On to That Final 20%.

I see we are not calling them Senior Centers anymore. Some are retitled "Center for Balanced Living."I don't know what that means? What is it? A retirement community for Wallendas? Some state is renaming every one "Active Adult Center". That sounds too much like a gym to me. If I walk in the door will somebody yell, "Give me ten!"What if I don't feel like being all that active?

Why can't we ever call anything what it is? I guess people can't face the truth. I'd be happy with Senescent Center, where the Geezers and Biddies play to they drop...dead.

Frankly I'm fine with being a senior citizen. By gum (old geezer slang word), I earned it. I will not be robbed of my right to be old. And don't give me that mishmash of 70 is the new 60 or 50 or perhaps they're calling it the new 20 by now. Seventy might be on the cusp, but 72 old, man.

They have this thing called life expectancy and it says for us dudes it is 76-77 years. That puts me four or five years away, so if I ain't old now I never will be. This life expectancy thing is a bit suspect to me. Some agency puts out list by countries and the United States ranks 51 on those lists. I think its just political. Got to watch anything put out there may be some manipulation for political reasons. Like they are back on this Global Warming kick again at the United nations, even though there hasn't been any increased warming for 17 years. they dismiss this as a "pause". If it's been seventeen years, i call it a trend.

But never mind, we're talking about life expectancy and those world types say 76-77 for us fellows. Yet, if I go to the Social Security Agency I am told I can expect to live another 13 years, which would make me 85. Furthermore, the CDC (Center for Disease Control) says I got 19 more years to go, which gets me to 91.

No matter how you cut it or who you believe, 72 makes me an old man, maybe on the young side of old age, but old nonetheless.  One way I figure is this. That 91 sounds like a reasonable number to me. Most my family lived up close to that. My mother died at 92 and my father at 94, so I got pretty good genes in the aging game. So if we round off at 90 and divide by 5 we get a pretty good breakdown of a life's divisions: childhood, young adult, career years, middle age into retirement and old age.

I worked until I was 70 and then full retirement kind of happened. That was a couple years ago so I'm now in stage 5, - old age.  I have arrived in my 73rd year and essentially the last 20% of my life.

(By the way, remember, when you celebrate your 72nd birthday it means you have finished up 72 years. The day after you birthday you are working through your 73rd years.)

This is not a complaint about being old. If there is any complaint it is about those who deny it, won't accept it, lie about it, flee from it or fear it. Get over it. Everybody gets old unless they die young, so celebrate and embrace it, you have survived.

I will tell you I don't feel much different in my brain. My mind's image of myself is basically the same as ever, so I guess your subconscious does lie. In my head I look like I'm maybe 25. I don't see an old man when I look on the mirror either, so mirrors must practice deception, too. I see a man with a white beard and bald pate, but he doesn't look grizzled and worn to me. Ah, but when I see photographs of me, then I wonder who is that old man and why do I have a picture of him?

It's my body that really let's me know I'm old. It sneaks up on you and you don't always realize what

the body is saying, but gradually you get the message. For example, I'm a walker. I have walked places all my life, often for just the pleasure of the walk. My friend, Ronald Tipton, and I used to walk up and about the hills around Downingtown as children and that exploring by foot has remained a lifelong habit for both of us. When I worked, I would walk away my lunch hours and take a long walk in the evening after I got home. And these days I go every morning to one of our local parks and traipse away four or five miles of varied terrain, up hill and down.

But then I was passing everyone who appeared before me and if walking with companions would need slow or stop occasionally to allow them to keep up. Now I notice everyone is passing me. I feel I am stepping out at a good pace, my same old pace, but apparently not. I also know I am walking the same distance in more time.

Ignoring some recent health issues, such as my half-paralyzed right hand, the two main fingers stiffened

by arthritis, there is another obvious indicator that I have moved into old age. Strength. I was never an Arnold Scwartznegger, but I had some amount of strength. I us to lift weights to keep toned and I could press 120 pounds straight over my head and I did arm curls with 35 pound dumbbells. Now I struggle to carry a forty pound bag of kitty litter into the house.

Don't take this little missive as morbid. It isn't focusing on death. Death isn't just around the corner. Remember, the CDC says I have 19 more years...at least. No, I am just being realistic and admitting that in many ways I am pass it. I'm content with that. I'm happy with that. Much of the fuss and feathers of life are over. I look forward to a simpler, perhaps more placid remaining 20% of it.

Also my big hope is I will return to regular entries in what have been becoming my long neglected blogs.

Hot and Hazy: Man Boobs and other Rambles, The Series Continues

At this time in my life I do not appear in public shirtless, for basically the same reason that Arnold (pictured left) should consider the same policy. There was a time I hated to remove my top for another reason, but we'll get to that next post.

Even so, it has been a blast furnace out there for several days, and since the "out there" I have been in the most is backwoods, I made a couple concessions to the hot and broke my rule. Doing so was not without reluctance, but a week ago I was on a trail where over the many moments I have walked it, I have almost never met another hiker and it had been months since that last "almost never" occurred. It seemed safe to throw caution, and my shirt, to the wind and I must say the shade of the forest did feel good on my bare skin.

I was indeed enjoying this freedom when what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a lady and two tiny reind...I mean, two dogs, neither really tiny, coming up the path toward me.

Oh well, nothing to do but step aside, blush, and let the lady and her pooches pass. We spoke briefly as polite people do and went our separate ways.

And yesterday I was on the same trail and made the same reluctant decision, and wouldn't you know, here comes the same woman and the same dogs and we exchanges the same pleasantries and went our same separate ways. And still I met the same woman once again before I had finished the trail. This lady has now seen my bare chest more times in recent years than anyone except my wife. My doctor hasn't even seen my bare chest three times in the last two years.

Okay, why are we talking about bare chests today anyway. It is because in a recent Post on his Blog, "Retired in Delaware", my life-long friend Ron complained he was getting "man boobs" (sometimes called "moobs"). On the right is the photo he posted as proof of his getting this condition plus a paunch. But before we deal with how if he thinks this he has a very vivid imagination, we probably should take a look at the word "boob" and gain some insight into it and this thing called "man boobs".

The word was once considered somewhat vulgar, but it has grown to such common overuse you barely go a day without hearing or seeing it, especially on the boob tube. For some of a newer generation who may think boob tube is some sort of pornographic peep show on the Internet, the term came into being about fifty years ago to describe television. Therefore, we see the word was in the common vocabulary decades ago. It is a stupid sounding word — boob — and that was its meaning during the years of my youth. If you did something stupid, you were a "boob". Crazy people were put in a "booby hatch", because they had to be restrained from doing stupid things. These terms had a different origin and had nothing to do with chests.

Boob, meaning fool, is a corruption of the Spanish for stupid, "bobo". It actually traces to the Latin word "balbus". Balbus didn't mean stupid, it meant stammering, but since the Romans thought anyone who stammered was stupid, it is virtually the same thing. Anybody ever read I, Claudius or see the PBS series based on it? Claudius had a bad stammer so everyone thought he was a moron until he became emperor.

Boob, meaning breast, has a different etymology, not Spanish nor Latin. Actually, there are some varied opinions. Some think it came from the buboes, the swelling of lymph glads, during the bubonic plague. Others place the blame on a 1762 novel by Henry Fielding, where a woman named Lady Booby tried to seduce the hero by exposing her breasts.  Since the word boob or booby didn't really come into popular usage until the mid-1900s I rather discount this theory. Somehow I don't think a lot of people were reading,  Fielding s' The History of Joseph Andrews in the 1930s and '40s.

The word "bubby" came about in the 1930s and over the next couple decades turned into "booby" and "boob". "Bubby" came from the German word "Bubbi", and remember Germany was a country much watched in the 'thirties. "Bubbi" means "teat" and "teat" means basically a nipple or the part of a mammal where it's young can drink milk. Teat was a fairly common term in farm country when I was a boy.

Fine, students, history lesson is over, let's get to the heart of his matter of "man boobs".

This term probably became popular in our lexicon after a particular Seinfeld episode concerning a problem of George's father and the invention of the Manssiere or Bro. It is a condition many of we males experience with age as years of gravity, decline of exercise and possible overeating have their way with our bodies. (Remember when Arnold had six-pack abs instead of looking like there were too many six-packs inside the abs.) Yes, sad but true, for many of us our once defined hard pecs become round and soft and resemble women's breasts. It generally does go as a set with a growing paunch. Look at my friend's photo again and you'll see he has pretty much failed the test of true man boobs and paunch. But he is young yet, only 69, he still has time to grow that belly and droop that chest.

In truth, this condition my friend is concerned about isn't really man boobs. It is just some flab and weakening muscle tone. There is a medical condition of man boobs called "Gynecomastia" caused by possible hormonal imbalances or other health issues and sometimes by medications. Men suffering from Gynecomastia can develop quite impressive breasts.

If Ron is concerned, he need only compare himself to Arnold. He has a long way to go to boast of a paunch of such worthwhile note.

Oh, and what of myself? I've already confessed I never take my shirt off in public. I don't even walk about my house shirtless. So this is very difficult for me, but here I be shirtless on that trail yesterday. Ron can take more comfort now. I am three inches shorter than he and probably weight thirty pounds more right now.

I've always felt I had a body build by a government committee. More about that next time.


TO BE CONTINUED -- NEXT: I Sing the Body Elastic.