'Tis the Season

The first snowfall of the year has found us here at Saddlebrook Farms. That's as it should be in November in West Michigan. Hallowe'en, the opening act of the wonderful Holiday Season has come and gone. It's the season for memories to be savored and memories to be made.

Ah yes, the memories, the laughter and the over indulging. I trust you'll indulge me as I share a few memories, in the hope that they'll jog a few favorite ones of your own.

Hallowe'en always creates memories, but since I'm not certain as to what the Statute of Limitations might be, I'll refrain from those of younger days that might require 5th Amendment protection.

My daughter, Samantha, managed to stretch a wonderful memory all the way from Hallowe'en to Christmas. She was a 3 year-old with a fertile imagination, and she decided, without prompting from her siblings or her parents, that she was to be a Witch for Hallowe'en. She was a charming little Witch, and played her role with such aptitude that, considering subsequent events, I'm still not convinced that she's not an actual Witch, albeit a good one.

On Christmas morning, no one can be as excited as a 3 year-old, and that was certainly true of Samantha. She fairly tore through the wrapping paper surrounding her gifts, until she came upon one that held her spellbound. Her eyes opened widely and her mouth dropped open as she beheld, what I thought was just a toy broom and dustpan. She grabbed the broom and came running across the room towards me crying, " Look, look Daddy! A flying thing!" Now, if that ain't a Witch, you go me one better.

My Darlin' Darlene and I are soon to celebrate our twentieth year of memory making together. She's the joy of my life, and normally is extremely sensible. But as near as I can determine, our longevity can only be attributed to a lapse in good judgement that she continues to make, year after year, for which I'll be eternally grateful. Gratitude is what Thanksgiving is all about.

Thanksgiving is Dar's favorite Holiday, and no wonder. She's danged good at it. I call her The Queen of the Side Dishes, and there's always one or two that I didn't even realize were on the table. What she can do with Mushrooms is a joy to behold, which, if you happen to be sitting on the wrong side of Son Scott and Daughter-In-Law Suzie, is all you're likely to do. Behold, that is. They count them and then ration them out, between themselves, and leave only as many for the rest of us as good breeding dictates. And, what Dar does with the Turkey is a thing of familial legend. My only contribution to Thanksgiving Dinner involves her fabulous stuffing. She puts the giblets in it. I'm not into giblets. My job is to taste the raw mixture (with giblets) for proper seasoning; not my favorite task, but I didn't get this tank by being squeamish.

One of Dar's favorite Thanksgiving memories was B.D. (Before Don). She was a new bride and it was to be her first Thanksgiving dinner, with her folks and her In-Laws in attendance. She had worried it all together, and was confident that it was going to be a great success. Upon tasting the stuffing, one of the mothers inquired as to whether she had included the giblets. Dar replied that she hadn't, because the giblets hadn't come with the turkey. As dinner progressed, and more of the stuffing was removed, the Mystery of the Missing Giblets was solved. They were nicely cooked, along with the bag, inside the bird. Memories are made of this.

And then, there is Christmas, the crowning Holiday of the year. I know that in difficult economic times such as now, merchants everywhere are desperate to stretch the buying frenzy out as long as possible, but I really object to having Christmas displays appear before Hallowe'en. There are some radio stations that began playing non-stop Christmas music in October. I hope and pray that Christmas doesn't fall victim to the old adage about familiarity breeding contempt. So, I'll save writing about the singularly wondrous event that is Christmas for another post.

I hope you all have a grand Thanksgiving, giblets and all.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there!

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

You Take the Plane, I'll Take the Train

Senior "Snow Birds" will no doubt be delighted with the recent news that Allegiant Airlines is adding Grand Rapids to it's flight schedule. Allegiant is a "budget" airline, and for a short time, they'll be offering one-way flights to Orlando for $89.00, raising to $109.00 later on. That will make it much more affordable for those "Snow Birds" who head South in the early Autumn, and wish to return North for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas et cetera. That would not be the case for yours truly.

I am not what you would term a "Comfy Flyer". If I were ever to become a "Snow Bird", it wouldn't be because I flew South, although, in a pinch, I do get on the crazy things. My Dad never flew. He loved to watch planes take off and land, but said many times, "I know it appears that they take off, fly around and land, but I'm still convinced that they can't do it." That from a man whose youngest son was a career Air Force man.

My Darlin' Darlene is a "Comfy Flyer". So, whenever it's been absolutely necessary that we fly somewhere, she has a field day with my fear factor. Her comedienne side takes over bigtime; no mercy.

I didn't always hate it. I came by my distaste for flying quite honestly. As a younger man, I was Sales Manager for a company that had Dealers from Denver to Presque Isle, Maine, and I flew regularly. On one of those trips, I had a connection from St. Louis to Indianapolis. The aircraft was a British something or other with two tail-mounted engines. Just after takeoff, immediately after the landing gear retracted, the starboard engine blew up, rocking the plane violently. The craft began wallowing side to side, until the pilot, bless his heart, manged to get it under control, and announced calmly, bless his soul, that we would be returning immediately to the airport. I would have preferred him to say that we would be returning in a short while, since I was already thinking that if the other engine went, we'd be returning somewhere immediately, airport or no airport. As we landed, it was comforting, but not much, to see Firetrucks and all sorts of emergency vehicles racing alongside us on the runway.

Inside the airport, insanely, we all queued up at the counter to re-book our flights, since our previous one hadn't gone anywhere. One fellow begged to be allowed to go to the head of the line, as it was imperative that he get on the very next available flight. Most of us were not really in that much of a hurry to board another airplane, so we agreed. He very excitedly explained his situation to the agent, who quickly complied, and asked, "Smoking section?" (Remember ?), to which the man replied, "Yes, and drinking too!"

Another experience that contributed to my lack of "Friendly Skies" enthusiasm happened in Miami. I was bound for Nassau for a Hobie Cat Sailboats convention, departing on Air Florida, but the airplane had mechanical problems, and the flight was scrubbed. We were told that our tickets would be honored by Bahamas Air. In retrospect, I'm convinced that the only time Air Bahamas actually has paying passengers is when real airlines' flights are scrubbed.

My confidence level, already sinking, hit a record low when I walked out on the tarmac, and saw the Bahamas Air flying machine. I'm still not convinced that it wasn't the first ever licensed, closed-cabin, passenger-carrying aircraft. But, as Shelley Berman once said, as he told about hearing a strange sound from an engine while he was on a plane, about to take off, "You don't know who to tell, and you wouldn't if you knew, because you'd rather die than make an ass of yourself."

I boarded. The fabric was peeling on the plane's interior, and many of the seats were actually repaired with duct tape. There were holes worn in the aisle carpeting. I found my seat and sat. Then, The Pilot boarded. I thought, " Omigod! It's Wiley Post re-incarnated, or maybe Charles Lindbergh's father." This man was far too old to be out of The Home, on his own. But, I said nothing. The Pilot closed the door to the cockpit, which promptly flew open again. He slammed it two or three times before it finally stayed shut. The real fear set in when The Pilot started the engines. Billows of black smoke poured from one engine, I don't recall if it was port or starboard, but, the smoke was so heavy and oily that it sank to the ground rather than rising into the air, as smoke is supposed to do. As the smoke sank, so my confidence level sank to a new, world-class low. The smoky engine sputtered and mis-fired, eventually smoothing out except with a fairly regular miss. I said nothing.

As we accelerated down the runway, the cockpit door jarred open again and Old Smoky missed steadily, causing the aircraft to jerk annoyingly, which it did all the way across the open water until we landed in Nassau. I was tempted to kiss the ground, but I didn't want to make an ass of myself.

Finally, while on a 747 flight from Paris to New York, about halfway across the Atlantic, our pilot announced that one of our four engines had quit running, but that the Boeing 747 was very capable of flying on less than it's allotted four. I don't recall if he said how many less than four, but I do recall that he said, "Have no fear". Easy for him to say. It did remind me, though, of a situation that I heard about, involving a Lufthansa 747, trans-Atlantic flight.

It seems that about a quarter way across the Atlantic, the Lufthansa 747 lost the use of an engine. True to form, the pilot made the announcement that there was no danger. Then, at about midway, the Point of No Return (Dontcha just love it?), the pilot announced that a second engine had failed, but not to fear. A short while later, the Head Steward's voice came over the address system, and in his best Deutsch-ish English said, " Ladies und Chentlemen! I'm afraid dat ve are haffink a serious problem vit bote of our remainink engines, und it vill be necessary for us to ditch in de Ocean. Please follow dese instructions carefully. Ve vould like all of de shvimmers to move to de port side, dats left, of de aircraft, und all of de non-shvimmers to move to de shtarboard side, dats right, of de aircraft. Move now please." The passengers did as they were instructed. The Steward continued, "Now, to de shvimmers. When de aircraft shtops movink in de wasser, de exit hatches vill open automatically. You are to exit de aircraft und shvim as qvickly as possible for about 100 meters, avay from de aircraft. Now, to de non-shvimmers. Ve vould like to take dis opportunity to tank you for flyink Lufthansa."

Wish My Darlin' Darlene and I were Snow Birds.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Dean's Still Singing !

Finally! The election's over and we can get back to a little normalcy. We can sit, relax and enjoy getting our brains fried again, watching meaningful TV like "Friends" reruns, rather than being glued to nightly political discussions on the various News stations, interrupted every 5 minutes or so by those mind numbing Political ads. That's as political as I'm ever likely to get here on Senior Speak.

Today's post was going to be about the approaching Holiday Season, but a couple things happened this morning that has steered me in a different direction. While driving back from a store up in Muskegon, an Oldie came on my radio; Dean Martin was singing "Memories Are Made of This". Then, when I sat down to write, I glanced at my last post and the picture of that '59 Oldsmobile caught my eye. I just had to switch gears. So, I hope you'll join me in enjoying a little walk down Memory Lane.

The late 40's and the 50's, when many of us were in our teens, are especially dear to me. Those were softer, gentler times. Time moved more slowly, it seemed. There was a sort of grace to our lifestyle. It was, by most counts, a more innocent time, possessing a certain naivete'. I'm hoping that some of the things I'm going to share with you now, will take you back for a few moments, and regenerate some of those old wonderful emotions.

Remember Flexible Flyers ? Remember "Belly-Floppin'"? You'd hold the sled in both hands, run a few steps and flop on your belly on top of the sled, and away you'd go, down the hill. Great fun, unless you hadn't cleaned the rust off the runners. In that case, you'd flop and stop and do a full face plant. You could get the same effect if you weren't careful to keep the tow rope curled up nicely on top of the sled, and it slid under the runners.


Actually, the only kids that had Flexible Flyers were the ones whose parents were a little better off than we were. The Flyers were the Cadillacs of the sled world, and you could steer them with the handle bars. The handle bars on our cheaper sleds didn't turn, so you had to steer by dragging your feet in the snow; drag your left foot for a left turn, and your right foot for a right turn. I can't tell you how many pairs of 4-Buckle Arctics I ruined steering my old sled. Steering with your feet wreaked havoc on the buckles. My Dad would tie the buckles back on with binder twine, until I was down to the last buckle, then he'd be forced to buy me another pair. I never thought to try and reason with him that if he'd just get me a Flexible Flyer, he'd probably save more than the difference in the price of the sled by not having to replace boots.


Those Pre-TV years were great. Kids spent a lot more time outdoors. Even after TV's were more commonplace, there still wasn't a lot of afternoon programming for kids, so we'd be out until supper. (When did supper change to dinner?) But, after supper, the old upright Zenith was king. The family would gather round to "watch" the Lone Ranger, The Green Hornet, Superman, Our Miss Brooks, Henry Aldrich, Fibber McGee and Molly, Baby Snooks, Beulah, Red Skelton and a host of other great shows, each one of us with our own images of the characters in our heads. Occasionally, if Dad wasn't paying close attention, we'd catch an episode of The Creaking Door and then be too scared to go to bed.


But TV did happen, and so did Rock and Roll, and then, as we approached our teen years, the greatest invention of our lives was introduced: the 45 RPM record. We convinced ourselves that we couldn't do homework without music. Every Saturday, the ritual was to grab the bus for downtown, and head for Grinnell's or Kresge's, to the record counters, and into the listening booths. We greased back our hair into Ducktails, or DA's (we weren't allowed to say the DA word), or stiffened our Flattops with Butch Wax, and the Top 40 Charts were our constant companions. We were never far from a radio or record player, and thank goodness, somebody had enough smarts to invent transistor radios. They became our constant companions. Wolfman Jack and Dick Bionde from WLS in Chicago were absolute necessities.


Some genius found out that records could play at 33 1/3 RPM and came out with LP's, and another genius thought up Hi-Fi, and no gathering of three or four was ever complete unless somebody toted along their portable Hi-Fi. Of course, we had to have a mixture of both LP's and 45's, so another millionaire in the making dreamed up 45 RPM adapters, so we wouldn't wear ourselves out changing records after each 2 1/2 minute song. It's incredible that after all of those years of switching from Little Richard to Perry Como, then on to Chuck Berry followed by Doris Day, that our ears weren't totally destroyed, and our minds scrambled. Well, at least my ears survived.





We managed to get through it all. I for one, wouldn't have missed it for anything. It's so enjoyable to take a moment, now and then, and let those yesterdays take over from the pressures and problems of the todays, and let the memories that Dean sang about consume us. But, just for a moment.


Remember these ?





Cushman Scooter

Lambretta Scooter

Top Hits of 1956


Memories Are Made of This Dean Martin

Band of Gold Don Cherry

Memories Are Made of This Gail Storm

Tutti Frutti Little Richard

See You Later Alligator Bill Haley and His Comets

Great Pretender The Platters

Why Do Fools Fall in Love Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers

Rock and Roll Waltz Kay Starr

Lisbon Antigua Nelson Riddle

Poor People of Paris Les Baxter

No, Not Much The Four Lads

I'll Be Home Pat Boone

Heartbreak Hotel Elvis Presley

Hot Diggity (Dog Ziggity Boom) Perry Como

A Tear Fell Teresa Brewer

Blue Suede Shoes Carl Perkins

(You've Got) The Magic Touch The Platters

Moonglow and Theme From Picnic Morris Stoloff

Moonglow and Theme From Picnic George Cates

Be Bop A Lula Gene Vincent

I Walk The Line Johnny Cash

The Wayward Wind Gogi Grant

Ivory Tower Cathy Carr

Standing on the Corner Four Lads

On the Street Where You Live Vic Damone

I'm in Love Again Fats Domino

Born to Be With You Chordettes

More Perry Como

I Almost Lost My Mind Pat Boone

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You Elvis Presley

My Prayer Platters

Don't Be Cruel/Hound Dog Elvis Presley

Whatever Will Be, Will Be (Que Sera, Sera) Doris Day

Allegheny Moon Patti Page

The Flying Saucer (Pts 1 & 2) Buchanan and Goodman

Honky Tonk (Parts 1 & 2) Bill Doggett

Tonight You Belong To Me Patience and Prudence

Canadian Sunset Hugo Winterhalter and Eddie Heywood

Friendly Persuasion (Thee I Love) Pat Boone

Just Walking in the Rain Johnnie Ray

Love Me Tender Elvis Presley

The Green Door Jim Lowe

True Love Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly

Singing the Blues Guy Mitchell

Long Tall Sally Little Richard

In the Still of the Night (I'll Remember) The Five Satins

Goodnight My Love Jesse Belvins (R&B)

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr

Nostalgia is Wasted on the Young

We Seniors have a lot of advantages over the younger crowd. Supposedly, we have a lot more disposable income. We get Senior Discounts. We don't have to apologize for working out with 25 pound weights on the Arm Curl machine; stuff like that. One thing we definitely have on them is years, lotsa years. And all those extra years mean that we have a lot more experiences; more things to remember. More nostalgia.

My Darlin' Darlene isn't real big into nostalgia. I think that's because I really am, and she gets a little weary of my rehashing. She calls it "living in the past". The way I see it, I have a lot more years back there than I have coming up, so I may as well enjoy them while I can.

I love nostalgia, and I know I'm not alone. Just this morning, while waiting in the check-out line, I noticed a display of Retro-Candy. There were Zagnuts, and Clark Bars, Teaberry and Black Jack Gum, and Nikl-Nips. Remember Nikl-Nips, those little wax bottles filled with syrupy liquid ? Well FYI, Nikl-Nips are now 89 cents. I get awfully nostalgic for nickle stuff.

I love to look at old cars, specifically cars of the 40's and 50's. I really like period movies that show a lot of old cars. My Darlin' Darlene puts up with me saying, "Wow, look at that '52 Hudson !" "Didja see that '49 Pontiac ? My Uncle Harold had one just like that, and ....." And on and on. There's lots of nostalgia in old cars.

Speaking of old cars reminds me of an incident that happened back in my college days, involving a beautiful Oldsmobile. It was on a Saturday afternoon in November, and I was at work at my part-time job at Muller's Shoes, when I got a phone call. It was from my buddy, Chas. He sounded absolutely distraught, "Lehr, you've gotta get over here right now ! You're never gonna believe this ! This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me ! You've gotta come over to my Grandma's !" end of phone call. I had never heard Chas like this before, so I made my excuses to my boss and took off.

Fully expecting the house to be on fire, or dead bodies in the kitchen or something just shy of World War Three, I arrived at Grandma's house and ran inside. Chas was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, white as the proverbial sheet. "Lehr, you're just not gonna believe it. What do you think is the worst thing that could possibly ever happen ?" I, dumbfounded for a moment, finally said, " I have no idea." "Look", said Chas, as he threw open the back door leading into the garage.

Now, Chas was living at his Grandma's house while she was spending the Winter in Florida. He had the place all to himself with no restrictions other than, no parties, no drinking, no girls, and above all, no driving of Grandma's Oldsmobile. Grandma informed him that she had jotted down the odometer mileage.

I stepped into the garage, expecting the worst, viewed the situation and was immediately engulfed in paroxysms (I love that word) of laughter. Chas was not impressed with my empathy.

Apparently, Chas had located Grandma's car keys, and had decided that he would take a spin, no doubt, to pick up some girl and bring her back for an evening of Cokes while watching "Sing Along With Mitch". No, that was on on Wednesday nights, but I digress.

Sitting, quite forlornly, was Grandma's Oldsmobile, minus the driver's door. That was funny enough to me, but what caused my uncontrollable laughter was not the missing door. Sitting on the door sill was a fireplace log that Chas had propped against the interior light switch so as not to run down the battery. That just killed me.

Another buddy, Fuzz showed up then, with forbidden Drewery's (that oughta take you back). Chas had given up on me for a moment and queried Fuzz, "Fuzz, what am I going to do?" Fuzz was no help either, as he was convulsed also, writhing in laughter on the floor of the living room, spilling Drewery's all over the carpet.

We finally gathered ourselves, and listened to the miscreant's tale. Chas had decided that the no driving rule was not applicable, at least occasionally. He figured that if he just undid the speedometer cable, no one would be the wiser. So, he had opened the driver's door, slid under the dash while dangling his legs outside of the car, and undid the cable. Here was Chas's great mistake, and there always is one when we connive to deceive. After successfully undoing the cable, he slid behind the wheel and turned to look over his shoulder while backing out of the garage, forgetting about the open driver's door. He soon remembered it. The garage wall snapped that door off slicker than whatever. Chas said that he caught hold of the top of the door, so it never even fell over onto the concrete. Whoop-de-do !

He again pleaded with us as to what he should do. Being a real genius in this kind of crisis, I suggested that if he would back the car out of the garage, we could take a few more of the fireplace logs, and stack them. Then we could take a couple of boards that Grandma had lying there, and make a ramp. Then if he gunned it back into the garage up the ramp, he could take off the roof and she'd have a three-door convertible. Having decided to imbibe along with Fuzz, at this moment we both hit the floor, re-convulsed with laughter, spilling Drewery's everywhere.

Chas did get Grandma's car fixed, although I don't believe she was ever informed of his transgression. I've often wondered, but have never asked, how he explained the two cigarette burns that Fuzz and I inflicted on her blonde dining table, during a forbidden party.

Nostalgia is a blessing, if for no other reason than it affords us an avenue for publicly purging the guilt for the sins of our youth. Geez, that Chas is a funny guy.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there.

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

The Autumn Years: Nature's Gift

Autumn, in all her finery, is upon us. What better way could there be to describe us Seniors than being in the Autumn of our lives ? It is, indeed, the perfect description.

The Autumn season is mellow. The harvest is nearing completion, the cider's in the jug, the fireside's aglow. It's a time for slowing down, reflecting on the year that's drawing to a close, and enjoying life's goodness.

It's my favorite time of year. I believe that I inherited my love of the season from my father. It was Dad's favorite season as well. Every year,until my mother's death, when the woods were in their full glory, and with the first hard frost, just like clockwork, Dad would burst through the kitchen door, smiling and laughing and then he'd recite James Whitcomb Riley's wonderful ode to Autumn, start to finish, with gusto.

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN
by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here--
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock--
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover over-head!--
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me--
I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock--
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

As the trees began to turn, I was contemplating Autumn's joys, the leisure time. I envisioned long, contemplative evenings with my Darlin' Darlene, the fireplace lit, a good book, sitting back in my comfy chair with a glass of Port or a fine Bordeaux, just unlaxing. But, it was not to be.

One late September afternoon, we encountered our wonderful neighbors, Joe and Machelle and Elliot, the quintessential Dog, from across the way. They were exuberant in describing a wondrous addition to our local High School; the Spring Lake Community Fitness and Aquatic Center. They had been to the Open House and were totally smitten, and it was for the entire community, not just the students. My Darlin Darlene's eyes lit up like the finest Halowe'en Jack-O-Lantern, and I'm certain that I saw furtive glances from both her and Machelle toward my ever growing waistline. I sensed that my contemplative evenings, getting fatter, were fleeting. "We'll just have to check it out", said Dar. "You bet", said I. My Autumn Nocturne had been altered.

So, check it out we did, and that very night, surprise of surprises, we were members. Not only were we members, I actually perused the Activity Schedule and found a class innocuously titled, "Senior Circuit Training Team: a total body fitness program", which I joined. The Lord Himself, must have been shocked. I'm still in disbelief, though every muscle in my body is now a true believer.

I've been working out on machines that are nothing short of modern adaptation's of Torquemada's designs for the Inquisition. Lucy, one of the Inquisitor's henchmen (henchladies ?), has promised that I'll be a "New Man". New, I guess. This program will have to result in a miraculous replacement of every one of my muscles because there's no way my old ones will ever survive. Now please understand because I don't; this is not only voluntary, I have paid good old American dollars for the privilege. I do this every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, with the class, and on Saturday as a matter of choice.

My Darlin' Darlene has dived right into a Water Aerobics class in the evening, during which, I go and play with hordes of children in the Leisure Pool. They even dive with goggles in the hot tub. I must be possessed or perhaps, repossessed.

Seriously now, my Banner line says, "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body. But rather to skid in sideways, Martini in hand, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO-HOO what a ride!”

My take on it is that our Senior years should be enjoyed with vigor; to enjoy these "Golden Years" to the fullest. That mission cannot be accomplished properly with a body that is grossly overweight and totally out of condition. I have bought in to this conditioning program, and I am honestly enjoying it. Oh yes, I get stiff and sore for a bit on the off days, but I'm committed to giving that potential "New Man" a shot at happening, and so should you. Yes, it's much easier to just sit back and watch your life slide by. But to grab it by the throat, and wring every last ounce of everything life offers from it, is far more satisfying. You owe it to yourself and to your spouse or partner. I assuredly want to "...skid in sideways...body thoroughly used up, totally worn out...", but I want to do it, looking good. Oh, and don't forget that Martini or glass of Bordeaux.

These are the Autumn years. There are no more Spring and Summer years. But there are still places to go, people to see, poems to read memorize and recite. Doing it as fit as possible will only make it better.

Hallowe'en is nigh on us, and I'll leave you with this. My Dad's favorite poet was James Whitcomb Riley. I related earlier how he would recite his favorite poem. He had committed more than one to memory. Each Hallowe'en, when I was quite young, just before we were to head out for an evening of "Trick or Treat", which was always after dark back then, he would sit us down and scare the Bejeesus out of my brother and me by reciting Riley's "The Little Orphan Annie".

The Little Orphan Annie
by
James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie's come to my house to stay.

To wash the cups and saucers up and brush the crumbs away.

To shoo the chickens from the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,

And make the fire and bake the bread to earn her board and keep.

While all us other children, when the supper things is done,

we sit around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun,

a listening to the witch tales that Annie tells about

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!

Once there was a little boy who wouldn't say his prayers,

and when he went to bed at night away up stairs,

his mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,

and when they turned the covers down, he wasn't there at all!

They searched him in the attic room and cubby hole and press

and even up the chimney flu and every wheres, I guess,

but all they ever found of him was just his pants and round-abouts

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!

Once there was a little girl who always laughed and grinned

and made fun of everyone, of all her blood and kin,

and once when there was company and old folks was there,

she mocked them and she shocked them and said, she didn't care.

And just as she turned on her heels and to go and run and hide,

there was two great big black things a standing by her side.

They snatched her through the ceiling fore she knew what shes about,

and the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!

When the night is dark and scary, and the moon is full

and creatures are a flying and the wind goes Whoooooooooo,

you better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear,

and cherish them that loves ya, and dry the orphans tears

and help the poor and needy ones that cluster all about,

or the goblins will get ya if ya don't watch out!!!

Dad was fun.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)