Image Up Advertising & Design

6 FOUR SEASONS BREEZE | JANUARY 2017 By Crotchet E. Oldman The New Year has dawned, and I find myself wishing it had taken a bit more time getting here. I'm already 10 years older than Mount Baldy and here comes another one. Will it never stop? Let me rephrase that: Will it never slow down? -- Stopping sounds a little too terminal. Some observations about getting into the Golden Years: When I was coming of age, smoking was a rite of passage -- one of the things you did as you grew up. You smoked your first cigarette, kissed your first girl, drank your first beer and got a driver's license. I found life as an older person had a lot of appeal. There were those out there who said I shouldn't smoke – but they were the same blue noses who said I shouldn't kiss girls and drink beer, or even play cards, dance or go to the movies. It seemed to me they were dead wrong about those five, so how could they be right about smoking? As it turned out, they were dead right. It didn't occur to me until I first tried to quit that smoking was an addiction. I tried to quit dozens of times, but I'd get an overpowering urge to smoke so I'd decide to have "just one" cigarette to get past the rough spot. Pretty soon I was back to a pack a day. For years – despite a chronic post-nasal drip and cough – I kidded myself that I was too young for any lasting effect from smoking. I persisted through the Surgeon General's Report of 1964 linking smoking to cancer and heart disease, the birth of my four sons for whom I hoped to set a good example, and a series of colds every winter. Then, I turned 50, and the too-young argument became pretty shaky – the death rate among smokers of my parents' age was showing the Surgeon General was onto something. I quit cold-turkey – making sure I didn't even have "just one." It was among the most difficult periods of my life. I snapped at everyone in sight. It was a good two weeks before I could think of anything besides wanting a cigarette, a month or two before I could enjoy that first cup of coffee of the day without a cigarette and a year before the occasional strong desire passed. That was over 30 years ago, and I still have rare moments when I'd like a cigarette. But I'm glad I made the effort. My years would not have become so Golden. I know no one my age who continued smoking and is still alive. I'm shrinking, it seems. In October our four sons were here for my wife's birthday. We took a picture of me seated with them on the living room couch – a duplicate photo of one taken more than 40 years ago. In the first picture I outweigh all four of the boys combined, and tower over them. In the second, I'm the shriveled geezer in the middle of four robust men – I no longer outweigh all four (maybe two, but not four) and they tower over me. We fed those kids a wholesome diet during their formative years. I, of course, ate the same food, but my weight has increased and moved around over the years – converging in the powerful sitting and lying down muscles of my belly. And I'm a good two or three Of Cost, Kids, Coins and Change ALL GROWN UP - THE WAGES OF THE GOLDEN YEARS continued on page 7

• Cover