Streaming for the Ages . . . .

So Pat McManus is turning 80 this summer.  I just read that in the newspaper.  I also read that he's gonna sit in his rocker and collect his royalties.

A pretty good thing if you're Pat McManus, cuz I'm sure his royalties are plenty with all the humorous books he's written.  Our house has at least half a dozen, maybe more.

I rather doubt that Pat McManus will just sit in his rocker at 80.  He'll probably continue his writing and his outdoor experiences so he'll have that much more to write. 

That's how it is for writers.  You've gotta have experiences AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER--- or the pen and paper, which McManus used back in his early days.  If you don't collect those experiences,  you have to work too hard at writing.  

Like this morning---my experiences for writing seem a little mundane.  

Let's see.  

I'm still itching.  It's beautiful outside.  My flowers and veggies are growing.  I had another enjoyable ride on my Lily horse last night.  The birds are singing.  Dogs are still pooping in the yard. 

Oh, Bill had sausage this morning.  

I always know when he's having sausage without looking in the frying pan.  The blue cloud of smoke enveloping the kitchen and part of the house when I walk through the door from my morning walk always tells me.

Bill, who's getting a little forgetful at 63,  claims that the sausage is what causes the smoke.  

I claim that he was so involved in his Kindle reading that he's not paying attention to the sausage as it burns up in the frying pan.  This morning even his blueberry hotcake had black coating.  

He tried to point out the blueberries, but black and blue tend to blend so much, you can't see the berries through the charcoal. 

Well, I guess that little story wasn't too mundane----for my readers anyway---but for me sausage-smoke syndrome (SSS) occurs about once or twice a week, always while I'm out on my walk.

Can you imagine drinking up that fresh morning air for twenty minutes and then having to cough your way through the kitchen.  It's a challenge, I'll tell you.

Anyway, smoked sausage was about the most exciting thing I experienced this morning, so I need to get out there and look for new stuff, like Pat McManus does, so I'll have something more stimulating as a writing topic. 

Pat McManus, by the way, is celebrating 20 years with his friend Tim Behrens, who likes to get up on the stage and act like Pat McManus.  Both are wearing blue shirts----like those prison shirts---in the photograph for this morning's article. 

Apparently, there's a new rendition of the Tim Behrens acting like Pat McManus show.  So, that's why the photo and story appeared in the paper.

I still can't get over the fact that Pat McManus is going to be 80.  When that kind of stuff happens, and you're still thinking of everyone you've known forever still being in their 50s, you start thinking about how old all those people really are. 

My brother is celebrating his last year of the 60s, starting tomorrow.  That means the rest of us siblings in Batch One aren't far behind.  

Did we ever think we would be contemplating what we've accomplished on our bucket list by age 70?

I haven't heard too many people announce their plans for getting that old and having that much stuff checked off when they do. 

I guess we have a new paradigm here.  

Ya know I've never used that word before in written conversation.  So, I guess I can mark that off on my current bucket list of getting stuff done before 70. 

Now, the question comes---did I use it correctly?   There might be a few English-language aficionados out there who are older than I and who will be happy to correct me.

But I'll tell ya one thing.  There AREN'T too many of those types still around with their red pencils, which means I get away with a lot of stuff when I wright. 

Right?

Anyway, I guess we need to be establishing and honing the mindset that 70 is the new 50. That's so we can feel better when we get there, even though we spent most of our lives thinking 70 was mighty, mighty old.

But we've lived through 50 and have done pretty well, most of us anyway, so if we think when we reach that once-crotchety milestone, we're really pretty young, life can go on.

But 80???

I can't even imagine what one puts on the bucket list for age 80.  Maybe it's the rocking chair and the royalties.  If so, everyone needs to write a book or something so they can enjoy the second half of that vision. 

Maybe by the time I think about turning 80, they'll be saying, "Oh, 80 isn't old; it's the new 60." And, I'll feel good cuz 60 wasn't bad either.

Speaking of age, yesterday I felt like I'd gone back to junior high teeny bopper times.  In fact, one of my dear friends who entered junior high with me helped me feel that way.

She had just moved her father to the same facility where my mother lives.  And, just like junior high, when we talked all the time in the hallways by our lockers and laughed at virtually every word the other said, things got noisy at Life Care.

Later, my older friend (she's already 66)  asked one of the staff members if we could get lockers so when we go grab our stuff, we could stand by them telling stories, just like we did in junior high AND high school. 

The staff member laughed and said she'd put that on the list of "to do's" at Life Care. 

Finally, after too much laughter, I walked on to visit my mother who was in a jolly mood and who looked like a queen with her adorable hair.  The stylist had put small French braids in the top and given her long dangly curls behind.  

Mother got lots of compliments as we took a spin through the hallways.  We also stopped by the room where my junior high friend's father had moved.

Introductions ensued.  Then, he announced to Mother, "I'm 91.  How old are you?"

Mother sometimes puts her exact age out of her memory bank.  Last time I asked her how old she was, she thought for a minute and said, "1,001." 

I told her she was the first 1,001-year-old I'd ever met, and that she was doing darned fine for her age.

Well, yesterday, when I announced to my friend's father that my mother was 91, he seemed pretty pleased.  

"We're the same age!, he said. 

So, I'm guessing that age at any age has its rewards, and I'm also guessing that my mother was collecting royalties yesterday with that beautiful queen-like hair do.

So, how to end---------oh, just say "age is relative," Marianne!

OK!

Now, I've gotta get away from this computer so I'll have something to write about as I get a day older. 

Happy Thursday.