A Calvin & Hobbes Life and A Far Side Death

One of those chain emails came around, this time about old age - which, sadly, is sitting on the horizon waiting expectantly and, hopefully, patiently.

In this email's case, it was a clump of nine sayings about getting older.

I objected a bit to #4 -

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in the hospital, dying of nothing.

Nonsense! None of the health nuts I know (and I might be considered one myself) have any intention of dying in bed.

Nope. We plan on going places, doing things, spitting into the wind. When you treat as many moments as possible as an opportunity to play Calvinball, a game with no rules except those you make up on the spot, you actually get to live life, not merely shift along from day to day, hoping not to get yelled at. Newsflash: somebody is gonna to yell at you, it won't be fair, and why are you listening to that ninny anyway?

I was conversing with my mom a while back, talking about passing, and made the comment that I'd probably get eaten by a bear and was hoping to get some great pictures.

A Bear! click

Charging! click

Bear Close-up, plus bonus bad breath! click

Fearsome Fangs, Powerful Paws, Ouch, those Claws! click

Maybe one last picture, of the ground, for dramatic impact.

That bug you? Why?

At least, on my way out the door, I'm living. Beats waiting around, never taking a chance, hoping good stuff happens instead to trying to make it happen.

You've got a finite amount of time on this here earth. YOU get to be in charge of how you spend it - unless you really want that bossy person, whoever he/she is, to be in charge. I guarantee you, though, it won't be nearly as fun, not nearly as productive, and hey, that bed you're dying in at 107? Great place to think about the chances you passed up, greatness that you didn't go for.

That's not for me, or anybody I care for.

Give me a Calvin and Hobbes life, a Far Side death, and Peanuts in between.

That'll be five cents, please.