Tuesday, February 25, 2014
WE ARE THE WRINKLIES
Little children call people like me ‘the Wrinklies.’ My arm hurts this morning after throwing a few snowballs with grandchildren. My wife speculates about attending the 2022 Olympics in Oslo, Norway, our daughter in law’s home country and factors in that we will require travel companions because we will be close to 80 years of age. Already my ears ring as though I am standing in the centre of an electrical generator and my eyes contend with a universe of floating bodies that impair my sight. I wake predictably at 4:00 am, eager to write, to paint, to read and even after two cups of bold coffee, I am ready for a nap by 9 am. I am my father, married to my mother in law, because my wife is her mother.