Chris is thinking of retirement

I’ll admit it. Sometimes my grip on sanity is comparable to holding a rolling pin with greased hands. Now this, which would be akin to more grease on a marble rolling pin. Here looms a fresh assault waiting in the wings.

I have always believed what the orthopedics have told me, that his skeletal age (all joking aside) is 20 years greater than his chronological age, due to the damage done when the polio virus invaded his system at 2 months of age. In the last few years, this is showing up more & more. The obvious damage was done to his left leg, up to his hip. The not so obvious damage is everywhere else. So I totally agree & understand his need to get out of a plumbing truck. It can be a physically grueling trade at times, meant only for the young & strong. He’s even admitted to the possibility that post-polio syndrome (which has been described as possible for him) exists & could be happening. Check it out on webmd.com. The only thing the overview is missing is his picture. 

Him not being in a truck would mean he’s home during the day, & I don’t know if my sanity could handle it. I can hear him now, at his most irritating. “Mumu! where are you?” (Where he came up with “mumu” I haven’t a clue.) If I don’t answer him, he only gets louder. As he gets prepared for his nap on the couch, he whines like a toddler, & wants me to sit with him. If I have something I need to do, it can wait. (He doesn’t know it, but just like when the kids were little, once he’s asleep, I’m up & doing what I need to.) If I’m working on data entry (which I hate) his offers to help are appreciated, but I won’t let him near my computer. He knows even less about Excel than I do. If I’m on the phone, he wants to know what’s going on. Granted, there are good things about this. If a call comes in that I can’t handle, in the technical areas, his being here would be handy.

He’s met up with a group called the Blue Knights, a BIG motorcycle group made up of past & present motorcycle cops from all over. (He found out over the weekend that his hopes of being a motorcycle cop are long gone. The oldest you can be to get in is 37, & he’s passed that a long time ago.) They like him. They called him before the traveling wall got into town, to have him ride with them. Even though he rides a Honda & the majority of them have Harley’s. (What does Chris’ brace & a Harley-Davidson motorcycle have in common? They both leak oil. Yes, he said that to a Harley riding cop at the Top Gun competition. The cop thought it was hysterical, because it true. They then sent him to the mechanic there to get a squirt of oil so he’d stop squeaking. Seriously.) So that would keep him busy. His pens would keep him busy.

Then he could work part-time, when the need arose. Like a problem fish system, or estimating. Joe still hasn’t gotten that down. He may not, as it’s something not everyone can do, even if they are a good plumber.

I guess I need to look at this as a sign of our passing of time together. I told Mother yesterday that we are trying to figure out a way to do something next year on our anniversary, & she said we should, that 25 is a special one. I told her it would be 30, & she popped out with “that’s a lie!” so I told her to do the math, from ‘79. Then she got it right. DUH!

Or, maybe this will have the same effect on my sanity that meeting him had on my patience level. With exercise, it got higher.

It could happen.

Maybe.