If you’re looking for an excuse to stay in shape, consider this: One day a truck might pull into your driveway and two taciturn men will unload tons of compost, mulch and shrubbery. And then you’ll have to haul it all into the backyard and plant everything.
Trust me, in a situation like that, it helps to have a little upper-body strength. Or at least I’m assuming it does. My own upper-body strength appears to have gone the way of disco and drive-in movies. Not sure how that happened. Hard to believe, but I once was capable of bench-pressing something larger than a clock radio. Back in the day, I’d be toting these bags of compost three at a time, instead of dragging them individually across the lawn with a rest break along the way.
I know: The older we get, the better we were. Those of us with gray hair like to brag about the glory days, even if they weren’t so glorious. Why not? Nobody can prove we’re lying. And sometimes it seems important to emphasize that we weren’t always this way, that we were occasionally up to it when muscle mattered. Youth goes, but vanity sticks around.
Too bad vanity tends to disregard the evidence. This morning a number of long-dormant muscles have lodged formal protests. I’d be happy to give them a break, but I notice that the rest of those shrubs have not yet planted themselves.