Recently, a dear friend of mine had a birthday. I haven’t asked him yet if he could be the subject of my post today, so we’ll call him…

Carl Oscar Isaacson.

It was rather well-aged birthday.  Like a nice cheese.

My friend will remember his birthday, and many more.  But he got me to thinking about aging…  how all those women with great bone structure tell you on the tellie to “fight” it and “combat” it and “lift” “spurn” and “DEFY” it.  I kind of wonder if those ads would just be a bit more forward and use additional words like: “hoist” and “heave” and “sag” and “plaintitive cry.”

Aging sounds like the flu.

Anyhow.  Carl is a non flu type in his “golden years” (I think this means “Old-ish” but I used my thesaurus to be kind).  He is superannuated, yes, but he is hilarious.  And young.  And has more energy than my toddlers.  And full of LIFE.  And I doubt very much that he has ever thought to “DEFY!” aging.  Madeleine L’Engle said, “The great thing about getting older is you don’t lose all the other ages you have been.”  Carl would agree, I think. (Like I said, I don’t know…  he hasn’t been updated on the fact that he is my topic today, but he’s pretty mellow.  I think.)

Happy Birthday sweet friend.  The following is for you (saucy language and all).  Cheers.

CARL??  YOU READING THIS? YOU NEED TO CLICK ON THE PICTURE BELOW TO SEE THE POEM, OK?  CAN YOU HEAR ME?  OR YOU CAN ALSO CLICK ON THE “A POEM ABOUT GETTING OLD” CAPTION ABOVE THE PICTURE.  THE PICTURE OF THE PEACEFUL DOCK ON THE LAKE?  RIGHT?  YOU SEE IT?  I WAS TRYING TO MAKE IT AS SIMPLE AS POSSIBLE.  I KNOW WHAT TROUBLE YOU GEEZERS HAVE WITH THE GREAT AMERICAN WORLDWIDE INTERWEBS. *

A poem about getting old

*(small voice)  Don’t fire me, Carl.