn't sit in a locked office behind armored glass) - yep.

15. When laundry detergent had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box - yep.

16. When any parent could discipline any kid, or feed him, or use him to carry groceries, and nobody, not even the kid, thought a thing of it - yep (back then we called it "showing respect for our elders").

17. When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents (or to have steak and french fries for dinner two or three times a year) - check.

18. When schools threatened to keep kids back a grade if they failed...and did! - yep (not that I have any personal experience of this, you understand).

19. When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited a misbehaving student at home - oh, yes!

20. When women were called, "Mrs. John Smith," instead of their own name - yep.

Well, I'm 20 for 20 - anybody have any other items to add to the list?

Not that I need any more help feelin' creaky today, of course.

Have a good day. Enjoy life, regardless of your age.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

"Love, Sex, and the Male Brain"

When I saw that title on a CNN article yesterday, I just had to read it. Admit it, so would you. If you want to go ahead and read it now, I'll wait.

Done?

Okay, let's talk about love, sex, and the male brain. Specifically, this passage from the article:

"As men age, the male brain hormones change and the male brain and body goes into the stage of life called andropause ... Whether Grandpa is your kids' hero or the grouch they hate to visit depends a lot on how he handles these hormonal changes ... The grandpa that kids can't wait to see is the one who's feeling the effects of the hormone oxytocin, often called the "cuddle hormone." He's fun and playful and likes to hear what his grandchildren have to say. He's much more patient with your children than he was with you, when you were growing up. The love circuits of the mature male brain can be hijacked by his grandkids, even more than they were by his own children."

I love my grandchildren...all five of them...and I've often felt that I'm a much better grandfather than I was a father. I know that I'm more patient with Marcy, Joe, Noah, Leya, and now Elise than I was with their parents when they were children. Now it looks as if there's a hormonal reason ... I must be high on oxytocin. I've got the cuddle hormone in abundance.

Speaking of Elise, our fifth grandchild was born yesterday ... Elise Anya was 19.5 inches long and weighed 5 pounds, 8 ounces. This is a picture of her trying out those new lungs:

Yes, she's adorable. Red, wrinkled, and noisy to be sure, but perfect.

So, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to practice my grandfathering skills. I appreciate you, dear readers, but I love the grandchildren.

It's nothing personal...it's the oxytocin. Or, as we called it in simpler times, just plain love.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo

Post-Birthday Reflections

Yesterday, I turned 58 (and yes, Mike, I changed the age in the "about me" section of the blog AND on my Facebook page). There was a time I thought nothing, including the universe, was that old. Now, of course, it looks like a very respectable and not-too-creaky age, at least after I've completely woken up in the morning.

It was a good birthday. Agnes made my favorite dinner of Corned Beef and Cabbage (not the boiled-to-death American version, but the one I like, with the beef baked in the oven and Bavarian-style cabbage. My Ohio-based grandchildren called and sang "Happy Birthday," loudly punctuated with "cha-cha-cha!!" at the end of each verse. Local granddaughter Leya shouted "appy birseday OPA!!!" and very carefully inspected my face to make sure my boo-boo had healed up satisfactorily. It was a good day.

Someone once said that age is a function of mind over matter...that if you don't mind, it doesn't matter. I guess that's mostly true, although it's getting difficult not to mind some of the aching joints and senior moments and such. Nevertheless, I guess I'll try to hold to Jimmy Buffett's philosophy of growing older, but not up. And as George Burns said, "You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old."

Thanks to all of my friends out there in the Blogosphere who sent birthday wishes via comments here or on Facebook. Knowing you, even if it's only electron-deep, has made the last few years more interesting and educational. Perhaps I can actually meet a few more of you in the coming year ... John may make it to DC to watch the Nationals lose (it's a DC tradition, which the Redskins are embracing this year, too), Mike may build a house here (hopefully without falling off), Fiona may enter the Washington International Horse Show, Amanda might make it to the East Coast on her next trip to the US (although with two children soon, it would be quite an adventure), and Andrea might make it to a concert in the area (or we'll drive past her house on the way to Pittsburgh and stop for a picture). And who knows ... Gilahi and I may even have a beer together. Stranger things have happened.

So happy birthday to me - my family and friends, real and virtual, are the best gifts I could have.

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo