Friday, February 13, 2009
A Side Note to My to Indiana...
02/13/2009
If you read my previous post you got to see exactly where I was mentally just one day after my 65th Birthday. It was not pretty. I was suffering from flatulence of the medulla oblongata. What follows here is an “aside” to this trip. At this very moment I am about 29,000 feet above Kentucky heading for Baltimore and home on Southwest flight 1111. My trip began on another SW flight but going into Indianapolis (Dayton is in 11 days), rather than Louisville. This is where this adventure truly begins.
Southwest flight 745, Baltimore to Indianapolis on February 10, 2009, and I arrived at BWI about two hours prior to the noon departure time. I checked my bag at the kiosk outside the terminal, where some brilliant dude checked my bag in and placed in a pile of bags, maybe fifteen to twenty in a pile about four feet high. He checked my bag but was paying more attention to his co-worker pontificating about Emperor Obama’s Stimulus Package telling another customer his partner knew what he was talking about because the guy had a master’s degree. I suppose that master’s degree meant the guy was an authority of sorts. I should have recognized the fact that my guy was so enthralled and doing more listening to his partner than paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing for me, and that it might translate into trouble for me.
This flight had just twenty-seven passengers on it flying into Indianapolis. When we arrived in Indianapolis just seven of the passengers, including me, went to retrieve baggage at the carousel. The twenty people that carried their belongings on the plane were the smart ones. After waiting over thirty minutes for the baggage for seven people to arrive on the carousel, a mere four bags appeared on the belt…mine not being one of them.
I noted in the previous post how happy I was I had a three hour drive ahead of me because I had not dressed to meet customers. The local sales rep and I had planned an 8:30 appointment for Wednesday. We had to decide if I should risk my bag not getting to our final destination which was about 150 miles from Indianapolis. A quick decision was made it that it might be best if we stayed in Indianapolis because my bag might never have made it to our original destination. Now this may have bothered most people, but, as serendipity would have it, there just happens to be one of my favorite micro-breweries in the Broad Ripple section of the Indianapolis. I drowned my sorrow with some good beer, some good food and a few good friends. I did buy a logo beer glass for my collection, and had another senior moment as I left it in the car of the guy who took me there the bar. My bag finally arrived at the hotel around 10:30 Tuesday night, a mere eight hours after I arrived in Indiana, but it was a sight for sore eyes. The thought of having to wear the same clothing, particularly my undies, for a second day was just not a big thriller for me. With the arrival of my bag to my hotel room, all was right with the world. I had clean underwear. I could use deodorant. I could shave.
Two points here, firstly, Southwest is just another typical airline company, not the Christ Child they make themselves out to be. But, I will still fly with Southwest since this is the first time some misfortune has befallen me on it. I will give SW another chance to screw me before I condemn it entirely.
Secondly, as I sit on this plane I cannot help but think of the forty-eight souls on the Continental flight that went down outside of Buffalo last night. These kinds of events are what ground me. I suppose I had every right to be upset about my missing bag, but I chose not to be. It was a minor happening, no one got injured, no one died, and who am I and who would I be if I allowed such a minor event to ruin my day. I cannot get upset about small shit, especially when the small shit allows me to drink good beer at the Broad Ripple Brewery.
And that is all I have to say about that…
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Dayton or Indianapolis?
02/10/2009
My first official Senior Moment has eventuated, and I can only thank God, it is behind me.
I have planned two business trips for February, the first to Indianapolis and the second to Dayton. Trip number one is for today and the other is in two weeks on the 24th.
I am not sure what the issue may be, other than Old Fartism, but some inexplicable reason, other than the obvious, I can not keep them straight. All last night I kept referring to my trip to Dayton. The Nancy corrected me no less than five or six times. Even this morning I was confusing the Indianapolis trip with the Dayton trip, and causing myself a little concern, given my family history with dementia.
In fact, halfway to the airport this morning I had a gut wrenching epiphany. I realized that as I had put my clothing together I had packed for Dayton and not Indianapolis. The difference is in my traveling clothes. I have planned to go into Dayton a little later in the day, thereby being assured I would not have to dress in shirt and tie array, but I wasn’t too sure about Indianapolis. My attire today is about 10 degrees below business casual, let alone business dress. I timidly called the sales rep to ask her what the plan is for us after I get to Dayton, I mean Indianapolis. Fortunately for me we have to make a three-hour drive once I hit the ground. I am saved by a car ride. Whew!!!
It is a little disconcerting to get mixed up. There is a commercial on TV for some dementia meds where a lady who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s wanders off at a bowling alley where her husband is competing. An employee of the alley brings her back saying “She seems a little confused.” Allow me to be totally unkind and say, Doris looked a little more than confused, and this same descriptor could have been used by The Nancy to describe me.
Just before I got to the airport The Nancy called me and told me to have someone pin a note on me to make sure I got to Indianapolis and not Dayton. I should take a picture of the note that prominently resides on my chest and send it to her. She could then see I am protected against my self. The note reads: “Please put this old man on a plane to Indianapolis, not Dayton. Should he arrive in Dayton, please, call The Nancy.”
God, help us. I am sixty five.
And that is all I have to say about that…
Monday, February 09, 2009
Life's Little Milestones...
02/09/2009
Along the road of life we have some little Milestones, some larger Milestones and an occasional Huge Milestone. Think about it, there is The 1st birthday; The Terrible Twos; The first Day of School; Becoming a Teenager: The 18th and 21st Birthdays; Marriage; The 30th Birthday Dog Days; The Infamous 40th Birthday and the “Over The Hill Party” that comes with it; and after that comes The 45th, aka the official beginning of the Middle Aged years; The Fiftieth, from which point it is downhill, so I’ve been told ; and lastly, The Last Birthday – everyone of us will have one of those.
Today, February 9, 2009 is a truly big day for me. This is a huge Life Milestone for yours truly. Today, I became an official Senior Citizen. Today, I have reached my Sixty-Fifth Birthday. I rather like to refer to this as the Twenty-Sixth Anniversary of my Thirty-Ninth Birthday. It is much more palatable that way. Thirty nine is a good age to be, forever.
I so vividly remember my dad at age sixty five. Dad was a cool dude, but at sixty five he was old. He acted old, and he looked old, as a lot of people from his generation did and do. Somewhere along the path things changed. These days, thank God, sixty five doesn’t have to be old. Seventy five doesn’t have to be old. My brother is seventy seven and doesn’t look or act any older than I. It’s all in ones attitude, and Lord knows, I haven’t grown up yet, and the chances of it happening anytime soon are very slim.
Being a male senior citizen has perks. Not just the evident stuff like senior discounts, but some good stuff. I can stare at a woman’s boobs from now on if I want and not get in trouble for it. I can fart in public and be excused. If I fall asleep in a meeting or church (if I went), it is simply passed off as a consequence of being a “senior.” This being an Old Fart may not be so bad. Just think, I can now go to McDonald’s and get free refills of coffee, and sit around with other seniors (euphemism for Old Fart) who have little or nothing to do and talk about little or nothing to do with anything. Well, we might talk about boobs or other important stuff like medical conditions. A visit to McDonald’s isn’t high on my priority list, yet. I don’t see this happening in my near future, but I won’t swear it couldn’t happen. Things do change.
I remember as a teenager thinking about how in the year 2000 I would be fifty-seven years old and that in 2009 I would be sixty-five years old and probably retired. Here it is 2009 and I am sixty five with no thought of retiring anytime soon. I got up this morning thinking about how different my life may be from this point on. I thanked God for this day, as has become my ritual, and got myself ready to come to work. It is a new day in a new year of my life. It is a lot like yesterday, only better. This day I get to ride a Bull Named Fu Manchu and Live Like I were Dying. It is a great day in my life and I love it.
And that is all I have to say about that…
Friday, February 06, 2009
Live Like You Were Dying
02/06/2009
The other day I was driving to work and scanning through local radio stations. I live in West Virginia, so radio programming here consists of NPR, religious content, ancient rock and, of course, lots of country. Now don’t get your drawers in wad. I am not slamming any genre of music. I enjoy them all, even Jesus radio, once in a while. This day I hit on a station just in time to hear “Live Like You Were Dying” by Tim McGraw. Knowing there are no accidents, this one clearly struck a note.
Just a few days prior to this I heard of the death of the father of a guy I work with. This one was tragic. This man was, as the story goes, out jogging, tripped and fell, striking his head. Ignoring the headache, he subsequently fell into a coma and passed away.
Moments before McGraw’s song began to play I was thinking about this death and thought about the man. As the words of the song settled into my ears, I wondered if he lived his life this way. I hope he did.
It is so easy to live the mundane life, to take the low road, to keep your expectations low. But to live like you were dying, it is even easier. Like the Nike line, Just Do It. Smile a lot, hug freely, never lie, always love, forgive and forget, pay it forward, dance naked in your back yard. Well, maybe the last one goes aboard a bit, but I think you may get the message I am trying to convey. We never know when the end might come, but I know when it is my turn people will say, “That SOB did it right.”
Enough pontification, I am off to ride a bull name Fu Man Chu, and go Sky Diving and Rocky Mountain Climbing.
And that is all I have to say about that…