Snow; or, feeling my age

Yes, I should grab my camera and take pictures to prove that we've got, like, maybe six inches of snow here in the lowlands of Portland.

My back says "no."

See, I went out and shoveled the walk, not all of it, I stopped when it started sleeting on me, but the front and the beginnings of the side are donish, and my back tells me that I'm every day of 48.

"Happy birthday," sez the back.

Bundled up I was, two sweatshirts, silly name that, not made of sweat, more like fleece to me, but anyway, two sweatshirts, sweatpants with wool military pants over them, wool oversocks, nifty pair of Lands' End boots purchased back when I lived in Chicago, must be 17 years I've had them now, welding gloves, and the head protection from my SCA fencing outfit [four layers of sports cloth and a layer of pretty fabric over that, pattern based on scuba diving headgear, nice and warm my ears and head were]. Ready for the weather I was, I was, ready for the weather I was. Don't look now, almost turned into the chorus to a song, don't know the words but had that rhythm, didn't it now?

Snow shovel we had from back in Salem, scoop shovel, heavy sucker, handle could be a bit longer in my mind, I'm taller than I used to be, nothing like being half stooped over when shoveling heavy crusty snow, back's been nattering at me non-stop most of the last hour, telling me I'm not up to this anymore, and the left knee, the one that hasn't had surgery, its not too happy with me either.

Hair's looking grey these days, blend of snow white hair and the stuff that hasn't changed yet, hands starting to get that slightly thinner look that comes with age, feet also seeming to lose fat, getting right skinny they are, taking to wearing socks to be to keep them properly warm.

Haven't wished my sister a happy birthday this year, been a couple of months, don't think she's really into her punk brother ragging on her about turning the big Five-Oh, 50 she is now. Mom's 83 now, twenty more years to match how old her mother lived to, we'll see how she does. Dad only made it to 75, lesson to ya about smoking that was, no real question about the cause of his emphysema, although he always blamed some of it on growing up downwind/stream from the Oregon City paper mills, can't say he was wrong about that contributing at some level, pollution wasn't a concern back in the 1920s and 30s, not like they gave a damn about the impact of their effluents on the lowlifes living below the falls.

Hows this for a stream of consciousness post?

Take a prime number starting with 2 and progressing from there, square it, fuzz it +/- 1, and the fourth prime fuzzed in that manner gives my sister and I in age at this point in time. Absolutely meaningless, but the type of thing my mind will occasionally spew forth, which shows how weird I am. Won't happen again, we'd have to live to 122 and 120, respectively, for the next prime, and I just don't see that happening.

Think I'll settle down and read a bit, let my back grumble a while like the curmudgeon that it is.

Oh, and the weather we've been having, put the big kabosh on my getting all the yard clippings cleared out by the end of the year, not gonna happen.

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