I had a scary thought

Yesterday in my peaceful day at home alone, a strange thought hit me like a bolt of lightning, and here it is:  In less than four years, I'll be 80.  

Several things went through my mind when this thought occurred:  "What am I doing still alive when all my best friends are dead?"  "No wonder I hurt sometimes."  "That's a long time to live."  "My pets will probably outlive me."  

It isn't really scary; it just took me by surprise.  And please don't tell me "You're only as old as you feel."  Because if that's true, I must be 150.  I have so little energy compared to even ten years ago.  I'm always a little tired.  And now that it looks like I might survive to be 80, I'm not sure I want to.  If I feel the same then as I do right now, it'll be OK,  unless I end up with dementia.

I'd like to live my fifties over again:  I could still dive deeper and come up drier than any thirty-year-old, during that decade.  

I'm getting so forgetful.  Since most of the people who read my blog are women, perhaps nobody caught the mistake in yesterday's blog entry.  My son might have, if he read it.  I told about Cliff's journey to buy the part he needed for his tractor project.  The part is called a governor, but four times in that entry, I called it a generator.  I guess I figured it the word started with a "g" and ended with "or", it must be right.  Cliff got home, read the entry, and told me about my mistake.  Of course I fixed it, but little things like that are embarrassing.  These days, if there is any distraction in the kitchen when I'm trying to cook or bake, the chance is about 50/50 that I'll forget an ingredient or use the wrong amount of something.  

Oh well.  We all have to age and eventually die, and my aches and pains are nothing compared to the burdens some folks bear daily.

Cliff did indeed get the part he needed yesterday, and it's on the tractor now.  I took a picture of it, although what you see is the housing of the governor.  That's Cliff's gloved finger showing you the governor.  

Cliff and his sister had plenty of time to visit on their road trip, and they had a wonderful lunch at Paula's Diner in the town of Craig, Missouri, population 248.  Let me show you what Cliff's tenderloin sandwich looked like.

I call that ridiculous, but let me tell you what a great husband I have.  He ate all the meat he could hold that was on the outside of the bun and brought the bun and the rest of the tenderloin home to me.  He is a bread eater; he even told me it was hard to eat just the meat without the bread.  I appreciate his sacrifice; the tenderloin was delicious even cold, but I told him he should have cut off the outside-of-the-bun meat for me, eaten the part with the bun himself, and I could have made my own sandwich with the bread we have here at home.  He didn't think of that, he said.

He's worked on the tractor most of the day.  We'll see if there are any more surprise challenges in this project.

I guess I'll turn on the TV and watch something that will distract me from how old I'm getting.  And yes, I am thankful for every day.  But 80 sounds SO very old.  Now I've probably jinxed myself so that I won't even make it that far.

That's life.  Or death.  It is what it is.

Sweet dreams.