I haven't had any real problems with arty so far, but a lot of regrets about too
many fights, using my hands to pound on things instead of using a rubber mallet,
I find myself doing quite a few "work around's" such as bigger handles on tools,
cam locks instead of thumb screws, etc...
Like Chuck Yeager said, as you get older, "don't give up, give in"...
Along with hands, eyes change a lot too... I have to really light the shop
now... probably would blind a 20 year old or force them to wear shades.. lol
Please remove splinters before emailing
My husband, now 63, too has what he calls old man hands. They have wrinkles
and scars. They hurt when the weather turns cold and his dexterity is not
what it once was. He made his living with those hands, welding, repairing
big iron and operating heavy equipment.
When he was working and would come home with his hands stained with grease
and smelling of diesel fuel he would at times feel self concious of them. To
me it meant he was working, and it was a good thing. If his nails were
clean, times were tough and money was tight. Such is the life of a
He looks at them from time to time and says they are ugly and old looking
but when I look at them and see part of his life story.
To me (his much younger wife) they are beautiful, because they tell
something about him.
Tonight was the first time that I noticed it.
I have wrinkles on my hands.
It never occurred to me that the wrinkles on my face , which did not
bother me, might have a replication on my hands.
My hands look, somehow, reptilian.
Now, I am a reasonably young man, at 56 - reasonably so, or so I tell
But - can these hands, which seem so unreasonably wrinkled, be capable
of what I want them to do?
I thought my hands to be younger than myself.
tjwatson1ATcomcastDOTnet (real email)
Fri, Jun 15, 2007, 8:57pm firstname.lastname@example.org (Tom Watson) doth lament:
Tonight was the first time that I noticed it.
I have wrinkles on my hands. <snip of the rest of this heart breaking
Eh, Tom, you're looking at this in the wrong perspective. I've got
10 years on you, and I've got stuff like this all figured out. It's the
water. Proven medical fact, if you stay in the tub for too long, your
stin will get all wrinkly. You're obviously taking way too many baths,
and for way to long. There's several solutions to all this. You could
move to Seattle. It rains so much there everyone gets all wrinkly, like
a prune. You want to pay a compliment to someone in Seattle, you say,
"You look like a prune". So you'd fit right in up there.
Alternately, you could simply stop bathing. After a couple of
weeks, people will totally ignore your wrinkles. Give that a try, if
you don't care to move to Seattle.
Or, you could just not get old. Apparently I've stumbled on doing
that. Arout 10-12 or so years back, I went back to the home state for
my dad's funeral. While there a group of us went to a local diner for
breakfast. Now I graduated in 1958, and haven't been back there in a
long, long, lonnnng, time, and never did anything particularly notable
in high school. So this was close to 40 years after I gradgeated. I'd
barely set down when a stranger my age comes over and calls me by my
name. I'd never seen this guy in my life. Turns out he was one of my
old school classmates, and he'd immediaely recognized me after all those
years. Hell, I could just barely recall him, even after he ld me who he
was. He'd just eaten breakfast and was on is way to his job. That guy
left, and the waitress came over and damn all if "she" didn't call me by
name too. I'd never seen here before eiher. Turns out SHE was a school
classmate of mine too. I did vaguely recall her, once she'd told me who
she was. I don't know, either I've changed a LOT less than I had
thought, or these people have absoluely no life at all, and spend way
more of their free time looking thru their high school yearbooks than is
Don't worry about the small stuff, anything under ten pounds, just
haul up by rope.
If a man does his best, what else is there?
- General George S. Patton
That's a great one. Thanks for sharing. <VBG>
My granny had a couple as well:
"It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, it's always nice to have a
and my absolute favourite (one I live by, personally and in business):
"I'm too poor to buy cheap stuff."
At 53, I have wrinkled skin and expect more wrinkles as I age. I
guess I might have fewer wrinkles if I were overweight. My skin dries
out Oct-Jan and I found that using petroleum jelly after showering
helps a lot (as recommended by a doctor years ago). Sun block lotion,
proper diet, and drinking plenty of liquid also helps. Unlike
arthritis, wrinkles are only cosmetic.
At 60, I guess I'm used to wrinkles.. lol
My favorite definition of middle age, though it hits really close to home, is
"getting out of a hot bath and being GLAD that the mirror is fogged up"...
Please remove splinters before emailing
I'm somewhat younger, at 44, and lately I've been noticing how old my
hands look. They've had a tough time over the years due in large part
to my various hobbies and avocations. Water skiing dries them out and
builds up serious callouses, not to mention the sun abuse of my
younger years. Countless auto repairs/ projects and home improvement
tasks throughout my life and now woodworking.
Bottom line, my mother visited last week. She's 73 and her hands look
younger than mine.
Your not getting older, you're just entering your Metal Period,
silver hair, gold teeth - and lead butt.
Though I have a birthday each year, I'm not concerned about the
specific number of years I've been on the planet at any given date.
As a result, I apparently celebrated two "turn 60" milestones, one
when I was actually 59 and then the actual one. I use the term
"celebrate" with "birthday" because the alternative is nothing to
celebrate- game over - and the game is so interesting to continue
I often point out to people I meet that are racing through life
that the "finish line" is DEAD so they might want to slack off the
pace a bit - and maybe savor the journey rather than rush to
I've got a T-shirt that says
It's not that life is so short
that your dead for so long.
When I'm not looking at my hands, they seem to work just fine. The
fingernails pick up minor differences in size, the palms push, the
fingers grip, the wrists bend. Some days they don't even hurt.
They won't lift what they once did ... the arms and back have aged, too.
Injuries have taken their toll. And sometimes I find it impossible to
get out of bed without help because my back won't cooperate. No
hyperbole ... those are very long and depressing days.
But I know how to do things now that I didn't when I was a kid. I know
how to forgive others ... and myself. (Usually) I know how to speak with
my wife as she goes through this tough time in her life. I know what to
do while I am waiting for something or someone. I know how to face fear
and how to be strong for others when what I really need is something to
lean on myself. I know how to deeply value both the simple things in
life (perfectly cooked beans, the sounds of my wife sleeping, a straight
and blemish-free edge on a board,the sounds of my granddaughter running
and hopping -at age 1!- in the living room), and the time to savor them.
I have had arthritis since I was a kid. It isn't getting any better.
Sometimes my fingers will lock in position for a moment. Most days my
hands hurt. The cartilage is pretty much shot and soon the bones will
begin to fuse in useless positions. So what? Others face far more
daunting barriers and still manage to extract the joy from life. I can
deal with arthritis. I'm just going to try to ensure that the
forefingers lock up in an extended position so that I can still type. I
can usually, with effort, stand upright. I can still hold a child and a
cup of coffee and type on this newsgroup. Some days I can do a
prodigious amount of work. Some days I can't. Some days, 55 years of
skill pours from my fingers and things 'just work'! Other days they will
barely grasp a fork. I've taken to using fatter pens. I make them and
they look great ... but that's not why they are easier to grasp.
My mental prowess is slipping away, too. Others don't see it yet, but I
can. I have a condition that requires me to make a choice between mental
adroitness and being socially acceptable / completing tasks. I have
consciously chosen mediocre achievement over brilliance without anything
to show for it. I take medications whose sole purpose in life is to slow
my thinking down. I've gone from a kid who once read a dictionary
because it was interesting reading to an old man who sometimes has to
abandon an idea for lack of a word.
Now THAT is poverty. And an incessantly humbling experience. But my wife
loves me and I love her and if I am not going to snap at her constantly,
this is the price I have to pay. Thinking considerably faster than other
people is hard on them.
I built my garden in 2' tall boxes with room for a wheelchair between
them. I am building a trellised patio this summer. I already have the
grape vines started. When the time comes for me to look out the window
and watch others, I want the view to be as pleasing as I can make it.
When it comes time for me to sit in the shade and reflect on life's
lessons, I want the shade to last all day and to be surrounded by
I've already checked ... my wlan reaches the patio. I want to sit and
listen to music off the internet while I try to pass on whatever I have
found to be true and worth doing.
Yeah, my hands are wrinkly but, as was once said in a different context
"Son, those ain't wrinkles ... they're service stripes."
Tom ... let me close with this quotation from the Bible.
(Ecclesiastes 9:4-10) 4 For as respects whoever is joined to all the
living there exists confidence, because a live dog is better off than a
dead lion. 5 For the living are conscious that they will die; but as for
the dead, they are conscious of nothing at all, neither do they anymore
have wages, because the remembrance of them has been forgotten. 6 Also,
their love and their hate and their jealousy have already perished, and
they have no portion anymore to time indefinite in anything that has to
be done under the sun. 7 Go, eat your food with rejoicing and drink your
wine with a good heart, because already the [true] God has found
pleasure in your works. 8 On every occasion let your garments prove to
be white, and let oil not be lacking upon your head. 9 See life with the
wife whom you love all the days of your vain life that He has given you
under the sun, all the days of your vanity, for that is your portion in
life and in your hard work with which you are working hard under the
sun. 10 All that your hand finds to do, do with your very power, for
there is no work nor devising nor knowledge nor wisdom in Sheβ²ol, the
place to which you are going.
Good post (both you and TW). Ten years older and getting there faster. But
... just got back from playing a gig with the headliner at a street fair in
Mid-America (Fulton, MO, a loooong way from Houston) and as long as these
hands can continue to pound on both the bass and wood, though Pistol's sword
may be somewhat sharper, the world's still an oyster.
Man did this thread get "heavy". I'm still waiting for
To Be - or Not To Be? What was the question?
One of the many odd things about life is that by the
time you've learned what works, what doesn't and how
to do what works - you may not physically be able to
apply what you've learned, or for that matter, remember
it long enough to apply it - more than once.
Thankfully, for most people, living beats the alternative.
Yes, it did. Some folks get too worried about growing old, others
grow old gracefully.
Last weekend I took a few surprise hi-res photos of a friend I bumped
into at a festival. I emailed the pics. She was horrified the
picture showed every wrinkle, age spot, and hair on her nose and asked
if I was trying to give her an inferiority complex.
> Last weekend I took a few surprise hi-res photos of a friend I bumped
> into at a festival. I emailed the pics. She was horrified the
> picture showed every wrinkle, age spot, and hair on her nose and asked
> if I was trying to give her an inferiority complex.
IMHO, that gal has a problem.
Heh. Not too long ago, I located the "yearbook" for my Parris Island
platoon. This was shortly after deciding which ugly picture to post on
my web site. I check out the few shots of me in the book: in one, I
wasn't recognizable, but I remember the sport jacket, because my Mom
dragged me down to Delancy St. to buy it. In the other, I was all
Adam's apple and ears with that Marine Corps cap sitting way up on my
well peeled head.
I then picked out the first "new" shot of the correct size and stuck
it on my web site.
Ugly then, ugly now. A different ugly, but still ugly, so to hell with
it. There are real things to worry about in this world.
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