Simple tasks that were second nature to me for decades have now become challenges.
Putting my socks on in the morning is one of them. Either my legs got longer or my arms shorter, but now there are often a few inches separating my foot from the outstretched sock shaking in my fingertips.
Part of my problem is caused by three surgeries that positioned an erector set into my lower back. That doesn’t stop me from my Herculean efforts. And I don’t need any fancy sock contraptions my aging friends recommend to me. I’ve been putting on my socks for over 75 years without such aids, and my Irish determination drives me onward.
I run out of breath. I ask Sherry to cut my snagging toenails. I buy socks an elephant could wear. I gulp down another energy drink for additional zip. I say a little prayer to Saint Lou Groza of Cleveland.
There is a happy ending. Once I am socked for the day, I can take on any feat that comes my way.
Super star