Cranky Old Man

 So the theme around here lately seems to be how I've become much more of a cranky old man. Ya think? Last January after Wifey's medical event, I began a journey of 6 months of being her caretaker, case manager, insurance coordinator, and butler.

I thought we were past it, and then Covid came knocking -- this time, thankfully, it was a mercifully short time of bringing meals upstairs, finding probably unnecessary Regeneron appointments, and mediating mask wearing issues amongst our Pinecrest roommates. Last night was hopefully the last of it.

D2 went to dinner with some of the fellow wives of Jonathan's company, and Jonathan and I ordered in from a great new local Peruvian place, 1111 Peruvian Bistro. Wifey had enjoyed a salad from there last week, topped with salmon. This time I ordered her tuna. Alas, it came with Ahi tuna, which she doesn't like.

When I handed her the bowl, she gave it the kind of withering expression she learned from her mother -- the one that says "I'm not complaining, but you should know I am VERY disappointed." She went outside to eat yogurt.

Now, I could have just let it go, but I know she's recovering from the plague, and ought to have a wholesome meal, so I whipped up some of my famous Daddy eggs (the secret is simply whipping them before the pan), toasted her some whole wheat bread, and brought her a custom egg sandwich -- even cut diagonally, which somehow makes sandwiches seem fancier.

So am I cranky? You're durn tootin!

The truth is, as I begin my 61st year, I came to an obvious conclusion. Throughout life, I have always had a tremendous grasp of the obvious -- which sounds demeaning to intellectuals, but puts me ahead of the mass of people who always fail to see the obvious. The conclusion is my time is far more precious than it was decades ago -- a price above rubies, as our Holy Books say.

And for this reason, when given the chance to go somewhere, or meet someone, or do something, I take the metaphorical step back, and ask myself if the opportunity is worth it. I love where I live. Each time I step onto the streets for a walk, surrounded by the lush tropical foliage, I can't believe how lovely it is. Should I leave this for dull conversation, or a crowd of people at a sports event where my team likely loses?

And I guess that comes off as cranky. And that's ok.

I feel obligated to fewer and fewer people as I age. Recently there was an issue about a friend's stepson's wedding -- I assumed Wifey and I would have to attend, since the friend was paying for some of the party -- even though the young man is marrying a way rich girl. I guess her parents realized that you STAY very rich by being cheap ass with your kids. Anyway, fear of my crankiness had the friend reluctant to invite me -- lest I go, have a crappy time, and talk about it for months.

At first, my reaction was no -- we SHOULD go -- I can be a mature boy and keep my annoyances to myself. But then, I took the step back, realized I truly do NOT wish to go to the wedding of a young man I barely know (in Philly no less) and said simply "Probably for the best -- barely know the young man -- he doesn't need me there."

Cranky? Yes. Preventing resentment? Yes, that as well. And, if the plague subsides by Fall, maybe I'll be ready to go to some alternative leaf peeping place -- maybe taking the Full Squad along -- like a memorable trip we took to Mohonk Mountain House in Upstate NY a few years ago.

Then again, I guess I was less cranky then. We'll have to see if the Squad wants to come along now.