by Craig Campbell –
You would think aging and finances should make an easy humour column given, for me, both are a joke. In fact I can practically hear a conversation my doc and banker might have, if they got together for a beer and held an honest conversation. “You should see the size of his liver!” “Haha, bet it’s way bigger than his bank balance.” “And his knees, why my god, they are done.” “Ha, not as ‘done’ as his credit rating!”
Yeah, it would be downright mirthful. But I think I will skip finances: too painful and tears are unbecoming in a man.
We retired to Vancouver Island a few years ago, perhaps a bit earlier than planned or perhaps than we should have, financially speaking, but retirement was slightly hastened and possibly in part caused by aging. What occurred was I fell skiing and bonked my noggin and, though one could argue that scarcely mattered as I had no brains to begin with, what little I did possess got a tad scrambled. The silver lining is we ended up here, in the most amazing part of this beautiful and wonderful country.
Now, as this column is supposed to be funny, let’s see. It’s “funny” how my hearing is disappearing, my reflexes are going south, and I get the weather via my knees. And where did I put my reading glasses?
The other day I was running the dogs in the bush. One is large, powerful and has high drive, and for some strange reason likes to pick up the largest sticks he can find and run with them. I see Douglas fir trees being hauled by logging trucks smaller than the sticks this idiot picks up. We were walking on the old forestry spurs I so love here. There are miles of these unused roads in the interior and I can go the entire day without seeing a single soul. In any case, we were on such a road and I bent to pet the young lab pup, when the other big idiot decided it was time to play. He picked up a log – or perhaps a battering ram – and because of failing hearing, non-existent reflexes and poor peripheral vision, the #$%^^, @#$&^, #$%*# SOB rammed the #$%^& log into the side of my head! I collapsed to the ground like I had been pole-axed. You gotta realize: my old melon just can’t take this abuse like it once could. I found myself lying there, a bit stunned and confused, and the pup thought it was a wonderful game and pounced on my face. Great.
If it wasn’t for what my wife calls my old man’s hat, which didn’t soften the impact but likely reduced the size of the gash, perhaps I would still be lying on the side of the path, wondering what my name is and trying to figure out why two dogs are staring at me. But by getting onto hands and knees (how I normally rise from a prone position these days, as my amazing Ninja agility has abandoned me) I managed to slowly stagger to my feet, not seriously injured but definitely battered and bleeding. This incident would never have occurred in my youth. Growing older ain’t much fun.
