This summer is another one of those history markers that come along.
Specifically, my classmates are planning an event that doesn't pivot on the five- and 10-year intervals that class reunions typically follow.
No, this year my classmates and I are turning 75.
All of our children have taken joy in noting my milestone of three quarters of a century old.
I know reunions tend to be manufactured things, but I do kind of get the 75 thing.
We've always shared our birth years of 1949 and 1950 through the multiple decades.
But I guess 75 is worth taking a pause.
Problem is I have shoulder surgery this Thursday.
Making any long car journey seems ominous.
I'm no stranger to operating rooms, alas, but the others kind of surprised me – heart attack, broken bones along the way.
I haven't had full use of the shoulder for some years, so Thursday is planned for.
Golf fell by the wayside a long time ago, and hanging clothes in the closet has long been an ordeal using the right shoulder.
The family is supportive, but this isn't their first go-round with me being out of commission.
Since my life's work has largely been banging away at a keyboard, I'm back to the restrictive arm in a sling that I only worked through less than a year ago with a broken humerous.
I made it work then and I don't have much choice now.
Actually, going through the x-rays with that, help me,
MaLinda and the doctor to focus on getting a new shoulder in play.
Breaking a leg was cumbersome, but going through images online of shoulder and rotator cuff surgeries promises a much more complicated recovery.
Just a lot more bells and whistles to deal with.
MaLinda and Jessica have made plans for me to be in the spare bedroom.
A big part of that is keeping three dogs at bay.
Cats don't pose near the recovery threat that canines do.
Anyway, I've now written, mostly, my antiquarian 75-year-old guy essay on what I did on my summer vacation.
A trip to Utah is planned and I'm ready to tackle that challenge.
