DAZE WORK: Feelin’ a bit fair to middlin’ these days

These days whenever I find myself in conversation with folks of a certain age, I just can’t help myself. Somewhere along the line, I’m destined to pull out my five wood and blurt out something to the effect of “this getting old stuff stinks.”

Inevitably it makes me want to kick myself, as it reminds me way too much of my Dad forever responding to the query, “How are you?,” with the never-popular answer, “fair to middlin’.”

Not great. Not so-so. Not terrible. Or “I’ve been better.” Or “life stinks.” Nope. Fair to middlin’. Always.

There is some significance to that for me this week as when my birthday rolls around in a couple of days, I will officially be a year older than my Dad was when he passed away 30 years ago.

That’s nearly a score older than Lincoln when he was assassinated. Older than both veteran newspapermen David Barr and Jim Zeis were when I became their boss at the Banner Graphic more than 40 years ago.

While outpacing my Dad wasn’t necessarily a goal of mine, I remember how baseball superstar Mickey Mantle rationalized his legendary drinking and carousing by noting that neither his father or grandfather had lived to see 50. The Mick thought he, too, was destined to die young but it took excesses of alcohol to hasten his departure from this earth at 63.

By the way, no need to get me anything for my birthday. My cardiologist is taking care of that. I’m getting a shiny, new pacemaker this year.

Supposedly it will serve as a battery back-up for my underperforming heart. Oh, goodie, something to keep the stent in my ticker company.

My heart’s been broken a few times over the years, so I ought to be used to adversity by now.

It was bad enough my cardiologist put me on two new meds, the total cost of which is more per month than my house payment. One new pill is Jardiance, which is celebrated for its use on diabetics by commercials featuring dancing chubby people. I’m not a diabetic and I don’t dance, chubby or otherwise. But apparently it’s also good for the heart. Who knew?

Really I need a knee replacement or two -- hence my use of the electric carts at Kroger and Walmart -- but it looks like I’ll have to wait until at least my next birthday to unwrap those.

As the lyric from “Five O’Clock Somewhere” says so well, “I’m getting paid by the hour and older by the minute ...” This pacemaker might just put me over the limit.

So while we’re at it, it’s time to address the elephant in the newsroom.

Every time there’s the slightest change around here, people seem to think I’m retiring. That’s practically all I’ve heard when running into folks at Kroger, Walmart or McDonald’s in recent days since the announcement of the paper’s sale.

Well, here’s the story: I’m working for the same newspaper for which I’ve worked for more than 40 years, although it is now in its fourth ownership since Sarkes Tarzian brought me back from Richmond, Va., so many moons ago. Later, the Elkhart Truth would buy us, followed by Rust Communications and now Paxton Media Group.

But no, I’m not planning to retire. This is who I am. This is what I do.

We’ll see you at the fair. At the next City Council meeting. At the courthouse when duty calls. Or around the corner and under a tree.

Just don’t ask how we’re doing ...

I don’t want to have to admit that for now it really is “fair to middlin’.”