The Rushing Mighty Wind

It was the sound of a rushing mighty wind.

“What was that?” I asked my wife Cheryl.

“That,” she answered, “was your youth being torn away by a twister and your body being thrown somewhere into old age.”

I can remember one of our senior pastors telling the young men in the audience, “One day you will look in the mirror and you will realize that your muscles and wrinkle free skin are all gone and there is nothing you can do about it.”

I must admit that I chuckled at the remark. No way could I ever lose the strength of ten ordinary men. He obviously let himself go.

Sure enough though, it happened . . . somewhere between ages 64 and 65. I believe that there is a Grim Reaper employed by Social Security and Medicare whose sole job is to lead your youth away.

“You’ve had this long enough,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back for the rest of you before you know it.”

I see changes in four areas:

STRENGTH – Arms, hand grip, low back, and legs. (The bladder, bowels and the mind are still at fifty percent.) Just this week I was trying to pull a 4″ sump pump hose out of a ditch. Using my legs, arms, and back, I could barely budge it off the bottom. I called for one of the young guys to help me and I went to the pickup for my gloves. When I got back, the pump hose which was full of water had been pulled up onto the bank and was coiled neatly on the road. The punk stood there with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, shut up! When I was 25, I could have lifted a Volkswagen.” I growled.

ENDURANCE — Cheryl goes speed walking every morning with her girlfriends. The route is somewhere around six miles. When the two of us take my granddog Milton Barry on the same trail, I hear their footsteps, “pat, pat, pat,” as they walk at Olympic record speed. My steps, on the other hand sound like, “lope, plod, shuffle.”

The other day a thirties-something couple jogged by us going in the same direction.

“Would you like to jog?” Cheryl asked me.

“I thought we were jogging!” I wheezed.

Often, Cheryl will be telling me a story only to find that I am a hundred yards behind her, lying on my back staring at the clouds trying to get my air back.

“I didn’t know this was a footrace!” I would yell.

HOW PEOPLE SEE ME — In my mind’s eye, I see myself as much younger — maybe fifty years old. I have become more aware that people are asking me how long I have been with the company I work for. They ask if I am going to retire soon or if I am all ready. Apparently, it is not common for someone who looks like Gollum to still hold a job.

We went on an extreme zip-line in Mexico. The operator asked me twice if a guy my age could handle the excitement. Through his eyes I didn’t look youthful anymore and instead looked like a jack-o-lantern that was left on the front porch for about three weeks too long. At least when I picked my mom up from assisted living, no one asked if I was her husband.

MOANS AND GROANS — I am now ambidextrous; I can groan while bending my knees going down or rising. I am not talking about little whimpers but full-fledged bellows. If I pick something up off the ground I groan, “Arrrg!” going down and “Arrrg!” trying to get back up. Cheryl has noted several times that my bellows are embarrassing because everyone looks to see if there is an ostrich in the area. I have since decided to use the words, “Yo baby!” The pain level or the difficulty in standing will determine how long the “Yo” lasts.

Last week I parked at a service station pump in my low riding Hyundai which I have difficulty getting in and out of. Parked next to me were two high school boys sitting in an open top Jeep Wrangler.  One was in the driver’s seat and the other was in the back. Both were deeply lost in their cell phones. I opened my driver’s door, swung my legs out and started to stand — it was one of my painful days.

“YOOOO-BAAAABY!”

The bellowing startled the boys so badly that they looked up from their phones thinking I was trying to get their attention. Both acknowledged me with a “Yo!”

At this moment though, I can hear Cheryl and Milton walking up to me.

“I just realized that for the last 100 yards I’ve been talking to myself and you’re back here lying on your back in the grass.”

“I’m old. What does that cloud look like to you?”

“Milton and I are going. You get up when you’re ready.”

“Fine! I may not have the strength of ten men anymore, (grunt), but I still have the strength of five middle school boys.”

(Yo! Yo! Yooooo Baaaaby! — Yo!)

“Cheryl — Milton — a little help? A little help please?”

Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes