Still Reaching

I stand balancing on a shaky old wooden ladder.

It’s a cloudy, 50-degree Saturday morning in May, and I’m reaching for the ceiling with an old paintbrush taped to the end of a five-foot wooden stick, straining to hit the highest point of a cathedral ceiling.

I splash paint on what I can reach while thinking, Don’t fall. Hire someone to do this. I should write about this on my blog… lol. My back hurts. I should do more writing and less reaching.

This is a normal day for me now.

I used to do more active things. Sometimes dangerous things. Things that required strength, endurance, balance, and maybe not always the best judgment. These days, my adventures look a little different. Now I challenge myself with what others might call mundane, questionable, and mildly dangerous daily chores around my Ponderosa.

Like fixing a weed trimmer that won’t start.

I enjoy figuring things out. I like knowing I can still find the problem, buy the part, and fix it myself. Sure, it took me two hours because I kept pulling the starter cord until my back hurt. Then I finally discovered the broken fuel line—right about the time gas splashed all over me and made my peanut butter sandwich taste like WD-40.

Should I limit myself to safer, quieter chores like cleaning the bathroom or baking bread?

Well, I do those too… on my day off…lol.

But I still like a challenge. I still like to push the limits, even if those limits have changed. I’ll probably never climb Mt. Washington again. I won’t ride 150 miles in the MS 150 like I once did. But I can still try to walk all the way around Bellville Pond—about two miles of flat ground, which is much friendlier than a mountain that goes straight up until you’re ready to go straight down.

I can still ride my bike up my favorite hill, use up nearly all my energy, and barely pedal—or coast—all the way home.

I may not be what I used to be, but I’m still here. Still learning. Still fixing things. Still making a mess. Still laughing at myself.

Chainsaws, ladders, snow shovels..I can’t put them down.

I live by one code:

I do the best that I can, for as long as I can.

I’m a silly, somewhat physically broken, often dangerous, but happy old man doing his daily chores—and still reaching.