A group of my “over 50” cronies were discussing our fascinating lives over coffee the other day.
Two had just returned from a trip to Italy, one had been cross-country skiing in Wyoming, and the oldest one in the group had just placed first in his age bracket in a half marathon.
Me? I had nothing. My big adventure was a
My editorial board (currently composed of me, myself, and I) has begun work on a new book tentatively entitled “Taming Tigers in the Woods”. The “woods” represent that dreaded condition called aging, and the “tigers” are all the factors which conspire to make our passage into this phase of life so treacherous.
The tigers are laying in wait for their opportunity to attack with any weapon they can find to derail our smooth ride through that condition known as Boomeritis.
I guess I’m having a midlife crisis – okay hush you skeptics. I fully plan to live to the ripe old age of 124 which means I’m just barely middle aged. For some time now I’ve been struggling with something to which I can’t assign a name.
I gave myself a facial but it didn’t make me feel any better. I just felt like an old broad with mud on her face.
My old friend, the late Ada Harvey, called the condition
This week my best high school buddies got together to launch plans for our 50th class reunion. If truth be told, it’s probably more like our 150th reunion because we get together at the drop of a hat. Nevertheless, we try to put on the dog at least every five years, and the 50th anniversary of our matriculation is cause to put on a dog AND a pony show.