Disencumber The Stuck
written by: David C Russell
“You need to come to grips that you are aging. I’ve told you this for years,” Dr. Esable said, waving his arm vigorously.
“Look, I’m not bent toward athleticism,” I said.
“If you continue to keep going this way, you won’t be bent for much of anything,” he added.
”What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Stroke, heart attack, cardiac arrest, shall I continue?” I nodded, having heard enough and listened to this medical gobbledygook for over eight annual checkups.
Sure enough, this was my annual harangue that lasted about fifteen minutes at a cost of $25.
“I’m going to ask my grandsons what they would do about all this. They are fourteen and fifteen, and think they know it all by now,” I said.
“They will agree with me. I’ll bet you $5,” Dr. Esable said. We shook on the wager.
I would be turning seventy-four in a month or so. We would be having a steak dinner at one of my favorite places in southeast lower Michigan. My wife was gone, so the party would be my daughter, son-in-law, and their two boys.
As we sat eating appetizers before our steak dinners arrived, I asked for silence to share something with my two grandsons.
“Jacob and Bryan, I want to ask your opinion about something. What would you do if someone told you that a change has to be made, or big trouble will happen?”
“Is this a test?” Bryan asked.
“Not really. Just want your opinions,” I said.
“Will you give us something for our opinions?” Jacob asked. He always seemed to be in search of an opportunity or a handout.
“You’re getting a $25 steak dinner for nothin’,” I said.
“I thought we were getting it to celebrate your birthday,” Jacob said.
“Okay, okay. I’ll give you each a penny for your thoughts. They might be valuable one day since new ones are not being minted,” I said.
“I would take the advice and change,” Bryan said. He added, “No fun once you’re in trouble.”
“Jacob, what about you?” I asked.
“I guess Bryan’s right. Change so you stay out of trouble.”
Did I have two strikes against me? Esable would win his bet. The word ‘trouble’ had apparently a more profound effect on my grandsons than I supposed.
“What the heck have you been teaching my grandsons? Is trouble the worst thing that can happen to someone?”
Gayle answered, “No, but it’s up there for sure. Trouble now was ‘you’ll get it’ when mom and you raised us.” I stared her down in opposition. I lost the wager to Dr. Esable, and I had to change my inactivity to activity.
My son-in-law added, “Start small and build from there. It’s not as difficult as imagined.” I said, “You each have blue-collar jobs where running your gosh-darn mouth was about your best asset.”
“Get a calendar and write your preferred words for exercise routine across the front,” Gayle, my daughter, said. She had long, muscular arms and a slender figure to which she owed both swimming and playing tennis year-round.
“Here, look at the thesaurus on my mobile,” my son-in-law, Anthony, said, passing me the device. Anthony had big hands, long fingers, short hair, and often wore a bowtie despite manner of dress.
I sneered when reading the words: exercise, exertion, training, procedure, and workout. “These words alone are reason to not even start,” I said. Moreover, routine didn’t do a heck of a lot better with motivation: normal, usual, ordinary, regular, practice, and groovy.
“Look again, Dad,” Gayle said.
“Alright. I’ve got it, I’ll write in bold letters, praxis modus operandi,” I announced.
“What kind of language is that?” Bryan asked.
“It’s English,” Gayle said and added, “A specific way to do something.” The four chuckled.
“What can you do to be successful this time?” Anthony asked as I returned the mobile to him.
“Ten minutes a day; three to four times each week,” I said.
The waiter bought our dinners shortly after I made my pronouncement. The steam rising from the baked potato was enhanced as I added three packets of butter. The steak was an eight-ouncer, but a heck of a beaut in my opinion. A pile of warm mushrooms atop my steak. I felt sudden relief and freedom from discussing my seemingly menial existence. Well-done! The mixed vegetables were served probably as something healthy out of the whole meal.
I helped Jacob with his plate as his left arm was in a cast from a school injury at recess.
This reprieve was only a brief interruption, though in the group consult on my health plan, my new year resolution.
“What do you like to do for your modus operandi?” Bryan asked.
“How about a ten-minute walk,” I said.
“What else?” Gayle asked.
“For goodness sake, go easy on me. I’m an aging senior citizen,” I said.
“We want you around for a while,” my son-in-law said, tone slightly convincing.
“Open cans of coffee, bend the elbow holding a cold brew, eating a generous slice of cherry pie,” I said.
“Think they mean something else,” Jacob said.
“Well then- curls, presses, light weights?” Gayle asked.
“Yes, I like women whose hair is curly, pressing against them to dance, light weight works for me,” I said, and all chuckled.
Actually, I took to her idea with the weights. Some time ago, I sustained a fractured elbow. During Physical Therapy, watched ESPN while doing light weight lifting. I remained seated and viewed the program being aired.
“Yeah, I got it. Weights and a walk will be my modus operandi four days a week, ten minutes each time,” the group applauded and in unison, or close to that, sang me Happy Birthday.
I started modus operandi on January 2nd; as of March 4th, I have two months in at keeping a modus operandi new year resolution!
The End
- Disencumber The Stuck - January 1, 2026
- The Chronic Complainer - June 20, 2025
- Love You Each - December 6, 2024
