Now that we're going into long-johns weather with three-log nights, I find myself sorting out a past that goes back far enough to recall Burma Shave signs.
Though an old friend recently told me that what is called the Golden Age is only a myth, I find this not necessarily so. For example, one of the best things about retirement is that I don't have to undergo any more performance reviews.
Also, now I have many friends who must think of me frequently because they keep giving me things they want me to read. Furthermore, the competitors I vied with for a tenuous place in this world have faded away into Floridian haunts or other remote, camouflaged places where they no longer pose a threat.
The discovery of a whole lot of basic truths, such as never move into a place where you have to share a driveway with a neighbor, may not come with advancing years, but sneaking hunches do grow.
For instance, I have a sneaking hunch (with females it's called women's intuition) that whenever there was a success, it was mostly because, unlike Frank Sinatra, I didn't do it my way.
I have a hunch, too, that most of my emergencies -- medical, electrical, plumbing, etc. -- will continue to happen on the weekends, when it's nearly impossible to reach anyone.
I have a feeling, also -- and this is more of a recurring nightmare -- that I'm going to drive to Pittsburgh some day without a map and become irrevocably lost.
On the other had, I'm reasonably optimistic that after I sing the national anthem 50 more time at my Kiwanis luncheons, I'll be able to hit the high note where we sing, "…o'er the land of the free…"
Of course, there are things of the past that still beguile me. As a child I remember loving licorice straps, a favorite penny candy that served as a mild laxative at a time when we didn't need one.
Later, after the big-band hit song sung by Bob Eberly came out, I wondered why more girl babies were never named Tangerine.
Since retirement I've learned patience. My approach while sitting in a supermarket parking lot waiting for my wife is to imagine I'm on a stake-out.
I know now that one becomes disenchanted with every restaurant and every auto mechanic if one goes to them long enough. I've learned that stuffed green peppers are never as good the second day although left-over chili might very well be.
I try not to jump to false conclusions. Just because I had a bad meal in Elkhart is no reason for my deciding that I don't like Indiana.
I have become more pianissimo than fortissimo, realizing the futility of dictating to the young. As somebody wise once said: "Each generation has to find out for itself that the stove is hot."
I understand that while not everyone gets the big scoop of ice cream, things even out more than most people recognize. In other words, nature hates extremes. It seems to it that the man who we believe has nothing, has a little of something; and the man we believe has everything, has with it a little bit of nothing.
I've postulated that one should lie to someone one loves only when he's arranging a birthday party for the person. Also, it's good to leave any party early -- before you get stale.
In addition, I go along with what was pointed out by a great educator in his summation of his 40-minute inspirational speech in Lakewood awhile back: "When you aim too low, your bullets bounce in the dust."
Finally, I think more about how I will face death. They say a coward dies 1,000 deaths, a brave man only one. Using that as a gauge, I figure I'll die about 500 times.
This article by Dan Chabek originally appeared in the Lakewood Sun Post on Thursday, January 23, 1992. Reproduced with permission.