Today's entry will be a short one, not because I have little to say but because I only have one hand with which to type it.
I had surgery last Friday to repair damage to my thumb. I have worn out the cartilage and since the bones were painfully rubbing together, the only option was to fuse them. I am in heavy cast from my fingers nearly to my elbow for at least a week and will be in a soft cast for the remainder of the summer.
With age 50 only a few years away, I am beginning to realize that the old adage of "with age comes knowledge" is true. What I did not expect to find it is the knowledge of how what we eat affects digestion, the position in which we sleep determines how our backs will feel in the morning or that our joints can accurately predict weather patterns.
Getting older is no walk in the park. It is more like a hobble.
Not that I am scanning infomercials for mechanized chairs or hearing aids just yet. All things considered, I am feeling pretty good and taking steps to stay that way. I am still surprised at times, however, to notice how I can mark the passage of time by how well my reading glasses still keep everything in focus.
It amazes me sometimes to see how many products out there are being marketed to keep those of us who fall in and around the Baby Boomer bracket young and spry. It seems to be especially true for women. I think this is due to one of two factors. It could be that we simply are the vainer sex and are willing to spend more money staying that way. Or perhaps it has to do with the belief that men become more "distinguished" as they age while we need to worry about the morning we climb out of bed and it all hits the floor.
I am especially intrigued by then success of the novel "Fifty Shades Of Gray" which is supposed to reveal what middle-aged women really want. I can tell you that.
Forget the romance. We want a great chiropractor to take care of our aching backs. We need a good massage therapist to help our stiff muscles and joints. An expert shopper to help us find clothes to hide the sags and bulges. Finally, a great makeup artist to disguise those wrinkles.
Now there's a great American tell-all novel. I could call it "Fifty Tubes of Ben-Gay."