Elderly Relationships #407 6/12/2018

If a tinker were my trade, would you still find me carrying the pots I made – following behind me?
“If I Were A Carpenter” Tim Hardin 1967
This song was covered by the likes of Bobby Darin, Pozo Seco Singers, Johnny Cash, Four Tops, and a host of others.

Welcome to Drivel Over Coffee. The Drivel rambles through this thing called life, stopping here and there for reflection, an enlightenment, some storytelling, and a touch of humor perhaps. All the while my brain reverberates with the best music in the world – The ‘60’s and early 70’s. Yep – Lost in The Sixties. Remember, the brave kids who made this land free for you and me.

There I was deeply engrossed into the reading about the “5 ways to prepare parsley” in the Sunday paper when, like a thunderbolt, it occurred to me that I no longer must pour over the “for sale” and “open house” ads for condos. Yeah, I think. That relief was quickly replaced with trying to decide if the month long packing, throwing away, arguing, planning, stress, and so forth followed by the new payments indeed was worth the so called “downsizing”. I am slowly coming to the opinion that I could be almost as comfortable in an 8’x10’ Rubbermaid shed from Menards put in the back yard. It would need a little modification of course. Like insulation on the walls and roof, a porta potty, satellite TV, Coleman stove, cot, and chair. All doable. I think for a few hundred dollars versus a couple hundred thousand dollars would make sense. What’s that? Oh, the current wife? Well, we have a policy of fending for ourselves. I think that would apply here for sure. I would have to review the marriage contract again. Then again that might not be exactly what she had in mind when talking about downsizing. Now let’s talk about Hemorrhoids.

Hemorrhoids
I went to the doctor a month ago. It went something like this. “Doctor, I can’t find a comfortable position to sit.” The doctor examined me and said, “I’m not surprised that you’re having trouble sitting; you have a good case of hemorrhoids.” He then gave me a supply of suppositories, and told me, “Go home now, and use one of these each morning and one at night until they’re gone. Then come back and we’ll see how you are. “I went home, and in a couple of weeks I returned, still complaining of hemorrhoids. “Well, ” said the doctor, “Did you use all of the suppositories?” “Yes, I did,” I said. “I took one every morning and every night as you instructed, even though they were pretty hard to swallow.” “For all the good they did me, I might just as well have shoved them up my behind!”

Then There Were Two
Two doctors opened offices in a small town and put up a sign reading, “Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones, Psychiatry and Proctology.” Well, the town fathers were not too happy with the sign, and they suggested using “Hysterias and Posteriors.” The doctors didn’t find that acceptable, so they suggested “Schizoids and Hemorrhoids.”
The town didn’t like that either and countered with “Catatonics and High Colonics.” The doctors didn’t like that either. But, by now the story got into the paper, and the suggestions began rolling in:
“Manic-depressives and Anal-retentives.”
“Minds and Behinds.”
“Lost Souls and Assholes.”
“Analysis and Anal Cysts.”
“Queers and Rears.”
“Nuts and Butts.”
“Freaks and Cheeks.”
“Loons and Moons.”
…and so on.
None of these satisfied one side or the other, but they finally settled on “Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones, Odds & Ends.”

Tillie & Chester
Tillie and Chester knew each other from childhood but were in their seventies when they got married. They had to wait for Tillie’s mother to pass away first, because she didn’t approve of Chester. Back in those days there was no hanky-panky before marriage, so Chester and Tillie were both still virgins. Needless to say, Chester was pretty excited on their wedding night, having waited so patiently all these years. However, Tillie was very apprehensive as she had developed a heart condition and would have to tell Chester that they could not do it. Chester is now sitting on the bed wanting Tillie to hurry up. He detects a little reluctance on her part. Thinking that she is just shy, he sends her off to the bathroom to get undressed. When she reappears in her satin nightie, he gets her to sit next to him on the bed. Not knowing how to get things started, he pulls the first strap on her nightie. She blushes just as red as her satin nightie. She is really concerned about telling Chester about her heart condition. In the meantime, Chester is looking at the first breast he has seen. It is hanging there down to her belly button; gravity having taken its course over some sixty years. He notices her anxiety but figures she is going to have to be helped a little more. Now he pulls the second strap and sees the second breast unroll downward before him. Poor Tillie is now beside herself. She is going to have to tell Chester about her heart. With a quivering voice and mustering up all her courage, she says, Chester, I have acute angina.” Chester says, “I hope so, ‘cuz you’ve sure got ugly ta-tas!”

Four Marriages
The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time.
The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband’s occupation. “He’s a funeral director,” she answered. “Interesting,” the newsman thought… He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.
She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years. After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20’s, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40’s, and a preacher when in her 60’s, and now – in her 80’s – a funeral director. The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.

(Wait for it…)

She smiled and explained, “I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.”

Confession
An elderly man goes into confession and says to the priest, “Father, I’m 80 years old, married, have four kids and 11 grandchildren, and last night I had an affair. I made love to two 21-year-old girls. Both of them. Twice.” The priest said: “Well, my son, when was the last time you were in confession?” “Never Father, I’m Jewish.” “So then, why are you telling me?” “Are you kidding? I’m telling everybody!”

Problem With Sleeping In
Three men were discussing aging on the steps of the nursing home. “Sixty is the worst age to be,” announced the sixty-year-old. “You always feel like you have to pee. And most of the time, you stand at the toilet and nothing comes out!” “Ah, that’s nothing,” said the seventy-year-old. “When you’re seventy, you can’t take a crap anymore. You take laxatives, eat bran – you sit on the toilet all day and nothing comes out!” “Actually,” said the eighty-year-old, “Eighty is the worst age of all.” “Do you have trouble peeing too?”, asked the sixty-year-old. “No … not really. I pee every morning at 6AM. I piss like a race horse – no problem at all.” “Do you have trouble taking a crap?”, asked the seventy-year-old. “No, not really. I have a great bowel movement every morning at 6:30.” With great exasperation, the sixty-year-old said, “Let me get this straight. You pee every morning at six o’clock and take a crap every morning at six thirty. What’s so tough about being eighty?” To which the eighty-year-old replied, “I don’t wake up until ten.”

Human Navel Lint?
Many of you are aware that I can begin to ponder some pretty weird stuff at times. Some time ago I opined on the world wide web about the feasibility of knitting a sweater from human navel link. Daughter Debby, the younger elder, is getting into knitting and thought this could be a project idea. Well a dude by the named Georg posted an analysis on the subject. See what he has to say. Georg collected an astonishing 503 lint samples over three years and individually weighed them, displaying his results in a mass distribution chart. We learn that the average sample weight was 1.82 milligrams — that is, 1.82 thousandths of a gram. Navel lint, or at any rate Georg’s navel lint, consists of cotton cellulose fibers mixed with skin cells, fat, and sweat. Men produce the most navel lint. Georg hypothesizes that this is because abundant male abdominal hair surrounding the belly button scrapes the lint free from the subject’s cotton clothing and channels it into the navel. When he shaved the area around his belly button, lint production plunged. The total weight of Georg’s collected lint — three years’ worth, mind you — was less than a gram. Clearly, therefore, collecting sufficient lint to make a sweater would be a slow job. My assistant Una calculated that getting enough for a long-sleeve cotton top, which for some reason she thought was a better benchmark than a sweater, would take 150 years; a cotton sweatshirt would take about 752 years. However, anyone who has time to collect belly button lint is obviously in no hurry, and all that cotton would seem to provide the raw material for spinning thread. Could we do it? Sadly, the answer is almost certainly not. Most cotton-spinning processes need an average fiber length of at least two-thirds of an inch, much longer than you’d expect to find in navel lint. While you can spin shorter fibers with a lot of effort and some binder, remember the reason navel lint is there in the first place is that it worked loose from whatever you were wearing. If you harvested some of the body’s lengthier fibrous product — for example, nose hairs grown by men of a certain age — there you might have potential sweater material. But navel lint is suitable only for stuffing a pillow, and a pretty small one at that.

My paltry little collection of navel hairs along side my paltry collection of body hairs is useless to this 72-year-old gesser. I simply don’t have the time left to do anything with these minuscule devils of masculinity. Oh, what stories they could tell in the day if only they could talk or sing. Oh well!!!

…….. Well my friends, there you have it as told by yours truly to you all. Thanks for allowing me back into your day, if only for a brief time. It is always an honor. If I can make at least one-person smile, laugh till they leak, or maybe spit out a drink, my day was not wasted. Until we meet again -TA!”

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