The Campfire

 

Last night I realized I have entered the campfire stage of life.  As I walked across the room, my snapping and popping bones sounded exactly like the logs popping in a campfire.  I should have been quite warm by the sounds of it.

Truth is, I wasn’t.  Warmth leaves our bodies as we age, that’s why old people are forever cold.  I remember my mother keeping the house temp set to 80, and still wearing a sweater.

Becoming aware of the campfire stage isn’t very comforting, as it is just another Post-it note from Father Time that none of my plans should be long-range.   There is no more goal setting, only short lists and check-off marks.

None of this is anything new.  The founding Fathers of this country knew exactly what they were doing when they set up the trucking industry.  They had all of the parkas, gloves, scarfs and mittens sent to the East coast, and the shorts, flipflops and Hawaiian shirts trucked down to Florida, understanding that nobody in New England would ever be buying flipflops or anything with short sleeves.

Even the original 13 colony people left all of their London Fog coats back in England.  They simply knew better.   Most people don't know that one of the signers of the declaration was L.L. Bean.  (No relation to the Boston Beans).

Who writes this stuff, anyway?
It started off so good.