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      I know that I am immortal but it would appear that I am not immune to several of the not so subtle signs that I am becoming older. This makes no sense to me because I have a covered portrait of myself in the attic, like Dorian Grey. That reminds me, gray hair is supposed to be confined to one’s head! I refuse to say where they are showing up on me, but let’s just say, it is south of my head. Silver threads among the drab! In addition, I have discovered THREE (!) small age spots on the back of my left hand. These have shown up in the last few years. At this rate, in another few decades I will look like a week old banana! Next thing I know wrinkles will join this disturbing trend! I don’t have wrinkles or (old) crows feet. Hummingbird’s feet are much closer to describing what I try not to notice by the corners of my eyes. Hey, I know what to call them! Theese are contemplation lines! When I am concentrating on a thorny problem like, is it immoral to feed a pig, left over bacon or Baby, hot dogs, or a sick rooster, chicken soup, I have a tendency to squint my eyes, because I am lost in heavy thought.

      Aging eyesight makes for kinder mirrors I am told, but except for an inability to see dust and clutter, honey-do lists or my own alleged faults, I have not had a problem with failing eyesight, yet. In fact I now read while holding my newspaper farther away from my face than when I was a young pup. This tells me that my vision must actually be improving! The only problem I have with mirrors is that my mirrors appear to be wearing out after many years of use. Mine have all begun to distort the image of my face into one much closer to my father’s face, than my own. It’s time to buy new mirrors, I guess.

      Those troubling spots on the back of my left hand are still bothering me though. When Ivy gets a bruise, I tell her that it is a rotten spot. Sages do not rot; we get better with time, like fine red wine. Marilyn tells me that I am aging like fine MILK! She is just jealous! If my hand spots begin to increase in number and grow together I could probably make a successful run for president, eventually. Sort of like Michael Jackson, in reverse!

      If the dark spots on my hand are actually age related, this could mean that crepe skin and turkey/toad neck may be slowly creeping up on me, too. Is this the price of immortality? That painting in the attic is supposed to prevent these indignities! My elbows are sore much of the time and I expect knobby, sore knuckles to become an ugly fact of life someday. I would ask my friends and family for solutions but they obviously do not have any answers, or they would not have already started down the road of decay and disintegration. I have stopped attending my high school reunions because it is painful to see how cruel Father Time has been to my classmates.

      What good is being immortal if I am doomed to look like all the old farts, ……..make that “old timers” that I deliver meals to, eventually? This prospect gives me CHILLS and loss of much peaceful, contented sleep. This problem will require lots of denial or self-delusion to live with. That and new mirrors.  Hey! I just looked at the back of my hand and discovered that two of my age spots have disappeared! They must have been chocolate syrup drops and Baby licked them off! What a relief. I’ve been worrying for nothing! Marilyn claims that she can still see them but she is just trying to bring me down.

     No doubt about it. Marilyn and Father Time are both cruel. I think that I will have indulge in a bit less heavy thought soon, because I don’t want to develop back problems. I have already started to hear “old man” sounds when I rise from the couch but I suspect that these emanate from Marilyn, in an attempt to make me think that I’m the one making grunting sounds. Cruel AND unusual! Boy, I sure can pick ‘em.

      Guy