I celebrated my birthday this week.
Maybe "celebrate" is the wrong word. After all, I'm not thrilled to be another year older. Let's just say I "observed" my birthday this week.
The observance came mostly in the form of eating. On my big day, one of my brothers bought me dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, where I devoured an 18-ounce T-bone steak, preceded by a Ceasar salad. I figured I packed in plenty of fiber and protein – forget about that fat, that tasty beef fat – and would jog three miles the next day and be fit as a fiddle.
I failed to jog the next day, however, as my bro bought me lunch at a local Chinese buffet. I pigged out and rescheduled my run.
Today I shall jog. No doubt about it. As I pound the asphalt along Midgley-Neiss Road, northeast of town, I'll try to think about how young I feel, not how old I actually am now. I won't think about my visit to the Social Security Administration office earlier this week, when I filed for my Social Security retirement.
The sun will embrace me today, while I shuffle along the country road, listening to the killdeer and the red-winged blackbirds, viewing the maturing soybeans and the freshly cut field corn.
When I pass Emerald Mound just north of Midgley-Neiss Road, I might stop and look for a few moments and think about the Indians – those of the early Mississippian culture – who created the mound around 900 A.D.
A little farther west, I'll leave the road and cut across a field on my grandfather's old farm. I found Indian arrowheads there when I was a kid. Maybe I'll kick one up today, although I wouldn't count on it. It's rare to find ancient projectile points or tool remnants on the surface of the fields these days.
The air will feel clean, because several days of rain storms and showers ended today. The sun is bright; the sky is crystal clear and blue.
This day is, indeed, too beautiful for older guys to be feeling old. Are you kidding me? I'm not old yet. I'm aged to perfection – well, maybe not perfection.
Let me go slip on my jogging shoes. I gotta run!
Maybe "celebrate" is the wrong word. After all, I'm not thrilled to be another year older. Let's just say I "observed" my birthday this week.
The observance came mostly in the form of eating. On my big day, one of my brothers bought me dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, where I devoured an 18-ounce T-bone steak, preceded by a Ceasar salad. I figured I packed in plenty of fiber and protein – forget about that fat, that tasty beef fat – and would jog three miles the next day and be fit as a fiddle.
I failed to jog the next day, however, as my bro bought me lunch at a local Chinese buffet. I pigged out and rescheduled my run.
Today I shall jog. No doubt about it. As I pound the asphalt along Midgley-Neiss Road, northeast of town, I'll try to think about how young I feel, not how old I actually am now. I won't think about my visit to the Social Security Administration office earlier this week, when I filed for my Social Security retirement.
The sun will embrace me today, while I shuffle along the country road, listening to the killdeer and the red-winged blackbirds, viewing the maturing soybeans and the freshly cut field corn.
When I pass Emerald Mound just north of Midgley-Neiss Road, I might stop and look for a few moments and think about the Indians – those of the early Mississippian culture – who created the mound around 900 A.D.
A little farther west, I'll leave the road and cut across a field on my grandfather's old farm. I found Indian arrowheads there when I was a kid. Maybe I'll kick one up today, although I wouldn't count on it. It's rare to find ancient projectile points or tool remnants on the surface of the fields these days.
The air will feel clean, because several days of rain storms and showers ended today. The sun is bright; the sky is crystal clear and blue.
This day is, indeed, too beautiful for older guys to be feeling old. Are you kidding me? I'm not old yet. I'm aged to perfection – well, maybe not perfection.
Let me go slip on my jogging shoes. I gotta run!
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