In a world beset by so much misery, it is hard to grasp, let alone deal with the changes necessary that possibly could have been for the better. In view of this a little light-hearted chuckle might be in place. I saw an advertisement on the TV that tickled my fancy. As a rule I find TV ads boring, insulting to my intelligence and a waste of time. However the end of one ad caught my attention and since I missed the beginning, the reality was not very clear to me. What I saw and heard was majestic music being played by an large symphony orchestra including a large pipe organ. As the music grew in intensity, a golden trumpet appeared on the screen surrounded by a flashing array of beautiful colours. Wow I thought, this is some classy ad. I wondered what it was about when the real item came in sight. Could you believe it, the ad was about diarrhea pills. Immediately I could see myself sitting on the throne holding a golden trumpet and while the grandiose music was playing and beautiful colours were flashing, I would eat all the pills in the package to make this heavenly moment last longer. I had difficulty figuring out the reason for a golden trumpet in this scheme, especially when it was not played at all. Several thoughts about why this trumpet was not played came to mind but they are not fit for publication. After serious consideration I gave up on the idea of celebrating diarrhea, it is too costly to alter the bathroom and I can’t afford a golden trumpet. The next thing that came to mind was to think how silly I was to think about celebrating diarrhea at my age. Actually it is silly to think about that at any age, so the age factor is not relevant. The thought of aging made me look further into this matter of getting old and I discovered that there is a sort of pattern. When we are thirteen we want to be twenty, when we are forty we want be twenty, when we are sixty we want to be forty and when we are older that that we try to hide the ravage of aging. I must admit there comes a point where a so called muscle T shirt is becoming an insult to our self esteem. When pointing at something far away and wearing a muscle T shirt and seeing the excess skin of your under arm flapping in the wind is something to behold. Looking at your legs when wearing shorts is something else again. Legs starting to look like two broom sticks with small water melons where the knees used to be thanks to rheumatism. Hair has blown away in the wind and glasses, dental plates, hearing aids are items to be searched for on a daily basis. Not finding the frozen meat that was taken out two or three days ago and finding the drippy mess in the broom closet is a happening one has to get used too. Leaving your house keys on the outside of the front door is nothing else but saying I have faith in humanity and that should be honoured.
Sticking your fingers in a light socket when you forgot to turn the light switch off is something you most likely will never talk about.
So enjoy your life as long as you can, do what you like and let the sunshine in.
Bert de Vink’s a long-time Quesnel resident who wrote for the Cariboo Observer from the mid 80’s to the late 90’s. The Observer is pleased de Vink once again decided to put pen to paper.