I never knew how many body parts I have until I turned 72.
I never knew how many body parts I have until I turned 72.
I still haven’t unfurled my first-ever yoga mat, contrary to the surely good advice of so many friends, but with a strained hamstring and plantar fasciitis in the same appendage I did this morning use my stand-up desk for coffee and bird-watching and slathered raspberry jam only on the leftover crusts of my fried Spam …
I turned 71 last month and decided it was time to grow up. My Dream Ranch blog suddenly seemed immature. Weighted down by COVID-19, wildfire smoke and political gloom — and some wild criticism to boot — I stopped blogging on June 30. I’ve been searching for other ways to channel my morning words and …
This ship of state — this self-obsessed, rusting hulk of retired newspaperman — steadied the moment I felt the stillness of the coming autumn air. No pain this morning, only a sense of the gentle season ahead. I put out fresh water for scrub jays, finches, titmouses and Texas antelope squirrels, grateful that the rattlesnakes …
Relevant numbers as of this date. I am fortunate, even if literary stats lag. JR– 69 Cowboy — 2.5 Cancer — 0 ’97 Dodge pickup — 141,806 ’05 Honda Element — 141,836 Novels written since retirement — 0 Blood pressure (Trump-free) — 136/82 BMI — NA
Sure, the aches and pains mount as I near 69, but the more immediate perils might simply be dumb moves at home. Today, I subjected Cowboy to near-heatstroke by walking on our exposed mesa top way too late in the afternoon; lost my cellphone, loaded against better advice with personal information; and, in the pre-dawn …
dreamranch 