Moms Mabley, the late African-American comedian, was just about the funniest storyteller you could imagine. She used to tell the story of an old man who saw a little boy sitting on the curb crying.
"What'a the matter, little boy," he said. Why are you crying?"
"Cause I can't do what the big boys do," came the reply.
Then with impeccable timing, Moms would lift her head, turn to the audience and say,
"Old man cry too."
It's a miserable fact of life that as we age, our physical limitations increase. Most folks are content to simply cut back or limit physically challenging activities. The trouble arises when you realize simple tasks like going to the grocery store tucker you out.
I'm not there yet, but last week I got a wake-up call in physical limitations, with devastating consequences.
I lost my favorite rod on reel while fly fishing on the Metolious River in Central Oregon. Simply put, the bank gave way, I tumbled forward, lost my footing and took an unwanted dip in the flowing stream. Comprised of snowmelt, it was cold, but I hardly noticed. Once I scrambled up on the bank, secured my wallet and phone, I went to pick up my rod, but it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. Not in the nearby bushes, not laying down in the shallow water, not even seen floating away. Gone. Solid gone. I looked for a good while, but my fly rod was nowhere to be seen. Today, it probably lies on the river bottom, permanently retired.
It took a while to process this horrid situation. Now, however, I can see it all in a clearer perspective. I'm fortunate not to have lost anything else, my life included.
I remember reading somewhere that the best thing to do in that situation is to let the rod go and look after yourself. I'm glad I did that.
Fishing gear is easily replaced. So I'll do that. Lesson learned.
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