A Conversation

As some of the clean up crew and I were killing time until we could take down the tables and chairs from the church bazaar yesterday, I was a participant in the following odd conversation between three other gentlemen and myself.

M1: Every since I turned 80, I've had to go to the 40 pound salt bags for my water softener. I just can't lift the 50 pound ones anymore.

M2: Thats too bad. Every since I turned 85 I haven't been able to carry even the 30 pound bags down the steps to the cellar for the softener. I've started keeping the bag on the porch and using a bucket to carry it down a few pounds at a time.

M3: Heck, I gave up even trying to carry them years ago. My problem is that not only can't I carry them, I can't remember why I find myself standing by the trunk of the car staring at the bag of salt. By the time I go in the house and ask my wife and get back out there, I can't remember again. It works out well - my wife has been putting the salt in for at least the last five years. The last time I remember carrying in the salt was back around my 86th birthday and I'm 91 now.

Me: I'm young enough that I can still carry salt, I can still carry two bags of salt at a time pretty easily. The bad part is that it seems like a new joint aches every morning at this age.

M2: Give it time. In another 30 years you'll be my age and then no one will even think of asking you to carry salt unless you are married to them. 

M3: Son, you've just begun to discover one of the things we all know.

Me: What's that?

M1: Getting old is not for the faint of heart or weak of constitution.

Me: Well, it likes like we can get to work.

Likewise, it is time for me to get on with real work.