It would be unkind to suggest I hope the chunky hack lawyer with the gun fetish shoots himself in the winky or takes a golf ball to the throat so I’ll just suggest he chew his meat slowly lest he choke.
Sometimes smart people can be naive and or exceptionally stupid.
****
“Is everything ok sir?”
I picked my head up, smiled and told him I am fine, “catching my breath.”
He told me he understood and we went back and forth a little bit more.
“I have been out of the game a little bit, working on getting back to where I used to be. Kind of frustrating to recognize how fast it goes away.”
“Yeah, I get it. That is what happens to me too.”
“Oh, how old are you?”
He smiles and says 22. I can’t help shaking my head and telling him there is no similarity between between 22 and almost 49.
“You know you get a free session with a trainer. What do you want to accomplish?”
I don’t tell him I want to get back into a pair of jeans that are older than he is. Not because it is not true but because I am interested in his help and there is no need to insult him.
“Rebuild my frame and put myself in a position where I can spend more time focusing on maintenance.”
He nods his head and we schedule a time for my free session. Before I walk away we spend a few more minutes engaged in small talk and I wonder if he realizes most of this is a test.
I want to confirm he has some experience and a plan for moving me from point A to point B.
His answers are enough to secure my confidence in meeting him for a session and I smile because this feels like a good use of my time.
“What are you listening to?”
I show him the music list on my iPhone and he tells me his grandmother likes Thriller and then asks what is Remember The Time.
“I don’t own very many Michael Jackson songs and this is what you hone in on? That surprises me.”
He says something else about grandma and I realize she has to be about 56 or 57 at best, maybe a little younger.
As I walk away I mutter something about fucking Millenials aging me and think about how my oldest is going to be 18 this year.
“Dammit, that was me last week.”
The Time We Are Given
I walk out of the gym listening to music that takes me back and think about how if I was 22 I probably would have been listening to something like this or this.
It was and is one of my favorite albums so it wouldn’t be a shock to see the cassette in the tape deck of my Camaro.
Could have been Clapton, Ozzie or Led Zeppelin, or Ray and Johnny.
Hell, not much has changed ‘cuz you can still find me listening to the same stuff but there are some changes.
I have grown to love classical and it is not unusual to find me listening to some opera classics too.
****
The tick-tock of an internal clock is louder than ever before and part of me is done with it.
Part of me is ready to burn it all down and start over in every way. Part of me is tired of the game and wonders if a good reset makes sense.
There is an idea that involves beaches and garages where I can work on cars and build with my hands.
Just a few hours ago I wandered the aisles of Home Depot so that I could grab some items I needed for work around the house.
Work that made me very happy because working with my hands brings a similar satisfaction to writing.
Except I am much better at writing than working with my hands.
Not because I am not handy but because I have chosen to focus more of my time on writing than building and fixing with my hands.
Sometimes I think that was a mistake and sometimes I run down a mental list of things I can do and smile because it is always long enough to make me realize it is longer and deeper than I thought.
Yet part of me wishes it was far longer and far deeper, it is the same part that wants to know why I can’t throw iron about with the reckless abandon of my youth.
Still it is tempered by experience and the knowledge that slow and steady will provide a stronger foundation and I need that more than ever.
The days of relying upon youth to provide time to recover and retrace are growing long in the tooth.
Society Dictates- Do We Listen?
Texas presents a different world than many expect.
Those back home ask the typical questions about whether I am packing heat now and or riding a horse to work.
Some tell me they wish they could live where I do because of the Conservative values and others ask how I could possibly do that.
I tell them all that is not always what it seems and laugh because I have similar conversations about California.
More than a few tell me it must be hell living in a place where every other person is an llegal and the immoral predators of Hollywood must be everywhere.
I tell them they are wrong and talk about how the strong conservative presence in California and then ask if they picture the UK as having sent over a lot of illegals.
“Gee, it never occurred to me there might be so many.”
“There are more than a few but I don’t pay attention to it because I haven’t ever worried about not getting services because of illegals” and add a comment about people learning that voter fraud isn’t the big problem they claim.
One of them starts in on me about guns and I choose to hammer him about how his position is illogical and indefensible.
“Have you ever been through a riot or natural disaster?”
He says no and I tell him I went through the LA Riots, was evacuated from a forest fire and survived more than one quake that exceeded 6 on the Richter scale.
“I wasn’t attacked by a mob and believe me, the riots had the potential. Didn’t suffer in the fire or the earthquakes either.”
He shakes his head and tells me I would have felt safer with a gun.
“Maybe, but I am certain that a shotgun or a pistol would have been fine.”
“Josh, you don’t know enough about guns to say that.”
I shake my head and tell him I know far more than he is aware of and remind him that of the two of us only one has been through riots and or natural disasters.
“Hell, they had a problem with people breaking into houses in my old neighborhood. Two cops suggested I get a gun. Both said shotgun, not a damn word about something like an AR-15.”
****
The truth is I am like everyone else in that I pick and choose which social dictates bother or don’t bother me.
There are lines I am willing to cross that others would point and shout at me for and I am ok with that.
Doesn’t make me a hypocrite, just makes me human.
I do my best to be a good person and try to live a life that makes it easy to sleep at night.
Some nights are better than others.
Back home I decide to do a few more sets of push ups.
Two more songs play and I wonder if the kid’s grandma likes them too. I am not old enough to be this crotchety, or am I. 😉
