Grugger’s Way

There was a pause….I had to think….what the hell? I know what year I was born–1947, that never changes. But my age in years is something I can hardly keep up with.

Is it because my memory is going…going…? Or do the years just speed by so fast that I can’t keep track any longer. Or don’t I really care?

Ah, maybe that’s it! Who does it matter to anyway? Not me. Not my spouse (who HATES to be reminded of MY age because that…ah yes…reminds her of her own).

My kids are now ages 24 through 40. Five of them. They have various ideas of how old I am, ranging from 45 or so…to over 70! Oh, to have such perspective!

I wonder if my Mother has to think for a moment to recall her exact age. It is 82. I remember her age as well as my own….but again, it is because I remember her YEAR of birth….and that has never changed…not since she reached age 39. (Oh, she loved Jack Benny!)

A couple of years ago, the IRS would not accept my federal tax return because my DATE of birth, (the day, not the month or year) that the IRS had on file did not agree with the Social Security Administration. One had the 7th, the other had the 9th. Social Security had it WRONG! I had to make a trip down there with my original birth certificate to get it corrected. THEN I could file my taxes.

I suppose this was good. I wouldn’t want to get into a big brouha with Social Security when the day comes that I want to Draw it. I will have no problem remembering my age THEN, you can be damn sure.

My wife thinks I should just throw out stuff when it gets old, but if I like a shirt, I will keep it and wear it until the collar frays.

Cuffs can fray and I will just roll up the sleeves, but when the collar threads start to show, I will give it up.

Once I am finished with a shirt, it can’t really go to Goodwill, as you may have guessed. I use them for paint rags. I don’t usually have a lot of old shirts to use as paint rags.

My Mother says she is just like me. She keeps stuff FOREVER! I know it was really (REALLY!) hard for her to downsize from a big house to a little apartment. Frankly, I am surprised she doesn’t still have stuff in a storage rental somewhere. (Maybe she does; I know I would)

I think my oldest shirt is 39 years old. I wore it in college, back in 1970 and ‘71. There is a lot of sentimental attachment to some of my old shirts. I can remember (vaguely) getting extremely drunk in one of my oldest shirts. I’m fairly certain that I made a fool of myself in my oldest shirts; something that I did with fair regularity back in 1970 and ‘71. Those were great years.

I have a feeling that I could wait “until the cows come home” (which is every night), but never have that “AH HA!” moment that will enable me to find the story and angle to publish a best-seller. I have Writer’s Block and, when I am stuck–I am really stuck.

Posting to a blog is a good excuse NOT to work on my novel or memoirs. I used to put out a new post on this blog every day. I was brimming over with ideas, and once I got going I could write five to seven posts at one sitting, and would frequently stop to write down additional ideas on a note pad. I’ve had “Blogger’s Block” for about three months now.

Note pads can be good or “good and useless.” I just counted 12 separate yellow notepads in my desk drawer that each have three or four pages of notes and ideas. Most of the ideas are not much good. I think it is like the “brilliant” observations a person makes when drunk; they never sound as “profound” when sober.

I notice that I write with a lot of “quotation marks.” That can be annoying. It’s sort of like speaking “tongue-in-cheek.” (There I go again with the quote marks.)

Making lists of stuff “to do” has also become a habit. As I have gotten older I haven’t gotten any wiser, just forgetful. If I think of some chore that needs doing, I have to write it down or it will slip my mind. It’s awfully frustrating. I find myself walking into the kitchen and forgetting what I am there for. As the joke goes: “I believe in the hereafter. Whenever I walk into a room, I ask myself, ‘what am I here after?’”

Perhaps some day I will make a list of all the stuff I have forgotten.

Forward about 43 years. My wife and I decided to purchase a used motor home to see if we would enjoy the “RV lifestyle.” Crawling around inside a tent had become just a bit too confining for a 60-year-old with back and knee problems. We got a pretty good deal on a 1991 Fleetwood Flair 25Y.

The 17-year-old motor home proved to be pretty cramped and confining. Why would we not expect that? Two people can barely move past each other. There are all sorts of overhangs and sharp corners to bump my head. I hope I have found them all.

Cooking in the motor home makes the entire place smell like food. For hours. And it heats up the entire place too. Summer camping in 95 degree temperatures is unbearable without air conditioning. We ended up cooking outside on a campstove half the time. And we set up a tent so we could sit outside in the shade without BUGS! So here we are, a tent and a campstove, sitting alongside a big ol’ motorhome.

We tried dry camping, which means there is no electrical service, water service, sewer service, or cable tv hookups. What an eye-opener! Unless we run the generator we have no air conditioning. Batteries can run down and leave you stranded. When the vehicle is 17 years old, refrigerators don’t always work well, nor do generators. Holding tanks fill up WAY too fast, too.

I now understand why MOST motor homes and 5th wheel RV’s seem to be crowded into RV Parks WITH all the services. I don’t much care for that. Too confining, too crowded, too noisy, too many people. What’s the point of “getting away” if all you manage is to sit around in an air conditioned coach, watching tv and eating junk food and drinking beer? I can do that at home, with a whole lot more privacy.

So, the jury is still out on the “joys” of RV camping, but I DO know that cross-country traveling and/or being an RV “full-timer” will NOT come to pass. Ever.