I almost forgot my old man’s group at McDonalds in Black Mountain, the high point of my week. At 9 I was working on something else and was typing in the word Friday when I realized I had five minutes to brush my teeth and drive the 50 minutes to Black Mountain for our 10 a.m. get-together.
We talked about the insanity and nastiness of Donald Trump and then shifted, as we often do, to talking about old age. Three of us are 87/88. Phil was pointing out that only .9 of 1% of men get to this age, every other man is younger. When we look at the obituaries, almost everyone dying is younger than us. We are obviously reaching the end of the road. And that led to discussions about how to stay alive longer from walking 7000 steps a day to drinking a couple of cups of coffee to taking magnesium to keep our legs from cramping. I mentioned that at my doctor’s visits the various doctors just wave me through, not paying much attention to any symptoms as if when you get to a certain age you are a living miracle and there is nothing they can do to help you except hope for the best.
In the evening I went to a fancy cocktail party at my son’s house in honor of his wife, Kathy’s, birthday on Saturday and the visit of her mother, Beth, Beth’s husband, Richard, who had driven over from Maryville for the weekend. Richard was getting medical advice from second year medical student, granddaughter Caroline. Again magnesium came up, which I’m guessing will soon be added to the tray full of pills I take every morning. Neighbors from their old house on Melrose Avenue were there. The children, who had grown up together and were now graduating from college separated themselves from the old folks talk, magnesium doesn’t interest them yet, and the old folks connected at another table. The food and drink was marvelous.
I drove home, my new home, Marshall, at 9:30 and half way home a rainstorm almost blinded me on 25/70, not just me, everyone was driving very slowly. There were no inner or outer white lines on the very curvy road and even with the windshield wipers at full speed I had trouble seeing the road, sailing along in a void. So I let someone inch past me and then followed them close behind, relying on them to see the road when all I could see was blackness. I got home safely. Tom knew because he now tracks me wherever I go on his iPhone, an eery feeling.
BILLYBABA’S WANDERING 