First it's "Rock-a-bye-Baby". Then, pretty soon, way too soon and not really even very pretty, it's "Ol Rockin' Chair's Got me". Remember that Jimmy Buffet song from way back in the 70's? A Pirate Looks At Forty? Was a time when the mere plink of its first cord conjured an air of nostalgia. "Mother, mother ocean, I can hear your call..."
"I'm not done yet, but the signs are there," says the music. "I've taken a lickin', but I'm still tickin'". There's still a score out there waiting for me!
But, a pirate looks at eighty? Geesus! He damn near sleeps with the fishes! My hands are too gnarled to wield a proper cutlass, laddy. My feet creak like the deck of a dry-docked ship. My eyes reckon with mist. My cheeks have sun spots. My teeth still bite but my gut rebels at what it once found scrumptious. My ears swash buckle. The rocking chair was invented so the elderly could sustain some semblance of ci]rculation even though they sat all day, along with creating a few extra endorphins to keep 'em quiet and in place. "Ol' Rockin' Chair's Got me". I have one in every room.
If you can look me in the eyes and enumerate the glories of aging without batting a lash you're a better liar than I am.
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