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1999

I was on my way to visit my Ticket Chick when it happened.  I was coming upon an intercection at or about the posted speed.  The light was green and everything was hunky-dory . . . except fo the battered, green pick-up that seemed to sit paralysed in my lane.  At first I wasn't sure if the people in it were waiting for a particular shade of green or that perhaps, on their planet, green was the color that meant stop.  Being the courteous and friendly driver that I am, I thought it would be in everyone's best interest to help them along.  That help would come in the form of leaning on my horn.  I let it blare, long and loud, oblivious to the golfers teeing off at the lovely Stevens Park Municipal Course.  I then proceeded to pull an end around past them the likes the Dallas area hasn't seen since Tony Dorsett.  As I went by, before I could offer some educational language to them, I noticed the man behind the wheel had to be at least 80 years old if he was a day.

I looked away and gunned the engine to accelerate up the hill and away from the truck.

I've noticed that lately, my own mortality has come to visit me more often.  There seem to be the constant reminders that there are fewer days before me than there are behind me.  To be brutally honest, it scares me.

It's not something I want to think about, but it just happens.  One day you wake up and wonder what happens when I don't wake up.   The Millenium is small potatoes.  In the words of my favorite writer, Neil Gaiman "We are always living in the final days.  What have you got?   A hundred years or much, much less until the end of your world." I hate the thought of it:  Growing old.  The thought that one day my mind and body will begin to fail me.  Or not.

Earlier this weekend, I watched the "old-timers" game that was part of the All-Star Game festivities.  On the ice was 70 year old Gordie Howe, "Mr Hockey."  Forty years removed from his glory days, he still could make his way up and down the ice, a boyish glint still in his eyes.  I wondered if anyone from any other sport could hold up as well as Gordie.  As wacky as it sounds, could it be that he's found the secret to eternal youth in this crazy game of stick and puck?

I damn sure hope so.

"Get out the A-1 sauce, I'm done."