Lori Clinch

Lori Clinch is from North Platte. She is the mother of four sons. Her email address is loriclinch2010@gmail.com.

So here’s the late breaking news on the home front — I’m falling apart.

They told me in my 30s to enjoy my health because once you turn 40, it all goes south. I didn’t take heed.

In fact, I laughed in the face of adversity, exercised, ate right and deemed myself invincible.

I made it through that decade virtually unscathed. I kept my hair follicles intact, some of my wrinkles at bay and was able to walk up hill without dropping to my knees and begging the good Lord to save me from my distress.

Now I’m sitting on double nickles and approaching the fun age of 56 and aging just isn’t as fun as it used to be.

I remember telling an acquaintance that I was happy to turn 30 because I had accomplished everything I wanted to in my 20s.

I recall thinking that I would be distinguished in my 40s and handle it like a champ.

Then the 50s rolled on in and brought with it a plethora of problems and new aches in the morning that led one to think, “Well, now that’s going to hurt forever.”

Back in the day, I would occasionally hurt my back, take a couple of days off and bounce right back into business. I always told my Pat, “As long as we keep our sense of humor, we can survive anything.”

When I pulled a muscle setting a cup of coffee down on the end table several weeks ago, life as I knew it changed forever.

It got better, it got worse and then (thanks to a round of steroids) got all better again. Better, until, I bent over to put a tag on an antique trunk.

The thing about this new back pain of mine is that there’s no masking it.

All of a sudden I’ll get a sharp and stabbing pain and when I cry out to the powers that be in front of customers here at our antique shop ... well, it’s just not good for business.

I try to be a good person and, as such, I never take God’s name in vain. After all, it is one of the Ten Commandments.

Well, I’ve done it twice this week, and the good news is that at least I have something to bring up for the next confession because Lord knows I’ve been hurting too much to sin elsewhere.

Until this recent ailment, I never realized how much I enjoyed picking stuff up off of the floor without excruciating pain.

I mean, have you ever looked at the same hanger for three days and cursed its existence before finally kicking it under the couch?

I took petting the dog for granted, pouring gas into the lawnmower as a given and putting on my own pants as something everyone can do.

There’s been a dryer sheet in front of the dryer for so long it’s become a mainstay. I thought I would get clever and pick it up with my toes. I made it half way up the proverbial human tree before the old back called out a “nay nay.”

It’s sitting three inches from its original position and may live out its existence there for all that I care.

There’s a quarter and two pennies sitting by the toilet in our bathroom and each and every time that I view them I tell myself to consider them as secure funds.

As I slowly rose from the recliner last week, sporting an over-sized bathrobe and an abundance of bed head, I told my Pat that perhaps it’s time he trade me in for a younger model.

He just laughed.

As long as we keep our sense of humor, we’ll be good to go.

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