I Can Hear The Thunder

It’s pouring outside. The rain is coming down big, fast and hard.
Within five minutes of looking out my window at the rain, I saw one jr high kid walking home from school with a huge backpack, and another walk out of his house, get on his bike and ride down the street as he does every school day.
Both boys were hooded against the rain. Both were soaking wet almost surely within a minute. The kid on foot was alternately jogging in discomfort and walking in dejection.

I tried to remember the last time I got soaked by a rainstorm. I couldn't.
I thought about stepping outside and getting soaked, for the fun of it.
But the kids didn’t look like they were having fun.
I thought of the kitchen painting I wanted to start today, and how I’d have to change clothes and shoes once I got wet.
Getting soaked might be fun, but inconvenient. Like outside sex.
Is that a sign of getting old?
Now that it’s passed, I wished I'd done it.
Regrets.

His Old Skin

Though what's inside makes me want more of him, his outside is what surprises me.
Especially at my age, overlooking warts, wrinkles, and infirmities is common when making dating choices. I’ve dated some really ugly people, and I’ve dated the handsomest man around. I am not shallow and insist on handsome, but I don’t look for the ugly, either. It all depends on the person inside.
That’s why adoring his old skin surprised me.
When I first saw his picture, sent online, it took my breath away. I liked how he looked. In person, he is just as handsome.
But when people get past a certain age, the processes that keep the skin moisturized and smooth diminish, making older skin appear crepe-y and wrinkled. Young people have no idea how really beautiful they are. Having smooth skin is an under-appreciated attribute amongst youth. .
Anyway, the men I date are of that certain age, and so am I. I don’t like wrinkles and thin skin, but it’s inevitable to a certain extent, so I accept it gracefully.
Finding it attractive on a lover isn’t something to be desired. It’s like desiring bad eyesight. So I knew my feelings towards him were truly special when I even liked his old skin.
I think about him, fantasize about him; he appears in my mind exactly as he is, mature, slightly bald, and with aging skin. I find it all very, very attractive.
I’d love to be kissing that handsome, aging skin. It affects me like a six-pack stomach excites a teenager.
If only he felt the same way.
Which confounds me, because I thought chemistry was supposed to work both ways. Chemistry strong enough to make me write about old skin should be felt by both!
It's amazing to me that this feeling can be so one-sided.
But I guess it is, so I'd thought I'd commemorate loving his old skin by at least writing about it, if I can't really act on it.
It's the mature thing to do.

GOOD NEWS BAD NEWS

Things I learned from watching my plumber digging up my yard while looking for a water leak:
Stand at least 20 feet from your plumber while he’s digging in a wet ditch.
They earn every penny they get for the work they must do.

For those who read my holiday depression post before I deleted it for being too depressing, my worries about a huge plumbing bill creating havoc with my finances were unfounded. The bill is much less than I thought it would be.
Just goes to show ya, it's a waste of time to worry. Wait till you know.

I OUGHTA KNOW BY NOW
The local news reports two men paralyzed and one man dead. Hanging Christmas lights. Tragedies, all three.
The information highway lets me know every time someone bumps their nose or breaks their spine or dies even while in the holiday mood.
I’ve declared to no one in particular, mainly for my own sake, that the day I stop learning I’ll be dead.
But lately I’ve been asking how much do I really want to know?
Is this how one grows old in spirit, by fearing knowing more? Not just fearing danger, but fearing depression, fearing frustration, fearing heartbreak, fearing changes?
Does information always equate change? Is information we receive that is compatible with our present or intended actions always more welcome than information that isn’t? No matter how factual or truthful the non-compatible info is?
I like to think I’m open to real information, and not unwelcoming of it, but there seems to be a lot of people who aren’t. How easy is it to get that way?
The only thing that never changes is that nothing stays the same. By fearing change, one fears time itself.
The more information I get, the more I know, the more I realize how little I know. I also realize how much I know by knowing how little I know.
So how much do I really want to know? That question and what the meaning of life is seem like foundational questions I oughta know by now.

Now That I’m Old and Often Ignored..

...it’s nice when someone asks for my advice, especially younger people. But it’s hard to admit my experience may be lacking. I hate letting them down by revealing that I really don’t know if Sammy Hagar is a better front man than Diamond Dave. So in their eyes, I've lost touch and credibility.
As we age, do we make our playing field smaller by choice or neccessity?

How come they never have blind people on Blind Date?


I feel sorry for young people these days. With all the plastic surgery, you never know for sure what you’re getting when you meet someone new. You won’t know till the baby pops out what your partner physically brought to the table. We coud be breeding a nation of Alfred E. Neuman's.

How come it’s always old blues musicians that are obscure and found at age 60 as a "hidden treasure." You never see old obscure rock guys emerging from the shadows at 75. Can you imagine?
Maybe all the aging rockers who hadn't been discovered started singing the blues.
There might be a lot of undiscovered, old jazz artists but when people hear them playing they just think they’re crazy and don't know what they’re doing....