I’ve been thinking lately. Thinking about my luck. Specifically, my Old Man Luck. The kind of luck you gain when you hit seventy and beyond. I’ve come to a simple conclusion:

There isn’t any.

You hit seventy that’s it. What luck you had pretty much ran out. Like a hour glass…

…down to the last few seconds…the final grains…running out…the luck you had when you had nothing but time…vanished…you’re just an Old Fart now…suffering your ailments…awaiting death!

That’s right, folks. Old Man luck is fools gold.

It looks nice but you can’t spend it.

Cuz you’re almost out of time. What’s the point of winning a billion dollar lottery if there’s no time to enjoy it?

You have no future. It’s over. Almost over.

Old Age is laughing in your face.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Except maybe chuckle.

Or laugh out loud.

I’m laughing every chance I get.

Why?

Why not? I mean, the message I’ve gotten from life is clear as a bell. What could be more obvious? There is no obfuscation where old age is concerned.

God is saying, fuck you if you can’t take a joke.

So I’m laughing. I got no luck beyond this moment.

I got plenty of bright shiny fool’s gold.

And I’m gonna spend it the only way possible.

By laughing every chance I get…

Wednesday 7 May…another wake up

A wake up is all you really got when you’re old. You might think you got a future but you don’t. You’re down to wake-ups.

Nowadays I wake up the first thing I say to myself is, “Wow! I woke up! I’m still alive! Talk about lucky!

But that’s not luck.

That’s Fool’s Gold, friends!

This morning I do my wake-up in my van. Right here in my marina parking lot.

I come awake at five a.m.

Lucky me!

First thing I do, after congratulating myself for achieving a wake up, I yank off my window covers.

Ronnie’s Van

I gaze at Ronnie’s 49 panel truck, parked beside me. Ronnie is still around. Living on Scruffy. My old Boat. He’s not happy about it, though. He’s miserable. Miserable because he’s living here in fabulous bayside Sausalito. 800 bucks a month to live on the water in one of the most beautiful spots in the world. As if that’s something to be miserable about. Well, he’s miserable because he’s alone. He has no love to keep him warm at night. Ronnie is my daughter’s age. He’s still living in real luck time. He doesn’t understand that being alone is a good thing. If he only knew what I know. If he only knew that being alone is the next best thing to being alone with a dog.

Or just being alone, period. Especially if you’re dog was one like the phony Australian dude owned.

No, if only Ronnie knew the real score. He’d be gloriously happy. But he can’t know because he hasn’t lived long enough to see the real deal!

This is yet another example of God saying fuck you if you can’t take a joke.

I’m laughing!

A big fat Fool’s Gold Laugh! A quick one. Because they’re all quick. Quick and to the point. As for Ronnie, well…

enough about Ronnie.

I drive around the corner to my private bathroom…

The public toilets at the tennis courts.

Open 24 hours. Nice, clean, plenty of toilet paper, paper towels, fresh water. I wash my face, brush my teeth, get back in the van and head over to where I park the Prius. I park the van. Get in the Prius. I drive the Prius because it gets the good mileage. Why else do you drive a Prius?

I drive to Mill Valley Starbucks. The office.

The Usual

I’m sitting in my usual spot.

The phony Australian Dude is sitting in his usual spot.

The immobile dude is doing his usual thing this hour of the morning. He’s pacing.

He does that. Five, six a.m., every morning. Soon as he get’s here. He’ll pace back and forth for about twenty minutes before finally settling down in his seat. Where he’ll be immobile the rest of the day. I wish he would stop pacing. Because he paces right past my table and each time he passes I get a whiff of him. I don’t know if he’s taken a shower in the last few years but I wouldn’t bet on it. The Phony Australian Dude also eschews bathing but he doesn’t pace. He just sits, like a good old dude sits. The immobile dude smells so bad I can’t think. There he goes again, pacing by my table. Any moment now I’m gonna scream at him, “will you please stop pacing please!!!!”

But I won’t. You know why? Because it’s just more of your fool’s gold. That’s right. It’s God saying,

Fuck you if you can’t take a joke.

Wait a minute! What just happened?

What do you know!

He sat down finally….now I can finish this blog post.

well, I guess that’s my luck working.

Good old Fool’s Gold!