I didn’t notice it. My friends and colleagues had chosen to give me a pass. They didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
Then, last week at the grocery store, a masked lady shopper asked me and my cart to move aside. We were slowing up traffic in the frozen food aisle.
In previous decades, I prided myself on being a fast walker. A man with purpose in his step. I had important things to accomplish. My mother, Irene, had always preached, “Don, don’t you dally. Walk with gumption.”
What’s happening to me at 75 years of age? Have I moved over to the slow lane without recognizing it? Am I holding up all those folks behind me?
The best individual to answer this question is my loyal dog, Nigel J. Wiggins, who walks with me every evening.
“Nigel, are we getting slower?”
No answer.
“Darn it, Nigel. Wake up.”