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Recent NorCal Blogs Posts
The Golden Years
I cannot see,
I cannot pee,
I cannot chew,
I cannot screw.
Oh My God What can I do?
My memory shrinks,
My hearing stinks,
No sense of smell,
I look like hell!
My mood is bad – can you tell?
My body’s drooping,
Have trouble pooping.
The Golden Years have come at last,
The Golden Years can kiss my a$$.
This was actually reported by a teacher. . . . . .
After Christmas, a teacher asked her young pupils how they spent their holiday away from school. One child wrote the following:
We always used to spend the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live in a big brick house but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to Arizona. Now they live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on their bicycles and wear name tags because they don’t know who they are anymore. They go to a building called a wrecked center, but they must have got it fixed because it is all okay now, and do exercises there, but they don’t do them very well. There is a swimming pool too, but in it, they all jump up and down with hats on. At their gate, there is a doll house with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape.
Sometimes they sneak out. They go cruising in their golf carts. Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And, they eat the same thing every night: Early Birds. Some of the people can’t get out past the man in the doll house. The ones who do get out, bring food back to the wrecked center and call it pot luck. My Grandma says that Grandpa worked all his life to earn his retardment and says I should work hard so I can be retarded someday too.
When I earn my retardment, I want to be the man in the doll house. Then I will let people out so they can visit their grandchildren.
Very cute.
My grandfather was a busy old man who kept hunting and fly-fishing up until his knees gave out at 79. He even continued working in the wood shed every day for 6 hours to cut survey steaks he sold to the lumber yard. Eventually his reflexes grew to slow to handle the table saw, and he took grandma’s advice and stopped working at 83.
A few years later, I was visiting them and when he was 85, and asked,
“So, how is old age treating you grandpa?”
He looked up from his wooden rocking chair, peered over his reading glasses and smiled as he said,
“Oh, getting old it ain’t so bad. Heck, everything still works. Just ask grandma.”
He was still chuckling when he added,
“No sir, other than these darn knees, my body is working just fine. I go pee every-morning at 7:00, and I have a healthy bowl movement at 7:30. Yes sir, getting old ain’t so bad.”
Then my grandma piped up from her chair and said,
“His problem is he never wakes up before 8:30”