Raging

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 - Dylan Thomas

There are things I like to do in a certain way, and I don’t want to change how I do them.  The older I get the more I seem to rely on these habits. 

It isn’t a question of simply not wanting to change, of being “set in my ways.”  It has more to do with the feeling that if I do change these things then I am giving in to my age.  I do them because it's the way a younger man would behave.

Some of these things may seem like they aren’t very important.  In the big scheme of things you’re right, they aren’t important.  Yet to me they are highly symbolic.

Take as an example my bed. 

It was summer when I first got my cat Eartha Kitty and brought her home.  The apartment didn’t have air conditioning, so there was a ceiling fan going in both the living room and the bedroom.

I opened the cat carrier she was in and set her on the floor.  She looked up, saw the fans spinning above her head and absolutely freaked.  She went running into the bed room, and managed to squeeze through a hole in the bottom of the box springs of my bed.

There she stayed for three days.  For three days I tried coaxing her out with food and water, and for two nights I slept on the couch so she wouldn’t get hurt by the springs.

When she finally came out of the bed I pulled the mattress and box spring onto the floor to prevent her from getting back inside.  My intent at the time was to buy a sheet of plywood and cut it to the right size to cover the bottom of the box spring, but I just never got around to it.

Eventually I started to like having the mattress on the floor.  It became a source of pride to me that not only did I still manage to get my tuckus out of bed each morning, I had to raise it an extra 10-15 inches other people didn’t.  My morning struggle to rise was harder, therefor I was more youthful.  I was a badass.

And now, I have a wonderful, patient, and very forgiving wife to consider.  So I’ve decided to give in on this one. We ordered a new bed online yesterday. 

Another thing I don’t like giving in on is shoveling the driveway by hand.  If there’s 6 inches of heavy wet snow I’ll drag out the snow blower.  I may be a bit stubborn, but I’m not a fool.  Well, not that much of one.

It is yet another source of pride that a man my age (somewhere between 29 and 99) can still shovel a 3 inch layer of snow off the driveway.  Running the numbers, that’s 324,000 cubic inches of snow.  By weight that’s 2,812.5 lbs of snow, about 1.5 tons.  In 30 minutes.

Not bad for an old man!  Perhaps it is all senility.  Perhaps it is all vanity.  Then again, perhaps it is all vanity.

Think about the words of French author Jules Renard, “It’s not how old you are, it’s how you are old.”

There are other little things that I do to keep young.  Things like taking the stairs instead of the elevator at work, since it’s just one floor.  A little lack of oxygen never hurt anyone. 

Men do lots of silly things to try to keep feeling youthful.  Some go and find younger girl friends, but I’m already married to the most wonderful woman I know.  Some buy expensive muscle cars, but I have neither the time, money, nor the temperament to keep an old Mustang running. Some like to buy clothes that are meant for 18 year olds, but really shouldn’t be worn by anyone.

Ever.

For myself I do admit to keeping the buttons on my polo shirts undone to show off my masculine chest.  Although now I’ve been informed that my graying hairs look like lint. 

Oh well, what are you going to do?

In all fairness women also have their little tricks and rituals that they use to keep young.  The cosmetics industry makes billions of dollars every year on everything from shampoos to foot lotions that are guaranteed to make you look and feel 10 years younger.  Clothing manufacturers now make under garments with so much support they shame the designers of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Of course, my wife doesn’t need to use any of that stuff.

So on we go, all of us aging more or less gracefully, doing what we can to keep time from having his way with us.  And does it really matter if your weapon of choice in the war against time is a lotion, a girdle, a Corvette, or just showing your chest hair while you shovel snow? 

Because it really is just a matter of attitude.  Maybe you don’t have to rage against the dying of the light, but at least get seriously miffed.  Maybe just hold your head up as high as you can, and face the world with your best smile, dentures and all.  You are as young as you feel.

As playwrite George Bernard Shaw observed, “You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.”

Now, where did I put that darn Ben-Gay?