By Fred Prout
A funny thing happened the other morning at the Home For Senior Delinquents.
First, an explanation.
For those of you who may not have reached senior status, a word of warning.
I have recently attained the age of seventy fourteen, and realized that my body is not quite as young as it used to be. This writing is mid January, and my right hip vividly remembers New Years Eve. Previous celebrations ended around 3am. In the morning. No more. This year was a wonderful time. We danced and danced. Slowly. I had such an enjoyable time, I wasn’t prepared to have the DJ play” That Old Time Rock And Roll. “My brain turned off, and my body decided to jump up and make the moves of eons ago. Many eons ago. Since my dance partner was nursing a bum knee, I got up and started gyrating wildly. Like the teenager I no longer am.
When I started to realize that this was a bad, truly dreadful idea, I saw that one of our thirty something year old staff had joined me on the dance floor. There was no way I could allow her to show me up, so the adrenaline kicked in, and I gyrated into high gear.
The next morning I realized what a terrible, idea that was. My right hip hurt.I MEAN HURT!!!! So, for the past couple of weeks I’ve been walking around like Chester on Gunsmoke. (For you youngsters, an old TV western. In black and white. Stay tuned for more on this ).
I know I should get it checked, but, having witnessed my friend Millie get a shot in her knee with a two foot needle, wielded by Doctor Torquemada, I realize that I am too much of a coward to do that. So I limp in pain.
Okay, now back to the present. This morning, the usual breakfasteers dwindled down to Sargent, Agnes and yours truly. After solving most of the world’s problems we walked to the elevator to get home.Agnes noticed that I had stepped on a stray piece of electrical tape and it was stuck on the side of my right shoe. No big deal, right? As it was on the same side as my painful hip, no amount of bending, maneuvering or dancing around the moving elevator would let me reach my foot.
Almost as one, Sargent and Agnes stuck out a foot to step on the offending piece of tape. Three senior people on one leg trying to get a stupid piece of tape off my shoe, when the elevator jerked to a stop. We three wobbled and grabbed the hand rails. Fortunately, nobody fell, but the tape finally relented and was disposed of by bending forward and picking it up. My many years of training by walking the dog paid off.
The moral of the story ? Enjoy life to the fullest. The pain is temporary. The memory of the good times lasts forever.