THERE it was.

Once alive, vibrant, full of potential. Now very wilted. Dead.

I don’t feel like a murderer but the carcass doesn’t lie.

OMG! I didn’t mean to do it!

My celery is dead. It’s cold, limp, lifeless carcass crys out: Murderer! Murderer!

The cold compartment of my refrigerator vegetable bin, is like the cold compartment of a morgue.

I almost don’t recognize it.

I lifted one of its limbs. It bent. More like sagged, like any lifeless body void of active molecules would sag. I feel guilt. I didn’t mean to do it.

I recollect now. I had given way to fast food. Jack in the Box. Burger King. McDonalds. I forgot about my fresh stalk of celery which i purchased two weeks ago with great intentions. Was it that long ago? Maybe it was longer?

Oh my. Maybe I am guilty? Maybe I am a murderer of celery?

Time waits for no one.

I had an inspiring intention to juice a fresh stalk of celery into a magnificent, life enhancing natural juice of vibrancy, to feed my body with life giving vitamins, minerals, enzymes, molecules.

No matter my intentions. I neglected to follow through. Plain and simple, I screwed up.

The wilted, cold, limp carcass of the celery although still “green” in color, will need to be removed from my refrigerator’s vegetable bin. I neglected it. I murdered it. It’s gone.

This is really symbolic to human aging. Particularly, male aging.

I just read an article that as men reach to the ages of 60 through age 70, they become increasingly grumpy, angry, limp. During the age of their 50’s when most men reach a stage of life satisfaction, this state of reality starts a rapid decline as the reality of physical aging, sexual aging, and mental aging begin to manifest itself in aged facial lines, stiff muscles, body and joint aches, dissatifaction and “last ditch attempts” to regain their source of male prowness.

Eventually, after their last ditch attempts to be the quarterback of their living room sofa, the wise old coach on a field of youngsters, the last beer blast to compete with the younger guys, the derived faux satisfaction overtime just leads to confusion, dissatisfaction, perhaps quiet depression, perhaps even old men suicide.

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Tonight, out of curiousity, I googled images of what 50 year old men look like. Then 67 year old men. Then 70 year old men, the age of the article when men experience, “Stay off my Lawn! Not in my yard!” syndrome.

This is supposedly, the window of age when everything seems to irritate and bring out hostilities in some old men. Often, for no reason at all.

The old man is returning home in his car when he notices a young couple walking carefree and happily together with their pet dog on the sidewalk across from the old man’s home. As the old man passes the couple, looks at them and yells out of his car window.

“HEY! Stay off my lawn!’ screams the old man at the couple.

The young couple stunned and shaken, quickly leave. Sadly, their peaceful outing ruined.

The photographs of the old men in their 50’s, 60’s and 70’s. Firstly, my perception has changed. I didn’t think I’d see much “aging” in this window of aged men. But I did. The images don’t lie.

These guys do not look youthful. They’re aged. And so as the article I have mentioned, so do their moods: They get more grumpy. More angry. More frustrated. More dissatified. and sadly, many of these men are clueless about what’s going on. So they just lash out.

A natural phenomenon? Yes. It seems to be.

And I don’t know if this is classic or not, but the old guy will begin to withdraw, retreat, want to be left alone more.

In quiet.

You might see him on a bench alone gazing at nothing except his memories within the matrix of his mind. You might see him slouched over a dinner plate in the corner of a restaurant. One moment, he’s there. The next moment he’s gone. Almost as if, you ask yourself, was he ever there?

In fact, you may not see him at all. The lonely table, leaves no remnants of social interaction.

So the images of these ordinary older men, from at 50 through age 70, suddenly struck me. I’m looking at myself! Even though, deep inside I don’t feel “old”, I honestly don’t feel “young” say as I did 18-months ago.

Something is happening to me.

I feel as though I am reaching to the outer rings of the galaxy or maybe, the outer realms of the Universe, and it spooks me because I have no idea what that place looks like.

Any semblance of knowledge within my mind of recollection feels as though it is the last printed edition of the last hard copy encyclopdia. But who makes hard copy encyclopdias anymore?

I am a realist, I understand obsolescence.

I am making these statements to myself, which define where I am now. What I am feeling this very moment. And you know what? These statements are really questions about aging which I don’t know much about as I approach the fringes of this new world.

In short, in reality, it’s old age is new to me. Knowledge of my prime of life, doesn’t apply to this new age of becoming old.

I have a feeling, as i become old, I will need to learn how to crawl again, before I can walk, before I can run.

My life is changed. No doubt by the gentle fact, that I am getting older and by virtue of this, things in and around my life isn’t the same as when I was in my prime. But I think, it’s very important to reflect upon these realities.

As I age. I become somewhat by default. Alone.

As I age. I become somewhat by choice. Isolated.

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I gaze alone.

All Rights Reserved. Lonely Table. Gertrude Abercrombie.

I eat alone.

I sleep alone.

By alone does not mean, lonely. While yes, sometimes feeling of loneliness permeates, it is not something at all regular.

And that’s the point. Time waits for no one. Things change over time. We’re a bunch of celery.

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