I kept a diary right after I was born. Day 1: Tired from the move. Day 2: Everyone thinks I’m an idiot.
– Steven Wright
Christmas Eve
Three score and sixteen years ago. Seventy-six. 76. Nine hundred and twelve months.
The first half of the last century.
Possibly. Old. Now.
Slept in until 0648. Must be the almost dawn woke me. The old bitch kept quiet this morning.
No, not the wife. Her dog.
She’s on the downhill side, the dog, so we handle her with care
166 lbs. Up one.
Turn on the lights, start the coffee, get dressed. Let loose the hounds.
Rub, snuggle, tummy scratch, out the door. Bark! Two Barks!! Because who knows what manner of creature is out there. Give any possible interlopers a chance to run before facing the wrath of Ragnar and Lily.
Twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit seems wrong for Central Florida. I can usually see mermaids from my front porch. Now I got iguanas dropping out of the trees.
Tastes just like chicken.
76 is 532 dog years.
Still watching last Tuesday’s college basketball games. A couple of cups of strong coffee and there’s no more delay.
Traditionally, there would be a longer run on this momentous occasion.
Thirteen minutes. 13:00. Total. (Ragnar says shorter would’ve been fine.)
World-class time for 5K, which is what it took me to walk a block. Northwind went through me like a rocket scientist’s scalpel. This cold literally sickens me, and I know what ‘literally’ means.
I am a highly-trained heat athlete. While my neighbors summered in northern climes, Ragnar and I were scampering from one tiny bit of shade to the next. Without so much as a bottle of water.
Then when Fall finally arrived – both days – I felt good. Best since probably those couple of days of Spring.
After those couple of days in Spring, I decided to upgrade my fitness regimen and added a nap.
On my birthday, I slept for two hours in the middle of the day.
Christmas Morning
Just as cold on Christ’s birthday as it was yesterday on my birthday. Coincidence? You tell me.
Will try again. More layers of protection this time. (Still have my Nike Corporate Fitness windbreaker from that time in ’82 I paced a cute young woman to a free week in Hawaii and she took someone else.)
You don’t get to be seventy-six without learning to adapt.
And to keep moving.
A moving target is harder to hit.
Back in the day, in my New Hampshire hideout, we would wait until the temperature reached freezing – on its way up – and we’d hit the snowmobile trails like young moose. Which I never did see.
They scare you half to death with those warning signs and then you never see one. I suspect the Department of Tourism.
But I digress. Again. Such is meditation, when shivering.
Christmas just as cold, but not as windy.
Life is not meant to be lived into a frigid headwind.
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
