Papa was a headbanger. No, I didn’t call my father Papa, but when I wrote “Dad was a headbanger,” the Temptations song Papa was a Rolling Stone popped into my head. I needed to change what I wrote. Of course, Suzy is a Headbanger by the Ramones could have just as easily sprung up in … Continue reading Headbanger
Aging
Codger
Walking around the block, Susan and I pass the Columbia Gas family playing in their yard. The young couple, maybe late twenties, with two kids, an infant and a toddler, are one of the few families consistently outdoors. I know I should be able to supply a name rather than reference the work-truck parked in … Continue reading Codger
Windows to my Soul
At my 8th grade lunch table, we compared hands, budding palm readers, one and all. Marcus Pappas blurted out "Cann's and mine look like old lady hands." He had a point—thin and boney—but it irked me that he said this out loud. Marcus died thirty-five years ago while still good looking, except, I suppose, his … Continue reading Windows to my Soul
Eulogy
When he turned seventy, we gathered in a nondescript Rockville restaurant, a long table in a windowed annex, tall potted ferns decorated the space. His wife Diane, her kids, my brothers David, Dana, our spouses and me. Those who had children brought them. My father made a speech, wrapping it up with “I hope to … Continue reading Eulogy
Times change
Half-past, quarter-till, five-of. These time-telling conventions I grew up with left the lexicon before my kids were born. But that never stopped me from using them: Me: “I’ll pick you up at the tennis court at half-past.”Sophie: “Half-past??!” Me: “C’mon Eli, I want to get there by 6:00. It’s already five-of.”Eli: “Five-what??!” Me: “We’re meeting … Continue reading Times change
Musings of an Old(er) Runner
As I approached Emmitsburg Road on Millerstown Road, I was wary. I’m always wary at this intersection. These are both double yellow line roads, which sends the message to my brain that I don’t belong here. Still, Millerstown’s speed limit is twenty-five. And the short quarter-mile section I ran connects one park road to another. … Continue reading Musings of an Old(er) Runner
At the Checkout
As soon as I pause, she swoops in to assist. I always pause. I need a moment to count items in my head, or figure out how to enter my rewards card, or wonder who that was who said ‘Hi’ in aisle five. This is self-checkout at my favorite grocery store, the small one up … Continue reading At the Checkout
Fight, fight, fight!
Sometimes there's nothing to feel Sometimes there's nothing to hold Sometimes there's no time to run away Sometimes you just feel so old —Lyrics from Fight by The Cure I realized this last winter: the day after my sixtieth birthday, I would lead a group of teenagers on a mountain bike ride. Me, four … Continue reading Fight, fight, fight!
Blooms
“Oh no coach, you’re bleeding!” “I’m always bleeding.” I can’t believe I still have this conversation. Honestly, everyone should know by now. Back at the cars after a mountain bike ride, blood streaks my arms. A kid, usually one of the younger ones, approaches me with concern. At some point during the ride, I brush … Continue reading Blooms
Decline
My coworker Bob called them chapter breaks—those steps in our fitness level that we periodically tumble down, never to return. I noticed this first in my thirties. I lined up a string of successes, personal records in a couple of races—a 10K and a ten-mile—a respectable marathon time, twenty-third overall in a thirty-three-story stair climb … Continue reading Decline
Fragility
Pattern in sand left by thirty to forty mile per hour winds -- Jeff, are you OK driving? Is the drop-off too steep? -- Dad, you’re really off balance, are you good? -- Jeff, did you eat enough for this hike? -- Dad, are you still feeling dizzy? -- Jeff, be careful, don’t touch that … Continue reading Fragility
Too Old for HIIT
We grew too old, Susan and me. I worked at the fitness center, not in the gym or the pool, but upstairs with the management. I worked out the finances. Twice a week, I biked in before sunrise to instruct spin classes. These are in the news lately, spin classes, the online ones. Peloton made … Continue reading Too Old for HIIT
Proof of Age
Not my kitchen I couldn’t relax, or lie flat, or breathe. Susan googled heart attacks. We thought she should check, maybe, just in case. We carried the microwave—the new one—into the kitchen. It mounts under the cabinets, above the stove, doubles as an oven hood. It’s not too heavy, maybe fifty pounds, awkward, but manageable … Continue reading Proof of Age
Epiphany
Rud waits at obvious landmarks and forks in the trail. When I catch up, he rides off again, steering his mountain bike over rocks and roots or a log now and then. I follow, but each time, he’s quickly out of sight. I stop worrying about holding him up. I can’t ride any faster, I’m … Continue reading Epiphany
Dying to Win
I saw this meme near the start of the pandemic: A cemetery, stately, over crowded with graves on a bright, sunny day. Dialog bubbles pop up from two headstones, the words of the dead. “We owned the Libs!!!” “Hell yeah we did!!!” Kind of funny, really not. I read an article this morning. Conservative talk … Continue reading Dying to Win
The Dog Days
I see my vacation in the rearview mirror. A fading memory of a not-so-great week. (Eli’s injury, then illness, then an early return home. <<== Link). Susan scoured VRBO looking to rent a place at the beach for a few days as a family consolation prize. Apparently, a popular idea. No one vacationed last summer. … Continue reading The Dog Days
Pumped Up
I dreamed about ‘the woods’ last night. The woods were a sprawling swath of undeveloped land separating my neighborhood from Interstate 270. During my grade school years, my friends and I spent our afternoons and weekends searching for salamanders and crayfish under rocks in the rainwater stream bisecting the woods. We roamed well-worn paths and … Continue reading Pumped Up
Cliffhanger No. 3
Cliffhanger. Do people know this word? My generation does, and those generations before me. It’s old fashion-y, like nickelodeons and world’s fairs. Nickelodeons—I just stumbled on this word while I looked up the etymology of cliffhanger. The first cinemas were called nickelodeons—back around the turn of the century (the prior one, old fashion-y, remember). People … Continue reading Cliffhanger No. 3
O.L.D.
Susan and I walked the neighborhood loop this morning, the short version, just as the world heated up. I planned to go running, something longish—maybe eight miles on the road or seven in the woods. But I didn’t gather my stuff last night before bed, and I didn’t set an alarm for the morning. I … Continue reading O.L.D.
Vanity
Farmland elementary school. Named for the vast and plentiful fields they bulldozed to build my neighborhood. Me: eleven years old, sixth grade. My class produced a play—a scene from an Arthurian Court. My role was the Court Page. My single line: “Ho, the royal nurse!” which I couldn’t say properly. I couldn’t pronounce the letter … Continue reading Vanity
The Other Stuff 