Excited to go? Maybe.


There was a TV commercial not long ago that showed an older guy riding a motorcycle in the desert as a testament to staying uber-active in the golden years. I can’t recall the precise wording but in effect his voiceover said he wanted to go out at high speed.

Hey pal, count me in. I’m with you. I want Ellen and Reid to know their version of the commercial’s old man wants to go out kicking, too.

——————

April 7, 2014

Ellen/Reid: Well, I’ve started to increase the intensity of the workouts for the Bridger. It’s amazing how much more effort is needed when you ratchet up the elliptical by a single setting. But it feels good and along about May 1 I’ll add some time on the Stairmaster to get the legs working. I’ve been pushing my golf cart on the weekends and that’s helped and really hasn’t been very tiresome to do so. It would be great to go in better shape than in prior years. Knock on wood that it will be so. My Scott fly rod has yet to arrive and I’m about ready to call to ask for its whereabouts.

You both have my itinerary for the May extravaganza. No hotel/motel has been booked as of yet but don’t worry about me infringing on your space. I’ll find quarters elsewhere, and a rental car, too. It will be fun to have everyone together. There won’t be a moment of quiet the entire trip but perhaps that’s as it should be.

Everything for the Bridger Wilderness - bear barrel and new Scott fly rod included - ought to fit in my jaunty new Osprey pack.

Everything for the Bridger Wilderness – bear barrel and new Scott fly rod included – ought to fit in my jaunty new Osprey pack. Excited to go? Maybe.

Speaking of Minneapolis/St. Paul, my friend John was there last week for a church meeting that was hosted by cousin Tim’s church. John was incredibly impressed by both the facility and the church’s outreach, not to mention Minneapolis itself. It makes our little Caldwell puny by comparison, but it’s all a matter of scale.

As we speak I’m watching a male cardinal feed his female partner. He dips down into the feeder for a sunflower seed then flits up to the high branches straight to her. My weekend walks at 6:15 a.m. start just about the time the birds are at their noisiest. It’s still the best time of the week. Calm, serene, no traffic, plus I’m bolstered by a go-cup of coffee (I’m using the gift coffee you sent me). I thought the blue birds were going after the nesting box aggressively but haven’t seen hide nor feather of them the last couple of days so it’s not altogether clear what’s going on with them.

My walks have been going just fine. Bob F. is trying to help me strategize how to push pickupyourpath.com but it’s a work in progress. One thing I’ve noticed increasingly are little bags – and not to be indelicate about it – of dog shit that people leave behind. Why go to the trouble of inverting the bag and retrieving it (plenty of people don’t) then not take it with you? Inane if you ask me. I’ve picked up a lot of sordid things in my time of doing this, but that is where I draw the line: picking up dog shit. I renewed my memberships with the Sierra Club and Nature Conservancy last week. No sooner than the envelopes were in the mailbox than I kind of chided myself for not putting the subscriptions in your names or Emma’s.

Your uncle was reminding me this morning to put off collecting social security until age 66. He does the math in terms of how much more you get for each month that you put off that monthly check. But I don’t know if I can wait another 22 months for that to happen. I had another senior moment last week when, after exiting the theater with my date, I opened the door for her to what I thought was my Toyota and didn’t realize until I got in the driver’s side that the steering wheel was bound in leather and other stuff in the center console wasn’t mine. We beat hasty retreat to my car which was parked a few feet away. Perhaps this is why I don’t date too much. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m losing it altogether, which could well be. That’s a rhetorical question that does not demand an answer.

Love, dad

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