The temperatures have dropped down into the high thirties and darkness accompanies the first mile of my morning run. In two weeks, the clocks will “fall back” an hour to further confuse my morning routine. The cool air in my lungs makes me think about skiing and the sensation of going fast. However, I was still slogging along at my near-walk pace, as younger runners passed me effortlessly. I hope to fulfill my goal of skiing at age seventy – just ten short months away. It’s an age that truly defines elderly, as subtly implied in this passage I just read: 

“Though His Honor was pushing seventy and took a lot of meds he was showing no signs of slowing down.”

-Excerpt From A Time for Mercy by John Grisham.

John Grisham is pushing seventy himself, although still four years younger than me, so I didn’t like the implication of the word “pushing.” It’s as if next we’ll be pushing up daisies. I only seem to feel my age when I’m running, so every morning is a reminder of my mortality as speed continues to deteriorate. On the other hand, my concern about skiing is the loss of balance I’m experiencing and certainly don’t want to hurt myself in the process of accomplishing a silly goal. However, I’m not quite ready to get rid of my skis and boots, so they will move to Florida with us. 

I picked up another case of wine yesterday as payment for my services. We filtered out the residue that had settled to the bottom of the carboys as part of the process of fermenting grape juice into wine. There will only be about 100 bottles when all is said and done compared to nearly 300 in a good growing year. Smoke from area fires was certainly a factor in stunting the growth of this year’s harvest. We wonder if it will be present in the taste of the final product? The next step will be to transfer the contents of the 5-gallon carboys into a wooden cask. That process will take place in a few months. Growing, picking, processing, and bottling is hard work, especially when the output is disappointing. As a result, it’s the final year of production, since we’re all now pushing seventy!

“The times they are a changin'” as Bob Dylan wrote:

“Come gather ’round, people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
And you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'”

Bob Dylan is pushing eighty, so I know there are a few good years ahead. It all starts with time change that will no longer be a factor for us in Florida if the legislators have their way. Everywhere we’ve lived so far has messed with the clocks, while even Oregon is in the process of adopting legislation to stop the madness. I’ll take the extra hour of life that we get in a few weeks then turn right around and lose three hours in the move across country. It will, however, with the exception of travel, hopefully be the final “time changes” I ever have to deal with in life.