I buried the last of my grandparents today. She was 89 when she passed, so she lived about 30 years more than I figure to make it (Granny may have had 7 kids, but they weren't named Rakes or Trot so I figure that's at least worth 15 years per child). As I sat and listened to the preacher I kept thinking "I sure have been to quite a few of these over the past 10 years or so."
And as I thought about that, I automatically turned my thoughts to the fact that both my parents are in their 70's, Angie's Mom and Dad are mid-60ish, and while I'd like to pretend otherwise I'm coming up pretty freaking fast on 40. I have high blood pressure, I don't eat right OR exercise (unless you count flipping back and forth between baseball games and typing on a keyboard forms of good cardiovascular workouts) and I'm wound tighter than an alarm clock.
Contemplating your own mortality and all that is not exactly in my wheelhouse, so after giving my brain a workout watching "Hell's Kitchen" I tried to think about what to write about.
This has been pretty much it.
So I leave you with this.
A song that has made me tap my foot over the past few days.
Earnest Hemingway I'm not.
She’d Pick Me Every Time
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