“And I have no control over which yesterdays I keep and which ones get deleted.”
From the book: Still Alice
© Chuck Duboff
Jethro Tull playing Minstrels in the Gallery, hot Green Tea, bottle of water and a beautiful leather recliner.
I am feeling very lucid and of clear mind today, as I sit down to write and share at a very deep level.
Malcom Young, founder and main song writer for AC/DC, passed away Saturday morning at 64 years of age; he had suffered from dementia for the past three years. That’s right, 64 years old. In just 41 days I will be turning 64 and will be reminded of the Beatles singing “When I’m 64”, and Malcom passing away. I was in my early teens when the Beatles wrote an outlandish song about the notion of being 64 years old. Malcom and the boys have rocked my world everyday when I workout and yet here they are passing on at an age which strikes home, which forces me to accept the reality of my stage in life.
It’s the top of the eighth inning Chuck. Your contemporaries are passing away…these past few months have seen Tom Petty, Gord Downie and Greg Allman pass away. Last year it was David Bowie, Glenn Fry, Prince, Leonard Cohen and so many more. The reality which I face now is that I am old and that my time is short.
My kids, Carly and Matthew, are living a wonderful life, with Carly turning 40 in just a few weeks and Matt a healthy 38. Laine and Ben are no longer little babies who need my attention…they are busy with hockey games and practices, soccer games and practices, friends and friends birthday parties. This is all great and I wouldn’t wish it any other way…yet, it does mean, less time with all of them.
It’s been several years now since a very difficult ending to a painful, roller coaster relationship with Tannis. Since then, I have had little to no interest in an ongoing relationship. I am much more content being on my own, than trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Should someone special appear in my life, that would be wonderful and I will embrace it with gratitude, but for now, being single is much more peaceful.
I think of all the hours and the passion I put into promoting Human Rights; it inspired me and I believe I was able to pass that on to so many students whom I worked with. Today…I don’t have the energy, the will, to be the spokesperson for Human Rights I once was…I use this blog as my way of promoting human rights and fighting racism.
I’ve been exercising six days a week since 1985, when I was coaching high school football. To this day I still head down to the gym in my condo, six days a week. I know it’s been good for me, but, the reality is that I don’t have the same drive that I used to have for my workout. It is, quite simply, the aging process. I used to be fired up to workout, yet today, that same testosterone is no longer there and it is beyond frustrating.
If you have been reading this far, then I ask that you prepare for some unsettling sharing. I know my memory is really, really starting to go…at a scary pace. I know that at this age there is little that can be done, other than trying to keep the brain as active as possible. I try to write blogs as much as I can..some days when I am feeling quite lucid (like today) I am still proud of my writing, yet other days, my writing is that of a simpleton. I used to win spelling competitions and rarely made any spelling mistakes…yet, even as I write this, I am constantly correcting my spelling. It frustrates.
I have had season tickets to the Bombers, Jets and Goldeyes for as long as I can remember. I have been fortunate to have been able to afford all of these tickets, very fortunate. Bombers season tix go back to when I was in high school in the early ’70’s; the same goes for Jets tix starting in the early ’70’s when Hull signed at Portage and Main. When the Goldeyes were reborn in 1994, it was every game for this guy.
This next part is hard to write, but it is the truth of where I am at in my life. No longer do I have an insatiable desire to go to games. I am just as content watching the Bombers on my 4k 65 inch big screen; rather than going to Goldeyes games, I am just as happy watching the Yankees on the MLB Network on my big screen. As for the Jets, there is still some fire there, but not like it once was. I am just as happy watching on the big screen with Denis Beyak…I can see myself cutting down to a much smaller amount of games that I attend. (presently 32 per season). It is the stage of life I am now in and the reality which I must accept. I’ll hopefully be able to hold onto the memory of being a loud, wild fan for the Bombers, Goldeyes and Jets…sure had a great time…
I am so very tired of Twitter; I cannot stomach the rudeness, the trolls, the baiting. I lived my life without Instagram and see little use in it other that bravado…Facebook seems to have some redeeming qualities…but…especially twitter…it is time to say bye, bye…
I am going back to the reading which I used to consume at a meteoric rate; it is time to sit back and read Hemingway, Dickens, Hugo, Shakespeare, Ludlum and that literature which filled my soul. I know I have to concentrate much more when I am reading than I used to…but before it is too late, I want to enjoy the beauty of the writing which the great authors gave us.
This is my reality. I have passed through many stages and this is where I am, content with the simplicity of life. Soon I will be heading back to Puerto Vallarta for a winter break…I used to be such a party animal when I was down in Cuba, Cancun, Playa del Carmen…one woman after another, partying till all hours of the night, yet, today, when I go down there for a few weeks, I am quite content lying on the beach, by the pool, listening to my music, running the beaches and enjoying the breath taking scenery.
There is a wonderful sense of clarity as I write this, almost a weight off my shoulders. This reality has been knocking on my door for quite a while…the acceptance, a relief.
William Shakespeare wrote the following in his play: As You Like It; he quite succinctly describes the seven stages of life:
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
I thank you for taking the team to read this: if you are family, if you are a friend, if you are a stranger…your words mean a lot…as I go through this next stage of life!!