A primer for my friends of middle age

Some lessons are best learned slowly rather than all at once, such as “Don’t attempt to move rapidly indoors in utter darkness, especially if it’s not your house.” It has led to grief for numerous persons, few of whom will ever tell you about it, so it’s a lesson you’ll have to learn on your own, which is the best way.

I, for example, have learned, “Do vigorous exercise while you still can because if you don’t, then you can’t.” Jumping jacks, for example: one day they’re a piece of cake and so you figure, “Why waste the time?” and then you try to do one and it’s very humorous. The same is true of running: one day you can lope along like an elderly but still respectable antelope and then one day strangers will stop you and ask if there’s anything they can do to help. No, there probably isn’t.

There is always an excuse for not exercising, a religious prohibition, some hereditary syndrome that makes you feel desperate when you breathe hard, an allergic reaction to your own perspiration, but these can be overcome with help. My excuse is that I hated high school phy-ed with a passion, the chin-ups, the rope climb, the running somersault, the running dive over the horse, the wrestling, the ridicule and the bullying, and I despised walking naked into a shower with other young men. I still do. After I graduated, I made it a point not to join other naked men to take showers. When invited, I have declined. If this is a favorite activity of yours, I do not judge. For some men, this may be the high point of the week. Don’t say this is self-loathing on my part because it isn’t: it’s the other men I loathe, not myself. And it’s not homophobia. I have many gay male friends and they do not undress when they come to my home. I am perfectly okay taking a shower by myself or with my wife on very rare occasions such as my 70^th and 80^th birthdays, the Feast Day of the Assumption in August and on October 27, the day on which Jack Morris pitched the Minnesota Twins to a 1-0 victory in the 7^th game of the 1991 World Series.

Nonetheless, I do exercises every morning and it makes me feel good. Feeling good is the point.

Another lesson to learn over time is “A feast should be taken in moderation and always followed by an effervescent sodium bicarbonate.” People, even mature intelligent people with advanced degrees, have sat down at a groaning board to platters of roasted wildlife and savory tubers, coagulated milk protein, leafy greens, cruciferous delicacies, and baked desserts, and in the joyfulness of the moment — perhaps someone has commenced from an institution other than a penal one or perhaps someone has had a memoir published or been declared innocent by a jury of his peers — the diners overestimate their capacity.

Some people experience this on a regular basis, and I understand there is treatment for it, and I also feel there is such a thing as saying, “No, thank you” and pushing the plate away. I am doing that this morning. I love steak and eggs for breakfast and I am not having it this morning. I last had it three weeks ago. I am still living.

There usually is someone who can do something better than you can and the time comes when you should let them do it. This happened to me: my wife, Jenny, took the car keys. She’s a terrific driver. The world is better without a man with poor vision careening around the roadways. I honestly believe this to be true.

We grow wise with the years: this is the theory. This year, the Year of Our Lord 2024, I suggest that you not vote for a person who is angry and saying lunatic things detached from reality and promising apocalyptic times to come. That is not for America. God has blessed this country lavishly. Brilliant immigrants have come for freedom from the fevers of Europe and the grinding poverty of leftover colonial empires, and their ingenuity and spirit and wit and their adoration of this New World have enriched us each and every one. Diversity, schmiversity, we simply are a diverse and fascinating assemblage of wonders and oddities, dreamers and floaters, 4-Hers, bellyachers, Unitarians, contrarians, librarians, egalitarians, and Wagnerians — a person walks through town and never lacks for entertainment. God bless America. He has done so before. We need it now.

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Brisk Verse, by Garrison Keillor, is a lively collection of 132 poems on diverse topics, from thongs to Mozart, illustrated with quirky vintage ads, perfect for reading aloud to friends or savoring solo.

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