Rules of Engagement

rules

I was catching up with a friend at the supermarket this week and she asked what my new book is going to be about.  I said it will offer ideas on how to approach the aging process from an angle other than just letting it sweep my generation away without a fight.

“Aging,” she almost spat in disgust. “I’m against it,” she said unequivocally as if discussing the H1n1 swine flu. She was obviously in peak condition and had just come from Pilates class.  This girl wasn’t going lightly and I liked her spunk.

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Strangers in a strange land

devilNel and I have been working on our new book which is tentatively titled “What the Hell?” It is about aging disgracefully.  It was her idea and she’s busy painting little devils attacking little angels.

I was calling the book “Now, what?” but she said let’s just throw it all out there and call aging what it is – hell.   I’m not sure my Daddy will approve, but “What the Hell”? I’m sixty something and he’s ninety something and I doubt he can catch me to put me over his knee any longer.

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Getting less bad

journal

Each year at Thanksgiving I’m reminded to begin the endless search for a journal for the New Year in which to record my brilliant, yet somewhat jaded, reflections.  This year I bought a plain ole black book which I think was designed to be an artists sketch book…significant I believe, since I will use it to sketch out the life I’ve been chasing for more than 60 years. (and haven’t yet caught).

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Now what?

photo“The Book” will be out next week (cover at left – poor quality because I shot it from a poster), Then I learned this week that my pesky cancer has returned, but I am strangely pumped.  Go figure.

By now you know that my book “Love Laughter and Losing My Keys: A Boomer’s Survival Guide” will be out next week.  So I’d best be about surviving this stubborn cancer bugger lest my book title go down the drain with my book sales.  The big question is NOW WHAT?

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It is what it is! Or is it?

best is

I let the stupidest non-issues get on my last nerve and turn me into a raging termagant which, for your information, is the female version of an old curmudgeon.

Remember that word “termagant” because if you’re female you’re probably carrying the gene. The condition begins to present itself with advancing age and loss of the inhibitions which once kept us civil and gave us the reputation as “sweet young things.” The aging beauty can turn into the beast if you get her riled up. But hey, it is what it is, right?

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