Butchblog

and other places

Today I am limping around the house. I’ve got deep gashes on both my legs that don’t want to heal up. How did I get these ugly wounds? I hardly had to try. One occurred as I was setting up chairs for my writing group. I got a little sloppy and banged one of the chairs into my calf. No big deal, right? It didn’t even hurt, until I looked down and saw the blood slowly coloring my pant leg. Fortunately there was a first-aid kit nearby and I was able to temporarily patch up the wound, but knew right away it would be a problem.

The second laceration happened a few days later when, thinking I was okay to go for a walk, Bev and I headed up a forested hiking trail we like. I was feeling fine, enjoying the day, until I stepped over a fallen log, something I have done endless times in my life with ease, but this time scraped my leg against the rough bark. Blood spurted out. A thick flap of skin had peeled off. I had large band-aids back in the car. By now I know to be prepared. The problem is thin skin that tears and bruises easily. Bev says I need to increase my spatial awareness. I guess that’s true, but I’m afraid the deeper problem, deep as the cuts, deep as my disappointment, is simply old age. And thin skin is only one symptom of aging bodies. My aging body. I won’t go into the full list. Why bother?

 It’s inevitable. Aging that is, and it comes with a cost—and a few benefits. I’m not going to complain. I’m lucky to have made it this far—it was unexpected. And I get a brief ego buzz when somebody tells me I don’t look my age. Foolish pride. I do try to stay in shape—as much as that’s possible. I go to the gym regularly where I stretch, pedal the stationary bike, and then lift weights (not the heavy ones.) I go for long walks, and when uninjured and the waves cooperate, go out body-boarding. I am in good shape for my age, but I am definitely not able to do all the things I used to do, or not at the same level or without creaking. Still I give myself credit for trying, and not wanting to seem a downer here, I do enjoy my life and my activity. In my head I’m still young. But only there. Medical science has helped. And we have a good hospital nearby—always a benefit for the geriatric crew. They’ve given me two new bionic knees over the past four years. You oughta see me squat down these days. No, maybe not.

            So, what the hell, all I can do is keep on doing until I can’t. Maybe that’s pretty much the whole challenge of life. Keep on truckin’.  But we do wear down. You don’t see many old cars out on the road. The wheels eventually come off. I know I’m mixing metaphors, but that’s my prerogative. I’m old, so I get to say and do dumb shit. Now if these damn cuts would just heal over, I would love to go surfing.