Geezerkinesis

Geezerkinesis- The act of getting older but still staying active. As I figure out what my next step is, I hope to spend some time writing about whatever adventure is at hand. You are invited to tag along. I cannot promise award winning journalism, but I will try to keep it friendly and worth your time. With the worst-case scenario being I will cure your insomnia, let's see where this road leads.

In order to tell one story, I have to explain another. Many moons ago, Unca Rongy (That is how Jon pronounced my buddy Rodney's name) and I were making our way through Paradise Valley Mall. I could not tell you what we were shopping for but whatever it was, we could not find it. I am pretty sure we were in a hurry to catch up with our respective beautiful brides. I can only surmise they had the credit cards in their possession. Now in order to fully understand what was about to take place, I need to paint a word picture. It is more of a concept than a hard and fast rule, so stay tuned in and all will come together.

I am sure every state has them. In Arizona, we call them the TSW, Typical Scottsdale Women. Let me emphasis the positive first. In and of itself, it is not a bad thing to be a TSW, but it is far from a good thing. Leaning on your mind’s eye for a moment, I want you to build a picture of what a TSW looks like. First of all, there is no real starting age. It is kind of like puberty, it starts differently for each of them but somewhere around birth, the elder TSW begins with accessorizing diapers and onesies. It is rumored they will only use Chanel number 5 scented wipes. I have never done the math but the rumor is their wardrobes could fund a small third world country.

As they age, the accessorizing becomes more refined. From hair, to makeup, to those dangly things they wear on their wrists, the TSW has just the perfect outfit for every occasion from buying gas at the Circle K, to a night out on the town, to being the best dressed at funerals. Most are trophy wives in their own right, but I will have to say not all are first place trophies. I could spend a whole chapter on their cars and how they drive, but to sum it up, they are often referred to as DUI Barbies.

I know you know the type, so I will move on from here. As Uncle Rongy and I were utilizing the serpentine method for getting through mall traffic, we got stuck behind a small gaggle of junior TSWs. They were deeply engaged in philosophical banter about the dynamics of the United Colors of Bennetton and their hairbrush-to-spray can ratio of Aqua Net. Meanwhile their off-gassing of Gloria Vanderbilt perfume was blocking our forward progress and our respective airways. We would zig, they would zig. We would zag, they would zag.  There was no getting around them.

Admittedly, we were probably following too closely but we needed to pass. Now I will, to this day, admit that we were enthralled at their banter and began to mock them.   At this point, they came to a sudden stop as we made evasive maneuvers to avoid a collision. We zoomed around them like their mother’s sport car and started working our way around the next obstacle. Still in earshot, we could hear their whining. It went something like “Oh my God! We were being followed by these two old geezers and they were like totally making fun of us. Huh, GOSHHH!!!” I will admit it is a challenge to simultaneously giggle and serpentine. Still in our twenties ourselves, we were from that moment forward dubbed Geezer One and Geezer Two. I am Geezer Two.

Geezerdom is an ever-constant progression that moves incredibly slow until you look in the mirror and wished you had never blinked. Whether it is the first few flakes of snow on the roof or realizing Tonya Harding just turned 47 years old, some find their way through all these changes and losses gracefully and then there is me.

When I first started seeing gray hair in my late twenties, I thought it was totally cool. I passed thru my thirties reasonably unscathed and found myself entering my forties. There was no way I was going to turn 40 and get bi-focals in the same year.  Lifting my glasses to see the smaller print became as secondary as turning down the car radio when looking for an address or navigating traffic. 

Little by little, I began to experience loss. The loss of parents and friends are by far the toughest, but there are little losses that become bothersome but adaptable. For instance, like learning to live with every other sentence starting with “I’m sorry, what was the question?” I can only speak for me when I say that the loss of the full head of hair is not really all that troubling. Or at least it was not until I was hiking near Aspen and forget my hat. Second degree scalp burns are nothing to be trifled with. In the event you do go hiking in Colorado, and you do burn your scalp, it is probably good policy not to express your displeasure of the pain while in the shower facility at the campground. I was quickly hushed by my buddy Jay when I started whining out loud by how “I had never done that before. I had no idea it would hurt this much.”  

Some things you give up by choice with little or no hesitation. Things like marathon running, eating pizza during the Ten o’clock news and anything past 11:15 pm on New Year’s Eve. You give up trying to impress others because you have found the freedom in knowing Mrs. Bumpass really has her own things to worry about and only thinks about you when she needs something. You develop coping skills when you learn that which once was is no more and never will be again, so you look for new things and new people and new places.  Perhaps some are better, while others will never be quite the same. Then there is the music. It will never be that good again, ever. Spotify has been my salvation.

I neither engage nor shun technology. It just is. It brings so many good things to our lives and yet in one accidental button push, it all goes away leaving only a “stream of profanities hanging somewhere over Lake Michigan.”

I had originally starting writing in the last few days just to be writing and posting and hoping for some feedback that I brought a smile to someone’s face. But one unlucky button push and it all disappears to never be seen again, like the water flowing down Sand Creek. I suppose I could rewrite or try to recover it using some other magical button pushes but this seems to parallel life a bit more accurately. I think, like some things and some people, they are gone forever, and I will push on with what is left. Please join me as I explore and learn and chat about this new (to me) concept I call Geezerkinesis. Just saying…