Wonderfully Away

This weekend was one of my great lost ones.  I didn't do much. 

• Saturday morning with our Breakfast Bunch 
• Saturday afternoon with our best friends, helping them move furniture
• Lots of piano practice

That was about it.

Sunday afternoon, I left the house for my piano lesson a bit early.  I thought that I'd just take my time on the freeways and not have to be in much of a rush.  But that was not meant to be.

When I turned from West Bellfort and onto South Post Oak to get on the West Loop, I saw back-to-back traffic waiting for me.  After living in Houston for almost 20 years, sometimes I'm still stunned at the number of people on the freeways.  Now, if I were more of a sports fan, I would have been better prepared.  The Texans had played at home today.  The game must have just let out (I did check the score later to see that the Texas beat the Dolphins).

For the drive, I had Circuital by My Morning Jacket in my stereo "Wonderful (The Way I Feel)" came on.  I put the song on repeat and slowly worked my way in the bumper-to-bumper.  The song can always take me away.  So I did a bit of day-dreaming as I inched north. 

As the song played, I found myself

• Sailing on a catamaran, off the coast of Cozumel
• Looking at clouds at Galveston Island
• Swimming in the waters of Puerto Rico
• Walking around my sister's yard and enjoying her flowers, planted among the Louisiana pines. 

I was only five minutes late for my piano lesson.  Amazing, since I'd been thousands of miles away during the drive.

Back on the freeway after my lesson, I listened to the same song over and again, all the way home.

I hope you also had the chance to get away from it all this weekend.

uhm...hey, Father Time. I didn't see you coming.

I've never been much bothered about the aging process.  I have friends that have hit milestones...30, 40, 50 years old, and it was almost devastating for them.  I've never given it much thought.  My indifference to the passing of time probably is:

• Due in part to good genes - My Dad is a bit past 70 and can still pass for a man in his late 50s.  Consequently some people are surprised when I reveal that I'm pushing 50. More than a few guess late-30s
• That I'm still a big kid (and that can work to my advantage, but also can bite me in the butt)
• A reflection of my inability to take myself too seriously

Oh, I've had my "what-the-hell" moments:

• I was listening to the radio when I was in my mid 20s.  A Bob Seger song came on that was released when I was in high school.  The DJ referred to it as an "oldie."
• I caught up on Facebook with a young lady that I used to baby-sit when I was a teen.  She had three children and was in her early 30s. Yikes!
• The high school students that are in our office as part of a work-study program started addressing me as "Mr."

But milestones didn't bother me:  my son graduating high school (just a reason for celebration), my turning 40 (no big deal),  my buying my first house as an adult (it was like a cool one-level tree house with no need for a ladder; a place that I could hang out with my dogs).

And then, age slapped me in the face.

Ken and I were in New York City with our best friends.  We were dining at a popular restaurant in SoHo.  I picked up my menu to see what I could see...and I couldn't.  Huh?  I pushed the menu back to arms-length, and I still couldn't read it.  I said aloud.  "It must be too dark in here.  I can't read the menu."

The Brunette giggled and handed over her reading glasses.  "Here you go."

Stunned, "I don't need these!"

She laughed again.  "Yes, you do"

Crap!

Following that trip to NYC, I kept a close monitor on my eyesight.  My vision was still clear.  Maybe my eyes self-corrected; I kept my hopes up.

And then, my son gifted me a guide for a video game that I love to play.  And all I could do was gripe about the small font.

I checked with my Dad.  "How old were you when you started wearing glasses."

My Dad (in his succient manner):  "Your age."

I checked with my Sister.  "When did you start wearing glasses?"

My Sis:  "Uhm, I started wearing glasses when I was in my 20s.  I switched to contacts a couple of years later.  Do you even know me?"  She stepped back and grinned at me.

So there I was, nothing to do but go to CVS and purchase some $10 cheaters.  Eventually I had to purchase three pair (one for home, one for my truck, one for the office).  I kept losing track of them, probably because I did not want to admit that I needed glasses at all.

But it's ok.  I got a compliment from my "sweetheart" at the office:  a beautiful young lady with long dark hair, a dazzling smile, and ebony-colored eyes.  "You look so intelligent wearing your glasses."

I raised my eyebrows gave her a big smile, and said quietly.  "Good...I'll fool everyone."

And Father Time?  He can go crash somone else's party.

Magic Doesn't Just Happen

I squandered my chance at magic this morning, but it happens each day in Houston.  There is a magic moment when you can zip to the office through traffic somewhat unhindered. 

I slept a bit late this morning, with The Man coming to my bedside every five minutes to ask how much longer I intended to sleep – my standard answer is always “5 more minutes.”  “5 more minutes” turned into an hour and a quarter this morning.  Which was unfortunate, seeing that my boss’s birthday is today. 

You see…I’m part of the office decorating committee.  A co-worker and I (probably the only two people in our department who care about such things) decorate for each person’s birthday.  This consists of some paltry streamers around the top of cubicles and balloons at each corner.  Whee! 

When I finally arrived at the office, my co-committee member had enlisted one of our co-workers to help decorate the cube.  With orange and white streamers. 

Yuck.  I did not say anything, but a gay man would never decorate with orange and white.  Orange and blue, maybe.  Orange and purple, sure.  Orange and white, never.  There’s no pizzazz there.

I didn’t get to create magic today on my boss’s cubicle.  I should be less gay or more punctual.