I had a dream I was eating a foot long hotdog wrapped in three quarters of a pound deep fried ground beef patty in a foot long bun with puddles of chili and nacho cheese sprinkled with bacon bits. When I woke up, Peggy was standing there with a can of Ensure. If dreams came true, my cholesterol would be as high as the cost of a new Lexus.
When I was young, I dreamed I was John Wayne, Ted Williams, Banks McFadden. As I grew older, I dreamed about girls with long hair and tight sweaters.
Then, I dreamed about mortgages, children and grandchildren. Now I dream about fresh tomatoes, fresh peaches, a steak the size of my light bill, ham, eggs, grits, sausage.
With my new hearing aid, I can sit in my recliner and listen to Chuck and the grandchildren sink their teeth into a pork chop. I can hear them moan with ecstasy. My taste buds are unemployed. I still have all my teeth. But what good are all those teeth when you can chew, but can’t swallow?
The old grey matter between my ears still functions semi-annually and I still watch Jeopardy as a reminder of how little I know.
I can still taste that Ensure. Have you ever drank a garlic mike shake?
But I am still above ground, still writing columns that some read after they read the front page, weather, obituaries, sports and all the advertising.
There was a time when there were not enough hours in a day. Every day was a challenge. I thought I would never run out of adrenaline, enthusiasm. Jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
I believe I have slept more in the past year than I have in the previous 81 years. I thought people who took naps were lazy. Now I’m lazy three or four times a day. Peggy says quite whining. You have got a lot to be thankful for and she’s right.
I just wish Ensure would make steak in a can.
Now a trip to the post office is the highlight of my day.
The library has become my home away from home. Sandy keeps me supplied with books. I love the potboiler suspense, who done it. The bad guys all smoke cigars and the heroes are a clone of Phillip Marlow and Sam Spade.
The library books are much better than T.V. except for Jeopardy and TCM, I would rather watch someone try to sell me a 17 jewel ham hock than watch a basketball game. And the Braves are almost as pathetic as this column.
So I continue to get my meals from a can, take naps, read books and write columns. I can no longer talk, but I can still write. Maybe I’ll have a contest - which was worse, Charlie Walker on the radio, or Charlie Walker in the paper? Once a week in the paper is better than every day on the radio.
I sit on the couch and stare out the window at the bees as they disappear into the blossom on the Alfa tree.
I wonder if the nectar taste better than Ensure? I wonder how they would feel if they were fed nectar through a tube?
Quit whining Charlie. Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think.
I can always get my jollies out of the library.