Historical November 1990 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
I don’t know when I slipped into middle age.
It may have been during the Carter presidency or perhaps while Whitey’s teams were winning pennants. Meeting and succumbing to middle age happened rather gradually. I didn’t know it happened until after it happened.
This kind of change is unlike most of the other major transitions in my life. Things usually happen fairly quickly, or at least I’m aware of them. Like one November in 1969 when I was a civilian and the next day when I was in the Army, khakis and all. I knew when that happened. Acne attacks, too; I always knew when they’d hit.
My face would look like the surface of the moon, craters here, craters there, craters everywhere.
The classic was once I was single and then, slam bam, after a night of too much vodka I met the first wife and found myself married. I don’t remember the wedding, but she has the pictures and Pablo swears that he was my best man, so the evidence is pretty overwhelming. I guess I knew that I had reached middle age when I started showing signs of it. Last week, for example, the first wife and I were delighted that it was a Saturday night and we had nothing to do.
There we were, on the porch, sitting in our rockers, when I said, “Honey, what are we doing tonight?” “What?” she said. “It’s Saturday. What are we doing tonight?” “Who’s too tight?” she asked. squinting her eyes at me. “WHAT ARE WE DOING TONIGHT?” I yelled. “Oh, nothing!” she said, “and you don’t have to yell at me!” With that, we both sat back and rocked, contented that we didn’t have to go anywhere where we’d wind up staying up late. Ah, the simple pleasures. You want to make my day? Don’t talk to me about taxes, tell me that there’s a whole weekend coming up and I have no place to go. Actually. I enjoy going to Schnuck’s on Saturday night and grinding my own coffee.
My musical tastes have changed.
Oh, I still enjoy The Stones, but boy. can’t that Frank Sinatra really sing a tune!
He sure sounds better as I get older.
And KWMU’s weekend radio programs are really wonderful. I enjoy using all of my woodsman skill to get a fire going in the old fireplace (“turn on the gas jet, count to three, step back and throw in a lit match”), turning on the radio, and rubbing my sore knees and elbows while I listen to the Jazz shows or “Weekend Edition!’ My personal behaviors have changed as well. Light-years ago I had a white ’72 MGB convertible. I used to cruise to work with the top down until Thanksgiving, bundling myself in scarves, mufflers, gloves, and skiing goggles before I got on the highway in the mornings.
Now I drive a rather sedate four-door sedan and refuse to leave the garage unless everyone’s seat belt is fastened.
A little more than a year ago I gave up one of my more odious vices, cigar smoking. I used to think that I was immortal, or at least invulnerable to disease, but I couldn’t fool myself any longer.
So I Stopped smoking.
To get even, though, I stopped jogging too. Staying up late is a thing of the past. Staying up normal is even becoming a rarity. I used to pride myself on getting along on less sleep than anyone I knew.
Now I pride myself on staying up late enough to see the 10:00 news. I hear the weather in the morning, because I can’t last until Bob Richards. Is Johnny Carson still alive?
And boy has my diet changed. True story: All through grade school and high school I used to have a Coke And a package of Hostess Cupcakes for breakfast. I thought that the four basic food groups were Coke, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, and California Do-Nuts.
As a young adult, I lived on sandwiches, baloney sandwiches.
When the first wife and I were married, our baloney bill was almost as high as her shoe store bill, Almost. I used to eat baloney for 8 or 9 meals per week; I’d have baloney sandwiches for every lunch and for three or four dinners. (The wife didn’t care, she was upstairs counting her shoes and eating pork rinds. She’s from Affton.) When I got tired of baloney on white bread with potato chips pressed between the slices, I’d get exotic and add ketchup or even fry the baloney.
No more. Today I eat right, no, make that EAT RIGHT.
If I were to eat any more grains. I’d start m00000ing. I skip desserts, try not to drink too much caffeine, and drink bottled water.
I haven’t had a candy bar since last Halloween.
The worst, though, is last year, when I got my first pair of glasses. I had avoided doing this, but it was getting hard to do my job being unable to read.
It is nice to be able to read again.
A few years ago I used to envision myself getting glasses and resembling a more bulky, yet attractive. John Lennon; now, however, when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a semi-young Ben Franklin. Intellectually, I know that middle age is here, but I don’t feel any older, except for my parts that move and rub against one another and hurt these days. I’m certainly no more mature, and that’s what counts, right?
I still like having the window seat in the airplane.
When I buy new shoes, I wear them home from the shoe store.
And I still like getting surprise presents. You know. I never really enjoyed watching Johnny Carson.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, November 1990.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1990_11.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 7.
