By G. E. Shuman
I actually woke up, last Sunday afternoon, with the title of this column in my head. It had been one of those lazy Sunday afternoon hours, when Lorna and I had both found ourselves in reclining positions in the living room. We happen to have two couches in that room that have reclining sections on each end. I remember that Lorna once asked me if those couches had made us lazy. I don’t remember my answer to her that day, but I don’t think they had done so. I think we were already a bit lazy, or why else would we have bought two of those couches? But maybe lazy isn’t quite the right word. Tired seems more appropriate, and less degrading. So, tired it is. In any case, the kids had gone off after Sunday dinner to do their own thing or things, and my wife and I both found ourselves waking up, with an hour or so of life evidently missed, having spent it in total unconsciousness. I’m not sure what was on her mind as she awoke, but this column was on mine.
You see, I believe in the fine art of creative napping. In recent years it seems to be a thing that is easier and easier to accomplish, but I have always been able to do it. To me, creative napping is more than just ordinary napping. Ordinary napping is something that you make your young children do. It is simply laying them down, tucking them in, and creeping as silently as possible from the room, in the hope that they will sleep and give you an hour or so of peace. Creative napping is so much more than this. Let me explain.
Creative napping, first of all, never ever takes place in a bed. Sleeping in a bed is not napping. It is going to bed and going to sleep. I do my best creative napping on one of those reclining couches, or in my recliner beside the fireplace. I guess this means we truly are lazy. We have five recliners, and only four people live in our home. Humm. Or, should I say… ho hum. The truth is, I could never take a proper nap in a bed. I sleep in a bed. I nap other places. One such really good place for a creative nap is in either my wife’s van, or in my car. Such naps often take place in the Mall parking lot. Oh yes, the mall parking lot is a wonderful place to nap. I just park somewhere near Wal-Mart, and listen for the pleasant sounds of my wife and children shutting the car doors behind them, on their way to spend their money and mine. No matter that I am left behind to wait for them. The point is, I have chosen to be left behind, as nearly all cars these days are also equipped with seat backs that go back, effectively becoming their own little recliners. Have you ever thought of why cars have those things? Why, it is for practicing the fine art of creative napping, of course. Most people don’t recline in the passenger’s seat while going down the road. They really don’t. Just let a car pass yours and watch to see if the passenger is sleeping. If he or she is, they inevitably have their forehead and/or face smashed up against the side window, just for your amusement. And the driver certainly couldn’t drive while reclining. So… reclining car seats are for creative napping, at least for people my age. (Use your imagination to discover the several things that last sentence implies.)
There are several places other than your car and living room where the fine art of creative napping is often practiced. One of my favorites is at a nice, hot and sunny beach. There is little in life to compare with the feeling of sun and sand in places they both rarely reach, the sound of the surf, and the salty breeze-wafted scent of Coppertone. Such a combination is a perfect inducement to enjoying my fine art. As unlikely as it seems, I have also spent many summer hours reclined and creative napping on the unforgiving granite surface of a coastal breakwater. To me, once the consciousness lights are out, things like surface softness don’t seem to matter.
Lest you think me an amateur napper, (Lest you think me? Me thinks I’ve listened to Pirates of the Caribbean dialog too much.) let it be known to all that I have been practicing the art of creative napping for nearly my entire life. When I was only two or so, and outside playing with my family on sunny winter days, it was not uncommon for my parents to find me fast asleep, in my snow suit, flat on my back in a bank of fluffy snow. Then there was the time in my young childhood, when the entire neighborhood spent an afternoon searching the woods for me. I’m still not sure why they looked. Also, it was hardly my fault that our dining room table had a long tablecloth which hung a foot or so down on all sides. It was also hardly my fault that the table was large, with a chair at each end, and three on each side. Those three side chairs, lined up so close together and neatly pushed in under the cloth and the long table made a fine place to stretch out, for a very creative, tablecloth tented, afternoon nap. And then there was the ultimate creative, childhood nap. This one, believe it or not, lasted several days and involved an actual house call from our family doctor. It seems that I had gotten into the medicine cupboard and drunk an entire bottle of nose drops, whatever nose drops are, or were. Mom said they had to keep me from swallowing my tongue. I’m not sure how they did that, and really don’t want to know. I am also not sure why they would try to save a child stupid enough to drink something called nose drops. I have often wondered if that experience is what made me the person I am today.
The art of creative napping is not only enjoyable, but is a newly recognized and highly recommended way to benefit your health. It can also actually be profitable to your mental well being, and even aid your food budget. Yes, your food budget. Years ago I knew a man with a nearly Mark Twain-ian sense of the humorous and the profound. He knew much about the simple pleasures most people neglect, and was an obvious expert at the art of creative napping. In his own words: “I never caught a decent fish while I was awake.”
Get out of Debt the fastest way possible. To eliminate debt.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
On Being Fifty-Something
By G. E. Shuman
During a recent bout with a nagging disease which has shared my body with me since I was a child, I was, if you can bear the overuse of the term, ‘awakened’ to something. First I have to tell you that I hate that word ‘disease’. Don’t you? The only consolation I get from it is the idea that the word is a contraction of dis-ease, or, in other words, lack of ease. To me, a lack of ease, or even the idea of being ‘ill’ at ease, is better than ever using the word disease. When I hear that dreaded word I always think of a diseased apple tree. Then I imagine the old, rotten, infested thing being purposely cut down and thrown into the fire so that it doesn’t produce spotted, misshapen, diseased apples, and so the disease it harbors doesn’t spread to healthy trees. In any case, my ‘disease’, (I’m going to keep this description as short as possible) is of the inflammatory bowel syndrome type. The official abbreviation is IBS. For this they went to medical school? The Greek term: bellius painium maximus describes it best. In any case, because of my ‘bowel’ problem, (I know… Too Much Information.) most of the month of July was no picnic for me. That is, especially since our family’s 4th of July picnic. Since then I have had to take it a bit easier than I had before, at least temporarily.
The reason I tell you all of this is that that I have come to a few realizations since the 4th of July this year. The first is that I really am fifty-something. I know, you’re looking at my picture in the paper and asking yourself how this young studly person could possibly be fifty something, but believe me, I am. If you’re a regular reader of the column, I also know what you’re thinking. “He’s way too cute to be this smart.” For that common thought, I simply have no reply. I’m also way too humble for that.
In being this fifty-something person I have recently noticed that I am, I have had a few other realizations thrust upon me. One is that I seem to be turning prematurely gray. (You may notice one or two gray hairs in my picture.) Now don’t tell me they’re not there. I know they are. Another thing is that my eyesight is no longer perfect. That is why you see me wearing glasses. My wife tells me it is also why I think my hair is ‘beginning’ to turn gray. One other thing is that proclaiming myself to be in shape, because round IS a shape, is not that funny anymore. Neither is the thought that it is actually too late for my hair to be graying ‘prematurely.’
Fortunately for me, some other realizations of this less-than-totally-healthy fifty-something year old are much more positive things, and ones that, if you are even nearing my age, you should consider, and actually look forward to. One thing is that my adult kids don’t need me anymore. Hurray! All of them earn more money than me. Well, they make more money than me. Some still ask the occasional bit of plumbing, car-repair or electrical wiring advice, but they are quite self sufficient. That is a good thing, and I’m very proud of them, all. An even ‘gooder’ thing is that I’m not responsible for them, at all. This is something they seem to enjoy, and so do I. Another wonderful realization is that I suddenly, somehow have the idea that I don’t have to fix the world. I would love to get rid of war, world hunger and reality shows, but since I can’t even fix my bumpy driveway, I certainly should leave those other things to other fixers. Yes, something about this recent bout with my lingering dis-ease has changed a few things for me.
I have been persuaded, as perhaps other fifty-somethings should be, to simply relax a bit. As I mentioned in another recent column, I have also nearly decided to never sell my home and to just die here. I’m serious…just die right here. (That’s the grumpy old man in me coming out, and I’m starting to like him.) That way the kids get to clean out the attic next time. Most of the junk up there is theirs anyway. If they want to sell the house and keep the money, good for them. The least they can do is lug their own stuff down the stairs and to the dump. I am also even less interested lately in climbing the corporate ladder than in climbing the stairs to that attic. It seems to me that both propositions have a lot of trash at the top. I have never been to the upper business rungs, and God has always provided for my needs and those of my family anyway. How could I want more than that?
The truth is, dumb as it sounds, I’m not even all that concerned with those skyrocketing gas and oil prices. They’re more than they used to be, and less than they someday will be. So what else is new? At my slowly advancing age, I also take absolutely no ‘stuff’ at all from car salesmen. Period. I tell them the deal I want. If they don’t agree, I leave and let them sell their hurry-hurry-hurry-before-they’re-all-gone car to the next guy. I assume their company will make more cars tomorrow. If they won‘t, I don’t want to buy from them anyway. Also, amusement park rides might still excite me, but don’t scare me anymore. I have decided that if they killed very many people the park would have gone out of business long ago.
Now let’s talk about food, just for a moment. Yes, I do have a defective digestive system, but only sometimes. So when my stomach isn’t in a cranky mood, I tend to drink coffee whenever I wish. I love coffee. If it keeps me awake at night, that’s even more time I have to realize that my life is not over, at least not yet. You know, yesterday I actually saw an internet article headline which asked the question: “Does Charcoal Grilled Meat Increase The Risk Of Cancer?” I didn’t read that article. I’m fifty-something, I love charcoal grilled meat, and those people should just shut up. I don’t drive fast or cheat on my wife. If I want a sizzling steak, sue me. In fact, as shocking as it may be, I would love to someday become a charter member of a red meat, crusty bread, wine and seriously sharp cheese club. Wanna join? I’ll give you a Lipitor for dessert.
I guess my point is that if you happen to be a fifty-something (or older) person like me, you might join me in more than that club. Consider just dropping out of, or at least slowing down in the rat race, for a start. Take the time to enjoy some really good food. Then get rid of some of the toys. Find your happiness in an evening walk on the beach, your peace in lengthy talks with God, and contentment in a superb cup of coffee.
It felt good to tell you all of this. Thanks for listening.
Please be sure to view my favorite links.
During a recent bout with a nagging disease which has shared my body with me since I was a child, I was, if you can bear the overuse of the term, ‘awakened’ to something. First I have to tell you that I hate that word ‘disease’. Don’t you? The only consolation I get from it is the idea that the word is a contraction of dis-ease, or, in other words, lack of ease. To me, a lack of ease, or even the idea of being ‘ill’ at ease, is better than ever using the word disease. When I hear that dreaded word I always think of a diseased apple tree. Then I imagine the old, rotten, infested thing being purposely cut down and thrown into the fire so that it doesn’t produce spotted, misshapen, diseased apples, and so the disease it harbors doesn’t spread to healthy trees. In any case, my ‘disease’, (I’m going to keep this description as short as possible) is of the inflammatory bowel syndrome type. The official abbreviation is IBS. For this they went to medical school? The Greek term: bellius painium maximus describes it best. In any case, because of my ‘bowel’ problem, (I know… Too Much Information.) most of the month of July was no picnic for me. That is, especially since our family’s 4th of July picnic. Since then I have had to take it a bit easier than I had before, at least temporarily.
The reason I tell you all of this is that that I have come to a few realizations since the 4th of July this year. The first is that I really am fifty-something. I know, you’re looking at my picture in the paper and asking yourself how this young studly person could possibly be fifty something, but believe me, I am. If you’re a regular reader of the column, I also know what you’re thinking. “He’s way too cute to be this smart.” For that common thought, I simply have no reply. I’m also way too humble for that.
In being this fifty-something person I have recently noticed that I am, I have had a few other realizations thrust upon me. One is that I seem to be turning prematurely gray. (You may notice one or two gray hairs in my picture.) Now don’t tell me they’re not there. I know they are. Another thing is that my eyesight is no longer perfect. That is why you see me wearing glasses. My wife tells me it is also why I think my hair is ‘beginning’ to turn gray. One other thing is that proclaiming myself to be in shape, because round IS a shape, is not that funny anymore. Neither is the thought that it is actually too late for my hair to be graying ‘prematurely.’
Fortunately for me, some other realizations of this less-than-totally-healthy fifty-something year old are much more positive things, and ones that, if you are even nearing my age, you should consider, and actually look forward to. One thing is that my adult kids don’t need me anymore. Hurray! All of them earn more money than me. Well, they make more money than me. Some still ask the occasional bit of plumbing, car-repair or electrical wiring advice, but they are quite self sufficient. That is a good thing, and I’m very proud of them, all. An even ‘gooder’ thing is that I’m not responsible for them, at all. This is something they seem to enjoy, and so do I. Another wonderful realization is that I suddenly, somehow have the idea that I don’t have to fix the world. I would love to get rid of war, world hunger and reality shows, but since I can’t even fix my bumpy driveway, I certainly should leave those other things to other fixers. Yes, something about this recent bout with my lingering dis-ease has changed a few things for me.
I have been persuaded, as perhaps other fifty-somethings should be, to simply relax a bit. As I mentioned in another recent column, I have also nearly decided to never sell my home and to just die here. I’m serious…just die right here. (That’s the grumpy old man in me coming out, and I’m starting to like him.) That way the kids get to clean out the attic next time. Most of the junk up there is theirs anyway. If they want to sell the house and keep the money, good for them. The least they can do is lug their own stuff down the stairs and to the dump. I am also even less interested lately in climbing the corporate ladder than in climbing the stairs to that attic. It seems to me that both propositions have a lot of trash at the top. I have never been to the upper business rungs, and God has always provided for my needs and those of my family anyway. How could I want more than that?
The truth is, dumb as it sounds, I’m not even all that concerned with those skyrocketing gas and oil prices. They’re more than they used to be, and less than they someday will be. So what else is new? At my slowly advancing age, I also take absolutely no ‘stuff’ at all from car salesmen. Period. I tell them the deal I want. If they don’t agree, I leave and let them sell their hurry-hurry-hurry-before-they’re-all-gone car to the next guy. I assume their company will make more cars tomorrow. If they won‘t, I don’t want to buy from them anyway. Also, amusement park rides might still excite me, but don’t scare me anymore. I have decided that if they killed very many people the park would have gone out of business long ago.
Now let’s talk about food, just for a moment. Yes, I do have a defective digestive system, but only sometimes. So when my stomach isn’t in a cranky mood, I tend to drink coffee whenever I wish. I love coffee. If it keeps me awake at night, that’s even more time I have to realize that my life is not over, at least not yet. You know, yesterday I actually saw an internet article headline which asked the question: “Does Charcoal Grilled Meat Increase The Risk Of Cancer?” I didn’t read that article. I’m fifty-something, I love charcoal grilled meat, and those people should just shut up. I don’t drive fast or cheat on my wife. If I want a sizzling steak, sue me. In fact, as shocking as it may be, I would love to someday become a charter member of a red meat, crusty bread, wine and seriously sharp cheese club. Wanna join? I’ll give you a Lipitor for dessert.
I guess my point is that if you happen to be a fifty-something (or older) person like me, you might join me in more than that club. Consider just dropping out of, or at least slowing down in the rat race, for a start. Take the time to enjoy some really good food. Then get rid of some of the toys. Find your happiness in an evening walk on the beach, your peace in lengthy talks with God, and contentment in a superb cup of coffee.
It felt good to tell you all of this. Thanks for listening.
Please be sure to view my favorite links.
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