Joe and Irv are business partners. They make a deal that whichever one dies first will contact the living one from the afterlife. So Irv dies. Joe doesn’t hear from him for about a year, figures there is no afterlife. Then one day he gets a call. It’s Irv. ‘So there is an afterlife! What’s it like?’ Joe asks. ‘Well, I sleep very late. I get up, have a big breakfast. Then I have sex, lots of sex. Then I go back to sleep, but I get up for lunch, have a big lunch. Have some more sex, take a nap. Huge dinner. More sex. Go to sleep and wake up the next day.’ ‘Oh, my God,’ says Joe says. “So that’s what heaven is like?’ ‘Oh no,’ says Irv. ‘I’m not in heaven. I’m a bear in Yellowstone Park.’
Dining With Mr. Floyd
Daddy had always wanted a place in the country, but was overwhelmed at the magnitude of work facing him on that totally undeveloped acreage. It had been homesteaded and farmed shortly after the Civil War, but hadn’t been under production for many years, long enough that most of it was covered in mature timber. A tangle of locust trees was matted over the old homeplace beneath three huge oaks. Though we worked hard at clearing and burning the growth, locust thorns worked up through the ground and pierced our feet for years to come, even through our shoes.
There was more work than one man could do, so Daddy hired Mr. Floyd to help harvest the timber and clear the land for pasture.. All that timber would finance the payments on the place and make improvements. Mr. Floyd lived on the fringes of society getting by on odd jobs. Mr. Floyd was unkempt, rarely bathed, and kept to himself, but had a reputation as a hard worker, He lived in a shack in the woods with his brother, who didn’t manage quite so well. Daddy couldn’t afford to pay Mr. Floyd much, so they worked out a deal on a small wage, meals, and lodging in our fine school bus camper. When Mother got a whiff of Mr. Floyd, she told Daddy the camper was dead to her after that.
So, Daddy set the camper up on the far edge of his place. Mr. Floyd moved in with instructions to leave propane off since there might be a leak. There shouldn’t be a problem anyway, since he’d be taking his meals with us. Mother put some old bedding in the camper and Mr. Floyd moved in. The next morning, he showed up for breakfast before daylight. He didn’t was his hands, just dove in to the biscuits, grits, and eggs. His manners served as lessons, thereafter. “You’re eating like Mr. Floyd.” He didn’t hog the conversation. He was too busy with biscuits.
The men went to work right after breakfast. It was early summer, but hot as blazes. When they came in for lunch, Daddy pointed out the bathroom so Mr. Floyd could wash up. He wasn’t worried about that. He took the the chair Mother had offered him for breakfast nearest the window. Daddy always sat at the opposite end of the table that got the best breeze from the attic fan. He sat downwind of Mr. Floyd just long enough to get a whiff of seasoned body odor marinated with the piquant aroma of fresh morning sweat the fan pulled over our guest before jumping up. “Here Floyd. Sit here. It’s the coolest spot.”
Mr. Floyd also taught Mother to cut the cornbread before putting it on the table when he reached for the plate and broke off a big piece before passing it. Phyllis and I both declined cornbread and passed it right along. I didn’t keep up with who else was feeling picky, but there was a lot left after lunch. None of us kids ever learned to enjoy Mr. Floyd’s company, but he was a necessary evil.
One night, over in the winter, long after work was finished, we heard what sounded like a sonic boom, which was surprising to hear at night. A few minutes later, Mr. Floyd knocked on the door. The boom had come from the camper. Mr. Floyd had run low on wood for the heater and opted to use the propane stove, instead, the very same stove Daddy had warned him not to use because he suspected a leak. Mr. Floyd had lit up a cigarette before bed and came near burning himself up. It’s bad he got some burns, but good he didn’t gas himself. He was done with the camper after that, so that’s when Daddy let him work out a deal for a 1953 Chevy Sedan Daddy could spare.
The camper was deemed unfit, not only because Mr. Floyd blew it up, but because his strong smell lingered. You can’t get rid of a fifty dollar just because of that. A farm can always use storage. Daddy pulled the camper up behind the house to use for feed storage and a place for the dogs to sleep. Mother was furious to have it so near her new house. From that time on, whenever Daddy had no particular place to store something, it went in the camper. It wasn’t long before the dogs were crowded out of the nice smelly bunks. Whenever they could, the chickens slipped in and helped themselves to the chicken feed and tried to set up housekeeping. Rats also liked chicken feed. Black snakes love eggs, so between the smell, spooked chickens, rats, and snakes it was fairly unappealing.
Update on Mother
I have been AWOL for a while due to some family situations, so I have some updating to do. First of all, I’ve always posted a lot about Mother. She is fine at ninety-two. We avoid getting out because of corona virus, so it was a treat to go blueberry picking a few days ago. We only saw a couple of other pickers far afield, as happy to avoid contact as we were.
The sky was a pure, crystal blue and mountainous, cottony white-clouds transformed above us. Had I been nimble as a five-year-old, I would have stretched out in the grass watching clouds change from horses to gnomes, to a covered wagons. Six decades certainly interferes with the pleasure of prolonged cloud performance. A slight breeze brought welcome comfort in the Louisiana heat as we lounged with lemonade at a picnic table shaded by a giant oak.
Mother still works in her yard almost every day. She comes from long-lived stock. Her grandfather lived to ninety-six, before succumbing to stubbornness. He might still be with us otherwise. He had a numb leg from a Civil War injury. An iron bedstead did him in when he hung a toe on his iron bedstead heading outdoors to the toilet, tripping and cracking his head.. A brain bleed did him in four days later.
To Your Health
Aging gracefully, or Not
When I was a kid, there were a lot of things I wanted to ask old people, but didn’t have the nerve. I’ll post some of them, since I have some “old friends” who have answered some of them for me. If you have questions, send them in and I’ll try to get some answers for you, too.
1. Do old people still have sex? Sure, thanks to pharmacology, if they can find someone willing, able, and blind or demented enough.
2. Why do old people drive so slow and park crazy? Most of them are retired and it doesn’t matter how long it takes them to park. Just be glad they didn’t scrape your fender on the way in to that space. They may have neck and back pain and stiff joints.
3. Why do old people dress so crazy? Why do kids dress crazy? They want to.
4. Why do old men grow hair on their noses and ears and old women get whiskers? All the energy that used to go into head hair and perky breasts gets rerouted when hormones play out. God forbid science extends life expectancy too much. We’ll all look like androgynous Brillo pads and be deaf as a stone.
5. Why do old people have such big noses and ears? Some body parts never stop growing. Unfortunately, this is usually limited to noses and ears, not something more appreciable. This big-eared looked is greatly enhanced by baldness and frizzy hair. The nose gets bigger to hold glasses up.
If you have questions, address them in comments. I’ll address them for you.
Great Things About Growing Older
Games to Play When We Are Older
Sag, You’re It
Pin the Toupee on the Bald Guy
20 Questions Shouted into Your Good Ear
Kick the Bucket
Red Rover, Red Rover, the Nurse Says Bend Over
Simon Says Something Incoherent
Hide and Go Pee
Spin the Bottle of Mylanta
Wrinkled was not one of the things I wanted to be when I grew up.
The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.
Lying about my age is easier now that I often forget what it is.
I don’t know how I got over the hill without getting to the top.
I don’t do drugs. At my age I get the same effect just standing up fast.
There’s one good thing about growing old. If you watch a movie that you have seen before but you do not remember it, you can watch it like its the first time again!
A woman in her eighties made the evening news because she was getting married for the fourth time. The following day she was being interviewed by a local TV station, and the commentator asked about what it felt to be married again at that age and would she share part of her previous experiences, since it seem quite unique the fact that her new husband was a ‘funeral director.’ After a short time to think, a smile came to her face and she proudly explained that she had first married a banker when she was in her twenties, in her forties she married a circus ring master, and in her sixties she married a pastor and now in her eighties, a funeral director. The amazed commentator asked her why she had married men with such diverse carriers. With a smile on her face she explained, ‘I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.’
Seems an elderly gentleman had serious hearing problems for a number of years.
He went to the doctor and the doctor was able to have him fitted for a set of hearing aids that allowed the gentleman to hear 100%. The elderly gentleman went back in a month to the doctor and the doctor said, “Your hearing is perfect. Your family must be really pleased you can hear again.”
To which the gentleman said, “Oh, I haven’t told my family yet. I just sit around and listen to the conversations. I’ve changed my will five times!”
Sitting on the side of the highway waiting to catch speeding drivers, a State Police Officer sees a car puttering along at 22 MPH. He thinks to himself, this driver is just as dangerous as a speeder!” So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over. Approaching the car, he notices that there are five old ladies — two in the front seat and three in the back — wide eyed and white as ghosts. The driver, obviously confused, says to him, Officer, I don’t understand, I was doing exactly the speed limit! What seems to be the problem? “Ma’am,” the officer replies, you weren’t speeding, but you should know that driving slower than the speed limit can also be a danger to other drivers. Slower than the speed limit? No sir, I was doing the speed limit exactly… Twenty-two miles an hour! “The old woman says a bit proudly. The State Police officer, trying to contain a chuckle explains to her that 22” was the route number, not the speed limit. A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for pointing out her error. But before I let you go, Ma’am, I have to ask… Is everyone in this car OK? These women seem awfully shaken and they haven’t muttered a single peep this whole time, “the officer asks. Oh, they’ll be all right in a minute officer. We just got off Route 119.”
“How was your game, dear?” asked Jack’s wife Tracy.
“Well, I was hitting pretty well, but my eyesight’s gotten so bad I couldn’t see where the ball went,” he answered.
“But you’re 75 years old, Jack!” admonished his wife, “Why don’t you take my brother Scott along?”
“But he’s 85 and doesn’t play golf anymore,” protested Jack.
“But he’s got perfect eyesight. He would watch the ball for you,” Tracy pointed out.
The next day Jack teed off with Scott looking on. Jack swung and the ball disappeared down the middle of the fairway. “Do you see it?” asked Jack.
“Yup,” Scott answered.
“Well, where is it?” yelled Jack, peering off into the distance.
Joke of the day
Joke of the Day
No one believes seniors . . . everyone thinks they are senile.
An Elderly couple was celebrating their sixtieth anniversary.
The couple had married as childhood sweethearts and had
moved back to their old neighbourhood after they retired.
Holding hands they walked back to their old school.
I t was not locked, so they entered, and found the old desk
they’d shared where Andy had carved ‘I love you, Sally.’
On their way back ho me , a bag of money fell out of
an armored car, practically landing at their feet.
Sally quickly picked it up, but not sure
what to do with it, they took it home.
There, she counted the money:
Andy said, ‘We’ve got to give it back.’
Sally said, ‘Finders keepers.’
She put the money back in the bag and hid it in their attic.
The next day, two FBI men were canvassing the neighborhood
looking for the money and knocked on the door.
‘Pardon me, but did either of you find a bag
that fell out of an armored car yesterday?’
Sally said, ‘No.’
Andy said, ‘She’s lying. She hid it up in the attic.’
Sally said, ‘Don’t believe him, he’s getting senile.’
The agents turn to Andy and began to question him.
One says: ‘Tell us the story from the beginning’
Andy said, ‘Well, when Sally and I were walking home from school yesterday . . ..’
The first FBI guy turns to his partner and says, ‘We’re outta here.’