At what point do you accept your age, or do you? Sometimes I feel like I’m a kid (relative to 66, that could mean 30) hiding in an older guys body, and shocked by the weathered face looking back from the mirror. And like a kid burying his face in his hands when scared, the outside world can only see what I say, not the vessel projecting it. Similar to the TV show The Voice, your perception of me is based solely on how I sound, not at all what I look like. I do not know what a particular age should look like. When you are young and misbehaving or acting in an irresponsible manner, you are told to “act your age.” When you are older and acting in a foolish or more childish manner you are also told to “act your age.” So which is it? I think people that choose to color their hair, dress a certain way or even have plastic surgery, do it so the outside world perceives them from the outside the way they feel on the inside. As they say, “Age is only a number, so act as you feel.” I will try.

My current struggle is a combination of wanting to grow into a new position along with the vanity that comes with any potential success it brings and the other, realizing you have to generate an income and other viable options can be limited. The horse that was the career you just retired from has little room for old men and anyway, the energy and stamina required to be a high-producer in that field is well past now. Starting over, personally or professionally, can be difficult at any age but at 66, my safety net is getting smaller and my options fewer. This feeling is exacerbated by the increasing aches and pains that are beginning to consume my body. Since the beginning of the year we have tried, unsuccessfully I might add, three different mattresses and combinations hoping to eliminate, or at least minimize the stiff and sore back we keep receiving as our gift for getting up every morning. I hoped exercise would be the cure, but even daily yoga and vigorous walks don’t fend off the pesky knots. Some people dream of new cars—we dream of comfortable beds! I don’t want to believe these are part of the same package that bring age spots and deeper wrinkles, but who knows? I will keep trying alternatives because I can’t throw in that towel just yet.

During any and all of my writing is music in the background. Earlier today, I played a variety of jazz on vinyl, mostly recent estate sale acquisitions. As mentioned in my last post, estate sales can be rewarding if you are patient–and early. The music mostly falls between the 50’s and mid-late 80’s when the music suddenly pivots to CD’s. Each household is different, but you generally find a large selection of Christmas and easy listening everywhere. Rock and pop shows up as does classical, but the real treasure (for me at least) is jazz. In the beginning of my collecting jazz on vinyl, I was narrow minded in my choices and too judgmental of variety. Time and research has greatly increased and improved my collection. I can now better appreciate someones taste when I find 4 or 5 Errol Garner or Herbie Mann LP’s and not just Miles Davis. I have also gained new respect for the durability of the medium. I always handle my albums with care and would cringe whenever I saw what appeared to be a filthy and scratched record with a cover torn and tattered. I was certain they would not play well, if at all. Not only will they last longer than just about any other type of music playback, with a proper cleaning, they will sound amazing. The best part is the price. For $2 why not take a chance? Clean it, catalog it and listen. Even if its not your “cup of tea”, now you know what to steer clear of in the future, but if you enjoy it, watch for it and broaden your collection. I have purchased albums for $1 that are valued at $40-$100, but the best part is rescuing these treasures. Earlier, I mentioned always have music playing in whatever space I occupy. One advantage to jazz is because most of it is new or unfamiliar to me, it does not distract, only enhance. At the beginning of this writing, I put on a newly found, and personally cleaned copy of Deja Vu and was immediately carried back to 1970 and I was 15… The writing commenced about 45 minutes later.