8 Things I Am Too Old For

Just as get to the point that I don’t care, I have to figure out what someone else would consider a guilty pleasure.

keenp_01In the HuffPo, Michelle Comb, who owns up to be 52, suggests there is an octet of things she’s too old for. “Time does change a person and I am finding that it is easier to accept these changes than to fight them.

“These are things for which the ship has sailed:”

1. Shutting up. There IS something about 50. I started this blog at 52, and I think people know that I have opinions, and I’m willing to share them. (Whereas some people who read my Times Union blog are willing to attribute to my thoughts that I did not express.)

My current feelings about politics and religion are rather clear, with the caveat that they can be changeable. However, writing about things sometimes codifies my thoughts, such as why Daylight Saving Time is stupid (doesn’t save energy, causes accidents, and heart attacks).

The librarian’s caveat is that I try not to go off half-cocked about an alleged injustice that is easily disproved in Snopes. There are a LOT of problems in this world, and I don’t have time for tilting at imaginary windmills.

2. Worrying how I look to others. For some reason, my receding hairline, or graying hair and beard has seldom been a source of distress.

I realized a long while back that I’m fat, and that fat people on bicycles are funny to some passersby.

3. Guilty Pleasures. Just as get to the point that I don’t care, I have to figure out what someone else would consider a guilty pleasure. Listening to ABBA? Nah.

Maybe it’s watching the TV show Grey’s Anatomy, still. I remember one summer, when my family was at his family’s house, when Fred Hembeck explained how he was loyal to shows, no matter how much off the rails they went. He was probably talking about Desperate Housewives. Well, Grey’s is my DH. It has an absurd number of regulars whose characters have been killed off

4. Uncomfortable shoes. Going back at least to 7th grade, my feet have always been a problem. I’d been wearing sneakers, usually Chuck Taylors, for years. If I had to wear something more formal, they’d still be Rockports. Now, at the Wife’s suggestion, I wear a couple of pair of Keen shoes (pictured), which are more like sandals.

5. Making excuses for my messy house. This is slightly trickier because my somewhat younger wife is still holding on to the notion that the house can be neat. And we have different senses of “neat”; her papers on the kitchen counter is clutter to me, while the pile of clothes in the corner of our bedroom is problematic to her.

6. Accumulating stuff I don’t need. This is definitely true. Except for books. And an annual Hess toy truck.

7. Spending unnecessary time with people I don’t like. This doesn’t seem to be an issue with me at present.

8. Finding the good in every person I know. Well, not EVERY person. But I DO see good in a lot of people with whom I vigorously disagree. I don’t think that is the issue.

One of my sisters was having an issue with someone, and this other person, ancillary to the primary conflict, started inserting himself in the conversation, attacking her on the phone and in email; I’ve seen the latter. Oh, yeah, he’s a “pastor” of some sort. And he’s a tool. I COULD say he’s being a friend to the other guy, but he’s just feeding him poison.

Bad feet

During the rehearsal, I was wearing my red Chuck Taylor sneakers, but for the actual games, I yielded to convention and wore this hard-soled, nicely polished black shoes I was convinced to buy shortly before.

When people ask about one’s best physical feature, I have no idea what mine is. But I surely know my worst ones: my feet. They have always troubled me.

When I was in 7th grade, a bunch of my classmates and I walked to visit our 6th-grade teacher, Mr. Peca, at his home near the airport outside Binghamton, NY. The trip was nearly ten miles (16 km) each way. By the time I got home, my shoes were ruined because my heel was worn down at a 30-degree angle.

I was 15 or 16 when I got mild frostbite on my feet while caroling. By mild, I mean I cried only a little when they thawed out.

I’ve gotten shoes that supposedly give better support, but all they do is hurt my feet, and eventually, my back.

Ultimately, my solution has been to wear sneakers as much as possible. Even at work, I wear some brand called Rockport, which is a quasi-dressy black sneaker, essentially.

I remember when I went on JEOPARDY! in 1998. During the rehearsal, I was wearing my red Chuck Taylor sneakers, but for the actual games, I yielded to convention and wore these hard-soled, nicely polished black shoes I was convinced to buy shortly before. To this day, I thought wearing them was detrimental to my play, standing there for thirty minutes at a time, and while I won the first game, my concentration was somewhat diminished for the second. (Which is taking away nothing from my worthy competitors.)

We went to visit my cousin for Thanksgiving and then went into the City (that’s New York City) and spent time with my niece, her husband, and their friends. I didn’t wear my Chucks because I feared my feet would get cold, wet, and possibly frostbitten, based on the forecast. The only other thing I had to wear were these work boots, hard-soled things. We walked all over Manhattan, and I was miserable, in constant pain, including a blister that developed on the side of my left foot.

The next day, I wore my wife’s sneakers, which were tight, but a whole lot more comfortable than the work boots to walk in. Hey, I’m not proud.

When we got home, I dug out this coupon from L.L. Bean I had had since March 2013. I had bought soft-soled boots from them in March 1999 at the store in Maine, but the sole started separating from the heel, and they were not fixable. The coupon was for the full purchase price, though, of course, the ones I bought in December 2013 were WAY more expensive. But they are warm, and, as important, comfortable to walk in for distances.

That same week, The Wife got me a “better” pair of sneakers, one with greater support. I hate spending money on them, because they don’t seem to last much longer than my canvas Chuck Taylors, but we shall see.

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