The Fifth Season

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The fifth season is between Fall and Winter .  Many some call those few warm days in the middle or late in Fall, the Indian Summer or the Fifth Season.  Life can also be divided into seasons,  a person’s birth through young adult, can be considered the Vernal Equinox  or Spring season. It’s when a person grows and matures, consummately increasing in size and intellect. The next season is Summer or the Summer Solstice. It characterized with long days and short nights.  In a person’s life, I would say that it would cover the ages 20 to 50.  Where a person is still growing, but not quite as fast as he or she did in the spring.  The Autumnal Equinox or Fall season is chiefly the Harvest season.  This season would enter into a person’s life around the retirement age 55 to 70 years.  A time when a person slows down from their busy “summer” pace. Winter Solstice season of a person’s life is earmarked with all the things that belong to old age, that means giving back some of the wisdom,  that time has given you. I am caught in the fifth season, still young enough to do it, but wise enough to know better.  While I like septuagenarian (70 and older) people, I can’t really mesh with them,  as I can with people my own age. My mother in law says that I use words and phrases from the time she was a kid, and makes her feel that I am older than she is.  She will say something like “where did you say you put your birth certificate? I need to look at it again!” One example was the time I used the word “cunk” in describing a process the African Americans used on their hair to make it relax or straighten out. I guess the new word was “process” and that was the first time she asked to see my vital statistics records.

Health concerns prematurely ejected me from from the 9 to 5 world,  and dragged me kicking and screaming,  into an  AARP world.  It is very hard being the “kid” again in any gathering.  My Cardiac Rehabilitation Clinic encouraged me to join a center called the “Fifty Plus Club”,  the only problem was that I wasn’t 50 yet.  The club was a nice place,  but it was filled with elderly members. (All of them I think) I finally saw a few people that I knew, from the eighth grade.  One was my old Principal and the other two,  were my gym coach and World History teacher.  The club has an activity room where they play cards and board games, and compare supplemental medicare coverage.  All of them are to old to go bowling, and their Hoverounds are not allowed on the greens at the golf course. I thought that I’d hit the tri-fecta on the cakes, cookies and pies that their wives had baked for them,  but only to find out that they were all diabetic desserts.  So, here I linger, in the land of Ben Gay, hip replacements and Viagra, marooned for all eternity in the middle of the Fifth Season……………

HeritageCareComp

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