My Biological Clock Is on the Fritz

Have you ever gotten out of bed and realized nothing was working right? That was this morning. I went to bed at the same time as always last night and felt terrific and this morning I didn’t. Everything hurt. I didn’t know how many achy bones and joints are in this wrinkly body, so I checked with my pal, Dr. Google, and he informed me that while babies have 270 bones, the “aging process,” also called a “biological clock” reduces that number by fusing some of them together. Adults may have as few as 206 bones, all of which ached this morning. I didn’t know I was fusing, but I did it: 64 bones in 75 years. If I had known I was fusing, I could have used it as an excuse to avoid unpleasant tasks, as in “I can’t right now, I’m fusing” or “Excuse me, I’m in the middle of a fuse.” Maybe my aches and pains are from fusing, my “biological clock” being on the fritz, intent to make me miserable, stealing another bone or two.

I was not a happy camper, so decided to outfox my “clock” and take an early morning walk, thinking I could walk off the stiffness in some of my 206 bones and I walked about a mile before conceding that it wasn’t going to work. When I returned home, I checked out my Facebook page and saw the most beautiful picture of two sandhill cranes soaring in tandem through the sky, obviously adults, probably married, because I learned sandhill cranes mate for life and seldom divorce. The photo was taken by a friend, Dr. Larry Downer, a retired optometrist, with an artistic eye and camera that is far superior to my phone camera. Dr. Google reported that cranes have 188 bones, 18 fewer than I have (but some have more because they have extra toes). Larry said they were following instructions from their built-in “biological clocks” to head north. That’s all well and good, Larry, but this girl’s biological clock seems to be on the fritz and has only two readings: achy and breaky, which I don’t want to do. It needs some adjustment.

I have to believe that sandhill cranes and other critters also have aches and pains, but they keep on soaring, headed to wherever it is they are going. They don’t write blogs to complain to the world about their maladies, and I’m not going to dwell on it either.

Despite my current ache and pain status, I have a lot of living left and I want to soar, too. I want to head somewhere and if I give up, I might be headed nowhere. I’m intent on heading somewhere, soaring with my writing, traveling, and with things as simple as kissing my grandkids. If I have to fuse, at least warn me. Thank you, Larry, for today’s inspiration.

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