I'M NOT OLD, I'M JUST SLOW

I know I have been away for a long time.  It is because I am doing my best to meet a deadline.  It happens to me every year at this time.  I have this historic event that I spearhead at the church.  It demands a lot of my time and it occupies my grey matter for 12 months of the year.  So, I do not have much time to write.  Now, things have happened that I just have to get off my chest.  So, I have decided to give myself some down time for some R&R.
The other day I had to go to the doctor.  Actually, I really did not have a medical reason to go.  I was just celebrating the one preventative visit that medicare gives me every year.  At that rate, the US is not going to win any prizes for giving its citizens a chance to reach old age.  It costs more to get old in the US than anywhere else in the "first world."  That's perhaps why we are not first on the life expectancy charts.  But that's not a disappointment for me.  I'm happy with what I got.  Besides, I'm not really that old.  I found out today that in the mobile home park where we live these days, there are 28 residents who are over the age of 90.
Most of them live alone.  Only three are not ambulatory.  Two are on the  neighborhood watch patrol team.  
I don't know about 90, but I do know that when we go to the weekday morning Mass where there are about 150 people in attendance, not less than ten of them are at least 80.  All of them but one or two still drive.

So, I am going to the doctor.  It is exactly 1 short mile away.  By short, I mean it is exactly 1, not 1.2.  I know because when I was incapacitated  a couple years ago, measured it with the odometer of the car.  So, since we have but the one car, and since the Voice from the Kitchen is also the Wallet of the family, I assured her that I would be comfortable walking while she used the car to go to the office.
So I did.  Naturally, before leaving I took my precautions, just as my mother always told me to do.  I combed my hair; blew my nose; left that handerkerchief home and put a clean one into my pocket and finally made it to the ceramics near the door and then, and only then did I hit the pavement.  [Yes, I still use white handkerchiefs.]
I checked the satellite time on my shiny new smartphone.  12:45 it said.
I take off with a smart, snappy stride.  I'm really hauling it.  The wind is whistling in my ears and I'm having a hard time keeping my hair in order.  [Yes, I still have hair.]  I check the traffic.  Wow, the street is barren of autos.  I boldly jump off the curb and fly across the typical California four lane city street.  Now I am on the correct side of the street and it will be smooth sailing all the way to the sawbone's office.  I'll tell you, I am snapping stercorem.  I get there in no time.  So fast that I could hardly enjoy the scenery in the bright SoCal sunshine.  I don't slowdown as I approach the door.  A quick glance at the box where the Los Angeles Times is usually sitting there waiting for me to drop my heard earned $ in search of the crossword puzzle is empty.  Rats!  I go through the door and I remind myself that the mile has been covered.  I reach into my pocket to ascertain by how much I had surpassed the open air walking mile record.  
KKEERRRASSSHHH!  13:15 is sitting there smiling back at me --- 30 MINUTES!  What a disaster!  What a calamity!  What ever happened to my 12 minute mile?  Where did my 5 kilometers per hour go?  I know it was around here somewhere.  Oh, my!   I still have not accepted it.  I still think that the satellite was wrong that day.
Maybe so, but I admit, I am afraid to put the satellite to the test.  I think I'll just lie down and have a little snooze.  Maybe I'll get my speed back that way.

I put this here so that I would be sure that you found this humerus!