Hypochondria: It's inevitable with age.

Hypochondria: the belief that real or imagined physical symptoms are signs of a serious illness, despite medical reassurance and other evidence to the contrary.

Boomer husband: (lifting shirt and pointing to a mole on his side) What's this look like to you?
Boomer's wife: A mole honey. It looks like a mole.
Boomer husband: You sure?
Boomer's wife: Pretty sure. You've asked me about it before.
Boomer husband: Yeah, but it looks a little different now, and...it kind of itches. Plus, it used to be circular. Now, it resembles the state of Texas!
Boomer's wife: If you're worried about it, go to the doctor.
Boomer husband: What? The doctor? Oh, hell no!

This scenario must happen quite often and not only in my house. Loretta and I have similar conversations with some regularity. Sometimes it's over a mole. Other times it concerns some new "twinge" here or there. That word: "twinge". It's the scourge of Baby Boomers. "Ooooh! Shit, what was that?"

Is it inevitable that we will all become hypochondriacs with age? To some extent, I think so. Every little itch, red mark, cough, sneeze, scab, or twinge is perceived as some life threatening (ending) malady. Most of the time, this hypochrondriacal (not a real word, I just made it up) feeling soon passes and all is well in Boomerland. Other times, if it persists for more than a week or two, it may be a real (or imagined) sign of something more nefarious, in which case, a visit to the doctor may be advised.

For me, Loretta has to drag me kicking and screaming to the doc. But, I only go when I'm "forced" to, ie, an annual meet and greet with the doctor to renew prescriptions. Here's a recent conversation in the examining room:

Doc: How've you been feeling?
Me: Great. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Doc: Yeah, I guess so...since I haven't seen you for over two years! (scold, scold).
Me: Sorry. (feigned chuckle)
Doc: Please don't let it go so long next time. We really should see you at least once a year.

The last comment presented to me as leaned over the examining table on my elbows, preparing for that dreaded intrusion of an orifice not preformed since 1973...at least not by a stranger!

So be it. We've all known hypochondriacs (of any age) in person or portrayed in comedy scenes in the movies and television. Evidently, it's a real condition (sometimes serious and debilitating) concerning real or imagined health maladies. Is there an opposite of hypochondria? If there is, I must have it. Hyperchondria? The real or imagined feeling that there is never anything seriously wrong with you? Or, Stupidchondria? Unconcerneditis? Doctorous Fearous?

I know I'm not Superman. I know I must see the doc more regularly now. But(t), part of that exam felt like he was using a Louisville Slugger and not his middle finger!

By the way, my prostate was deemed "OK". Unfortunately, that could change tomorrow I suppose. Maybe if he at least bought me a drink first. Might make that indignity a little easier to accept next time!

Does this matter?

I think about writing (ex: in this blog) all the time. Every day. The result: I, for the most part, write nothing. Partly because of my feeling that it doesn't really matter. The same thought process is happening about and affecting my photography...or lack of it.

My daughter, Jen, is going through something similar (writer's and photographer's blocks), though for much different reasons. So, at least we commiserate via email, IMing, and a weekly phone call/Skype or two. Needless to say, at least these communications keep us in touch.

I'm also privileged to have an old friend with whom I can "chat" once in a while. This, too, via email and a phone call on occasion. My sister and I write back and forth on a regular basis, including a minor scolding when we don't respond in a timely fashion!

So, I guess it really does matter...writing, that is...writing down something as often as I can. Something that others can read if they so choose.

I tried Twitter a few months ago...too short. And Facebook...still too short and too mundane (?), plus, I haven't figured out how to exclude all of my "friends" daily stuff that fills my page. Stuff that I really don't have much of an interest in. Not that it isn't important to them. I just don't need it. Does that sound crass?

I liken this blog to when I was doing a daily radio show for over 18 years. People would write in or (worse) call in and complain about things I would say. This didn't happen a lot, but enough to affect my on-air demeanor and content. ATMO: there are two very important control knobs on every radio...the "Tuning" knob and the "On/Off switch". "Use 'em!", I used to chide, "If you don't like what I say, change the channel". Geeze, I guess I was sounding a lot like that Limbaugh guy way back when! The same goes for this blog. A couple of years ago, I turned off the "comment" option for these posts. This was due partly because of some "off-the-topic" harassment I was receiving from some misguided, unhappy (with THEIR life) folks needing a place to express some kind of opinion. My blogged advice to them: "Get your own blog...this one's mine terdbag!"

Write...or don't write. Read it...or don't read it. It's your choice. Just like having friends. It's your choice. It's not a requirement nor is it a law.

The moral: I think I need to just write more here. Call it blathering if you will. Speaking of that word, "blather"...an old radio friend of mine used to say that about some of his colleagues. He called what they do "blather and prattle". Of course, he was one of the best "blatherers and prattlers" in his own right. He's dead now. So be it.

If you like what is here, that's great. If you don't, that's great as well. Maybe I'll hit a home run once in a while, maybe I'll ground out. Perhaps I'll totally strike out. But one thing is for sure...I'll never get thrown out of the game for trying!

Does this matter? Well, ATMO...it does. If you don't think so...get your own blog!

Blather, blather, blather. Prattle, prattle, prattle.

I see your point? Or, get a life?

I just received an email from an eBay member scolding me for "converting" old, steel, 10 speed frames to custom painted, (sometimes) single speeds. The arrival of that email was anticipated. In other words, it was simply a matter of time when someone would take the time to express their opinion to me about "customizing" old bicycles. I did respond with a short diatribe about "10 speed, purist, self-righteous clowns" not seeing the whole picture.

How many '57 Chevy's, or '32 Fords have been made into bad-ass, customized hot rods that don't resemble the original? I made this point in my response. Visit Hot August Nights sometime and try to get into this debate with the good 'ol boys who build hot rods! They would twist his perfectly restored, original-condition bicycle around his neck and leave him somewhere in the desert near Virginia City. Perhaps he may see a spotted owl, a gila monster, or any other number of endangered flora and fauna.

So, should I have #1: Ignored the comment. #2 Said, "I see your point". Or, #3: Said, "Get a life!"

I said none of that, other than referring to him as a "clown". And, suggested he seek out in his surrounding area owners of old, bikes rusting and rotting in their backyards...and chastise them. Isn't that worse than rescuing an old bike and giving it new life in any form?

I guess there is a place in this world for tree huggers and vintage 10 speed huggers!