Candid Camera

I’m an early riser…always have been.  This morning, about five a.m. I was up before the coffee pot timer went on.   After switching that on I had time for one of my favorite morning things; I went to get our one-year old Chorkie, Maddie, out of her kennel.

Maddie is a cuddler…my kind of dog.   After snuggling for a bit, I put her electronic collar in place and headed to the back door.  These chilly late fall mornings are very dark where I live, so we keep a battery-operated lantern by the back door.  Maddie and I stepped into the inky blackness, me waving my lantern in front so frighten off any critters that might be in search of food…or puppies.

Instead of her usual charge ahead on the sidewalk, Maddie “woofed”, snuffed a late blooming flower under the dining room window, the returned to my side.   It was unusual, but a car snaked quietly around the corner, the headlights raking over the two of us as Maddie decided it was okay to head out into the side yard after all. Mission accomplished, we went back into the house.

Time passed, my husband joined us on the couch for coffee.  As we sat watching the news the electric eye at our front door bell detected motion.  It was only a quarter to six, so Larry went to check that out. Finding nothing that should have tripped the sensor, he eventually checked the video camera to find a young male wearing a hoodie and gloves had been trying our front door.   Hmmmm……an unexpected guest?

Daylight prompted a more thorough investigation that produced a torn/cut window screen on one window, another removed from the frame in the dining room window.   The would-be burglar dropped some money as he removed screens, or perhaps as he fled when I came out the back door; we may be the only place that cost him money.  Either way I hope his evening of thievery costs him more than the eight bucks he dropped here.

Later when a nice young police officer showed up at our door we turned the “candid camera” picture over to him.  Another officer fingerprinted windows and doors, taking notes as they explained there was a rash of break ins all around us last night.  Seems this group, the Future Felons of America, went into houses, stealing and frightening people, for blocks around. 

I pride myself on learning something from every experience, and this is no exception.  Lesson One:  Never go out into the dark unless you are prepared to defend yourself (and your puppy). I won't make that mistake again.  Lesson Two:  Fingerprint powder is very, very difficult to remove from window frames.  Lesson Three:  Always lock your doors and windows. Always. 

There’s something I’d also like to share with the fella’s who tried so diligently to get into our house early this morning:  There is nothing in this house, either money or possessions, that is worth your life…but the lives within these four walls are worth defending at any cost.   Understand that.

                                                                   Life is Good

  

Negotiating a Birthday

I think birthdays make a person more reflective than they might ordinarily be.   I know that is true for me.

Next week is my birthday.  It’s not a milestone birthday, doesn’t require any great attention or special celebration.  This anniversary of my birth is just another stake in the ground that marks my progress through what has become a life that has already lasted longer than I expected.

When I was twenty, forty seemed to me to be the beginning of old age.  When I was forty I was sure fifty-five was the offending number.  By fifty-five I thought sixty-five, the expected year of retirement for many Americans, represented the year one crumbled into ruin.  By age sixty-five I found myself wondering what all the fuss was about.  It didn’t feel much like a milestone to me, and since I was immersed in a new career (retired broadcaster now working on the dark side of the print world) I thought sixty-five was a breeze.   I did give a slight shudder at the thought of turning seventy…but that was years away and who knew if I’d be here anyway?

Many of my generation, the Baby Boomers, had the mistaken idea we might live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse.  Dying young like Buddy Holly, James Dean or Marilyn Monroe meant you’d be forever remembered as a young, vital person and not as a decrepit oldster pushing a walker with tennis balls on the front legs.  Not a well thought out theory, since most of us are not famous or beautiful or exceptionally talented.  We do, however, have a growing population of people piloting walkers. 

The truth of the matter is, none of us expects to get old.  That’s not to say we expect or want to die young, we just think the aging process applies to every other human being except us.  It’s the only explanation for stopping in the grocery store to talk to someone you knew from high school and walking away thinking, “Goodness, he/she looks awful for his/her age!”.  What we don’t acknowledge is that both participants in that conversation are walking away with the same exact thought.

And so, time marches on; I have arrived at yet another birthday.  The changes over the years are more apparent, and the years are heavier some days than others.  I am now at an age where I must begin negotiations with my body each morning as I think about getting out of bed:

Body:  I don’t want to get up.

Mind:  But you must.  There are other parts of us who are demanding that happen; it’s not all about you.

Body:  No.

Mind:  If you get up and transport me to the bathroom I will give you a reward.

Body: (coyly) What kind of reward?

Mind:  Breakfast and two arthritis strength aspirin?

Body:  I’m tired of eggs, and you’d better consult the stomach about all that aspirin.  But…there is that left-over cheese cake.  I could talk to the arms for you if you want to get that from the back of the fridge.  And coffee! Nothing happens without coffee.

Mind:  Fine, coffee and cheese cake it is.  You rally the troops and we will get this body on the move.   By the way…you have a birthday coming up next week.

Body:  Wait while I groan and put our hands over our face, then we’ll bet this show on the road.

At my age I’m just grateful my body is still speaking to me at all; I’ve not treated it well over the years to be honest. My negotiations used to be much more direct: “Okay, do what I want, when I want for as long as I want, or I’ll bring this body to its knees.”  

That kind of rhetoric doesn’t work anymore; if I brought this body to its knees I’d never be able to get back up.

                                                         At every age….Life is Good.