Rushing to finish my Thanksgiving cooking list, Pumpkin Pie, FrostedÂ Apple Pie Slices, Sweet-potato Puff, and a bowl of Romaine Crunchy Salad, I veered out of control.
I pumped the brakes with the newsflash on TV, “Just in! ALL Romaine lettuce â€“ RECALLED!”
Yikes! Hubby dashed to return the Romaine we had chilling in fridge, and I headed to our favorite neighbor grocer for gourmet lettuce to replace Romaine.
I dashed to make up lost time, and hurriedly flipped on my KitchenAid to whip the sweet potatoes, usingÂ both hands at once, I flipped the speed to high with my left hand and I pulled the lock lever on the mixing bowl with my right hand. Unfortunately, I had not seated the bowl into the locking groove at the bottom of the mixer stand.
My sweet potatoes went flying. The bowl flipped and wedged against its base at a 45-degree angle. The motor froze.
I panicked, of course. Fortunately hubby saw this as an opportunity to employ his engineering skills and ran to the garage for tools.
I discovered a newspaper clipping from another generation, tucked in a box in our attic. The clipping is yellow with age.
These sage words by writer and columnistÂ Frank Laubach were sealed between two layers of laminate plastic to signal their importance. Reading Laubach’s column is like seeing a rainbow – a gleaming light – at the end of the tunnel.
Life Begins at 80 by Frank Laubach
I have good news for you. The first 80 years are the hardest. The second 80 are a succession of birthday parties.
Once you reach 80, everyone wants to carry your baggage and help you up the steps. If you forget your name or anybody’s name, or an appointment, or your own telephone number, or promise to be three places at the same time, or can’t remember how many grandchildren you have, you need only explain you are 80.
Being 80 is a lot better than being 70. At 70, people are mad at you for everything.
At 80, you have a perfect excuse, no matter what you do. If you act foolishly, it’s your second childhood. Everybody is looking for symptoms of softening of the brain.
Being 70 is no fun at all. At that age, they expect you to retire to a house in Florida and complain about your arthritis and you ask everybody to stop mumbling because you can’t understand them. (Actually, your hearing is about 50 percent gone.)
If you survive until you are 80, everybody is surprised you are still alive. They treat you with respect just for having lived so long. Actually, they seem surprised you can walk and talk sensibly.
So please, folks, try to make it to 80. It’s the best time of life. People forgive you for anything. If you ask me, life begins at 80. â€”Frank Laubach
Chicago columnist LaubachÂ lived to be 85.Â With tongue in cheek he substantiates the premise that â€” at any age â€” our well-beingÂ is merely a state of mind.
A modern twist on old age by Dr. Brandt – “You know you are old if you are too old for early onset dementia!”
One-Hundred Years is Frosting on the Cake!
Hubby and I attended a senior’s luncheon in Branson at a community center. Lunch was proceeded with the standard announcements, Pledge of Allegiance, prayer, and a joke.
Joke of the DayÂ
Two duffers were playing golf when an 80-year-old woman streaked across the greens in her birthday suit.
Golfer 1: Did you see that woman?
Golfer 2: Yup!
Golfer 1: What was she wearing?
Golfer 2: Don’t know … but whatever it was, it needs ironing!
After lunch, Darrell and I played a round of golf. A few geese streaked across the greens in their birthday suits
There were goldfish in the pond. The sun was shining. Another lovely day in the Ozarks!
Laugh Out Loud
Trust you have friends who keep you young … friends to laugh-out-loud with, where you double over in laughter at least once a week. So … I was at a Chamber of Commerce meeting with a speaker from Google, speaking on Web options for small business enterprises.
As with all distinguished speakers, she punctuated her remarks with a joke. Q: What did the fish say when he ran into a wall? A: Dam.
SOURCE for 100-Years Cartoon: Cartoonist James Mulligan, New Yorker, Dec. 11, 1978; pg. 57