Monday, May 2, 2016


I've reached that magical age of 60 where I am allowed, or expected to be that crotchety old guy in the neighborhood. Yelling at kids, get of my lawn, turn that down, go someplace else to play.

Not for me.

I have a big yard with no fence. Play in my yard. Throw the ball, mark off a baseball field, ride your bikes, scream, run and play. There are apples, peaches, plums and cherries in the trees. Grapes are on the vines and blueberries are growing in the bushes. You see something you want, eat it. No need to wash it off, fully organic here, wipe it on your shirt. Fly specks and maybe a worm in an apple will not hurt you. The best fruit doesn't come from a shelf in a grocery store. Climb this trees, just be careful and don't fall.

I want to hear the laughter and the fun. It keeps me young. No matter whose kids they are.

There is a much bigger reward in raising kids than raising grass.


Ming said...

I'm with you buddy!

Anonymous said...

Your place sounds wonderful! Nice of you to share it!

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