Old-Fartitis

old fart

There’s a serious malady out there affecting our older citizens.

It’s actually been around for years and years with little or no recognition by the medical community.  Sadly, my father had it and now my brother has it.

The CDC evidently hasn’t seen fit to do any research or alert the general population to its existence and the dangers of contracting it.  This is puzzling and alarming.

AGMA is shocked that, until now, it has even gone unnamed.

“Old-Fartitis” is a serious condition has always existed, but is now reaching epidemic levels since November 8, 2016.  And it’s spread rampantly among some family members and many peers.

Oh, the humanity…

Old-Fartitis can be recognized by two unmistakable symptoms:

  1. The longing for the past. (Defined as “the good old days” to many, these days gone by were only truly good for a small segment of the population based on skin color, national heritage, gender identity and religious affiliation.)
  2. Resisting any change that is a perceived threat to one’s narrow view of how the world should “work”.

Old-Fartitis is a state of mind that will eventually, if untreated, destroy the soul.  It’s mental, emotional and spiritual imprisonment influenced by the 4 F’s of Old-Fartitis:

  • Faulty memory
  • Fading influence
  • Fake news
  • Fear.

AGMA is really just scratching the surface of the nature of Old-Fartitis.  Much more research is needed into this serious condition with emphasis on a cure.

Having my BS (yes, I said BS), I am familiar with scientific principals, and would suggest the following as mitigation steps until a cure can be found for Old-Fartitis:

  • Travel. As far as one is able to go and meet as many different people as one can.
  • Volunteer in some capacity with disenfranchised individuals (homeless veterans, immigrants, the disabled, at risk youth, abused women, etc.)
  • Reference multiple sources (NOT just one and you know the one I mean…) in print, digitally and on TV for local, national and world news.
  • Read books/poetry by diverse authors with diverse viewpoints.
  • Walk in nature.  Like, a lot. I mean, a lot.
  • Visit an art museum.
  • Listen to a musical artist who is younger than Keith Richards.
  • Nurture friendships with people who are younger and/or of a different race, religion, nationality or sexual orientation.
  • Develop a spiritual practice.
  • Extra credit item: get a tattoo (ya’ll know I had to throw that in!)

This is just a preliminary list I’m still fine tuning for submission to the CDC.

IMPORTANT!!!  Do not confuse being an old fart with Old-Fartitis.  While the two can coexist in one individual, they are separate conditions.

While an individual with Old-Fartitis will be always be an old fart, AGMA is here to declare that one can be an old fart without succumbing to Old-Fartitis.

Your relief is palpable.

An old fart is defined purely by the objective measurement of number of times a person has sucessfully circled the sun.  However, the specific number that defines an old fart is subjective to individual interpretation.  Some say you are an old fart at 60, some say 65, some say 70.

By my own definition, AGMA is an old fart.  I’m on my 66th journey around the sun.  My body is showing some of the wear, both internally and externally, that is bound to happen to a piece of finely engineered machinery after extensive use.  And massive quantities of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies over the years.

But I still look fabulous!

Until a vaccine is discovered for Old-Fartitis, I hope and pray that none of you become afflicted with this serious condition.

However, between AGMA and your tattoo artist, I think you’ll be just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What happened Nana?

V

Ah…out of the mouths of babes…

We were up visiting the MAGITW (most adorable grandchildren in the world) a couple of weekends ago.

These are always bracing visits.

AGMA always thinks I’m doing pretty well physically until we visit the MAGITW.  They have a way of breaking you down and making you feel your age.  I realized my self-deception on this visit within the first 24 hours.

It all started with the bounce house.

My 2 1/2 year old granddaughter, V, has been a pacifier addict since she was a tiny babe.  Her “paci” was a source of comfort, stress relief and just plain ole good times.  80% of the pictures I have of her up until now has been with a paci in her mouth.

Like she did with B, V’s older brother, when he was small, the Paci Fairy made a visit to their house.  In case you didn’t know, the Paci Fairy – a distant relative of the Tooth Fairy – takes away all of the pacifiers in a house, but in their place, she leaves a gift.

On this visit, she cleared out all of V’s pacis and left a bounce house.

A full sized, air inflated, skull cracking bounce house.

Sweet!

So of course Nana AGMA had to give the bounce house a try.

Of course.

I cranked up the inflation thing-a-ma-jig.  The bounce house filled up with air, and B, V and I piled in.

Up to this point, I was still under the delusion that I was in pretty good shape.  Then the bouncing commenced…

It was fun for the first 2 minutes.

Round ’bout minute 3, AGMA started wondering, “What the hell was I thinking????”

B, my grandson, is a large 4 year old who’s a bit hyperactive.  He was literally flinging himself against the sides of the bounce house with all his might.  So much so that I was afraid he was going to collapse one side and all three of us were going to tumble out.

Evidently the frenetic bouncing got to V too, who is still getting the hang of using a potty.

She slid down the little exit slide and announced, “I have to go pee pee.”

Panicked, AGMA tried to get out of the bounce house to assist her, but in my haste, I fell down several times.  B thought I was intentionally flinging myself around so he decided to body slam me a few times.  The last time, as I was sliding down the exit slide lying sideways.  He slammed his full weight down right on top of my left shoulder which jammed my right shoulder into the hard floor.

I remember thinking, “Oh – this is not good…”

Fun times.

And as it turns out, it was all for naught.  V peed in her pants anyway.

Oh well.

AGMA feels like I was in an episode of I Love Lucy.

So, in addition to screwing up my right shoulder, all the bouncing and falling and flinging aggravated AGMA’s lumbar discs that have been squished due to my scoliosis, causing lumbar nerve compression causing my right leg and hip to ache for the next 5 days – 24/7.  Fun times…

“Mr. Feder, you seem like a really delightful guy!” to quote Roseanne Roseannadanna.

The bounce house was NOT inflated again during our visit.

Screw you Paci Fairy!

My granddaughter, V, is actually an incredibly sweet and kind child when she’s not acting like a 2 year old.  She likes to take my glasses off and wear them.  Then she orders me to “Ki Nana!”  And I have to play-act cry that she has my glasses until she gives them back.

It’s the dance we do.

At one point during this visit, before I put my glasses back on after being ordered to “Ki!”, she got up really, really close to my face and looked deeply into my eyes.

At that moment, I was looking into the eyes of pure innocence.  And kindness and goodness and gentleness.  Looking into her young, full of love, beautiful blue-gray eyes that have so far seen nothing of the harshness of the world, I was transfixed.

Then she winkled up her nose and whispered…

“What happened Nana?”

And pointed to the bags under my eyes and the age spots around them.

“Oh sweetie,” I replied,  “Nana just got old.”

AGMA felt like Wendy Darling when Peter Pan comes to visit and and finds a gray haired Wendy with her grandchildren.

Nana just got old.

It happens.  If you’re lucky…

But don’t take it all too terribly seriously.

Betcha AGMA’s back in the bounce house in June.

Aging gracefully my ass!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inked!

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Yeah AGMA did!

I really love this picture.  My fabulous ink artist (Joey) took it right after she finished my tattoo.

The agony and the ecstasy.

I know it looks massive but it’s not really all that large.  I cropped it so you can’t see the flab on my back.  Or all the brown spots.  AGMA had no idea I had so many brown spots on my back.

What’s that all about?

My tat’s on my upper right scapula (that’s shoulder blade to the non-anatomy geek) and the blue larkspur is flowing over my shoulder.  Kinda girly.

I’m so grateful to Joey for pulling together all my crazy, random AGMA thoughts and Pinterest tattoo pictures into a design that I absolutely love.   But I do realize that it’s not everybody’s cup of tea…

I wanted a running theme because I believe that taking up running when I was 59 totally changed my life.  For the better.  For the way better.

But I also wanted to incorporate my family in the design.  They are, after all, the most important thing on earth to me.

AGMA’s getting mushy.

So the flowers coming out of the soul (get it?) of my shoe are my family’s birth month flowers.  I knew you would be wondering…

Holly for December, snowdrops for January, lily and larkspur for July.  And violets for my  sweet, little baby granddaughter…who happens to be named Violet.

AGMA thinks there’s room for more flowers if my son and DIL decide to have a third and he/she’s not born in December, January or July.  That would be fun.

But I think I’m going to go back to Joey to get something else added.  In a couple of months. As soon as I recover from this first round.  It was kinda ouchy.

Beneath the stem, I’d like to add “2 Timothy 4:7”

If you look it up in the New Testament (NIV) 2 Timothy 4:7 says, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

AGMA likes that.

Thanks for going on this fantastic journey with me!

Aging gracefully my ass.

 

 

 

 

Ink me!

vintage_stock___tattooed_lady_by_hello_tuesday-d4x63r3

I’m still on my trip to South Africa. I have no idea how it’s going since I’m actually writing this before I leave. But I’m sure I’m having a mahvelous time… Wish you were here!

So Shelly at Destination Now has thrown down a challenge for AGMA. Sort of.

She made this comment to my Of Tramp Tats and Haircut post:  “So, I was reading this on my phone, waiting for my zumba class to begin. I got to this sentence and before I could scroll further, I paused. Slightly in shock, because I thought “my tattoo covered, septal cartilage” was referring to YOU. Well, you did use the pronoun “MY”. If those HAD been your adjectives, I would definitely been convinced that you were taking AGMA very seriously!”

What? Me not taking AGMA seriously?

And I realized that she was right. I’ve been getting fat and happy and lazy. And probably a little stupid. Sure, I ran two marathons in 2015, but what have I done lately to not age gracefully? A few snarky blog posts and that’s about it. Have I pierced anything but my ears? No. Have I dyed my hair purple? No. Have I been arrested for any acts of civil disobedience?  No, no and no.

Shameful.

I need to start living up to the essence of AGMA.

Since I got the edgy cut, maybe now it’s time I got the ink. I’ve actually been thinking of getting a tattoo since I was in my late forties. I though I’d get one when I turned fifty.

Nope.

Then I swore, “For my 60th!” That was two years ago. Nada.

As to the elusive what, early in the fantasy tattoo world of my mind,  I fancied getting a little flower on my ankle.  Seriously?  ZZzzzzz…

When I was in my fifties, and still all hot and bothered in my love affair with Ireland, I felt partial some sort of Celtic knot. *sigh*  So overdone. So yesterday.

Being the bat*hit crazy cycling fanatic that I am, of late I’ve toyed with the idea of the Tour de France logo. But that might be a bit cheeky since I can’t actually ride a bike.

What to do? What to do?

Then I had a brilliant idea. I’ll let one of you decide. Yup. One of you will be responsible for probably one of the biggest mistakes I’ll ever make.

Excited?  I know I am.

What kind of ink should I get and where? Just remember, gravity is taking it’s toll on certain parts of my body. Actually, quite a few parts. And, I’m a wimp when it comes to pain.

I know some of your are pretty sick puppies. I can’t wait!

I’m ready.  Hit me with your best shot!