An Ode To Old Age

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Dec 042016
 

There’s quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn’t begin at 40. That’s a big fat lie.
My hair’s getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.

I smell of Vick’s-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker’s all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I’ll know, But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?

Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I’m off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I’ll once again start –
Perfecting the art of falling apart

 

Thoughts On Aging

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Nov 232016
 
  • The aging process could be slowed down if it had to work its way through Congress.
  • You’re getting old when you’re sitting in a rocker and you can’t get it started.
  • You’re getting old when you wake up with that morning-after feeling, and you didn’t do anything the night before.
  • The cardiologist’s diet: if it tastes good, spit it out.
  • Doctor to patient: I have good news and bad news: the good news is that you are not a hypochondriac.
  • It’s hard to be nostalgic when you can’t remember anything.
  • You know you’re getting old when you stop buying green bananas.
  • Last Will and Testament: Being of sound mind, I spent all my money.
  • When you lean over to pick something up off the floor, you ask yourself if there is anything else you need to do while you are down there.
  • You find yourself in the middle of the stairway, and you can’t remember if you were downstairs going up or upstairs going down.

 

The Shape I Am In

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Nov 162016
 

There’s nothing the matter with me,
I’m just as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both knees,
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about.
I’m overweight and I can’t get thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

And arch supports I need for my feet,
Or I wouldn’t be able to go out in the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I’m all right.
My memory’s failing, my head’s in a spin.
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

Old age is golden I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I go to bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
And my glasses on a shelf, until I get up.
And when sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?

The reason I know my youth has been spent,
Is my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-went!
But really I don’t mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the places my get-up has been.

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the obits.
If my name is missing, I’m therefore not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and jump back into bed.

The moral of this as the tale unfolds,
Is that for you and me, who are growing old.
It is better to say, “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.
 

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