I’ve been trying to get up-to-speed with my repaired computer which underwent a major lobectomy and is in need of some serious tweaking by me to get it back to its former self. I doubt that that will ever happen as I am finding things every minute that need to be re-set. Oh well. Lucky I’m retired!
A friend in England sent this to me just now and boy-oh-boy, I really needed a good laugh. I thought you might appreciate one too, so here it is.
A Senior Discussion
A group of seniors was sitting around talking about all their ailments.
“My arms have gotten so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee,” said one.
“Yes, I know,” said another. “My cataracts are so bad; I can’t even see my coffee.”
“I couldn’t even mark an “X” at election time, my hands are so crippled,” volunteered a third.
“What? Speak up! What? I can’t hear you!”
“I can’t turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck,” said a fourth, to which several nodded weakly in agreement.
“My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy!” exclaimed another.
“I forget where I am, and where I’m going,” said another.
“I guess that’s the price we pay for getting old,” winced an old man as he slowly shook his head.
The others nodded in agreement.
“Well, count your Blessings,” said a woman cheerfully. Thank God we can all still DRIVE!”
Yes, that lightened my load here a little this morning. Hope it does the same for you. If you’re not near or at an age that can be considered “senior,” just wait… it will all become familiar sooner or later.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I think I could turn and live awhile with the animals…
They are so placid and self-contained,
I stand and look at them sometimes half the day long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied… not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.
~ [Walt Whitman, from “Leaves of Grass, No. 32”] ~