Well, here it is, 2018, and I’m still on this side of the sod. I reckon if I take reasonably good care of myself, listen to my doctors and my wife, and keep one eye on the wild hog and the other eye on the nearest tree I could climb if my aim is off, I should make it to 2019 in one piece. Until then, I s’pose I should make another New Year’s resolution like I do every year. Makin’ resolutions are pretty easy for me. Keeping them past January 15 is what’s tough.
Since I’m rapidly turning into a grumpy curmudgeon, I thought I’d try to be less critical and/or more tolerant of others, except for sleazy politicians, perverted celebrities, pesky telemarketers and all those members of society who are simply dumber than a bag of rusty nails. I figured I’d break that resolution before halftime of the Rose Bowl, so I started thinking of an easier one to keep.
It’s been suggested that I try to learn something new to keep my mind active. Well, that’s mighty fine advice if I were about 20 years younger. Y’all know that saying about teaching an old dog new tricks, right? Well, this old hound is perfectly content sprawled out under the shade tree lapping up a cool beverage between naps. Besides, I just don’t know if there’s room in the vault for any more knowledge.
You see, the human brain is much like that storage shed in the back yard. You acquire one that’s completely empty and promptly start filling it with essential tools and supplies. Over time, the shed starts filling up with stuff you’ve collected over the years. Here I am just a rock-throw from my golden years, and my tool shed is plumb full. If I try to shove something new in there, I’ll first have to pull something out to make room. So, if I try to learn something new, I consequently might forget something important, like my Social Security number or to put on pants when I walk to the mailbox.
It’s also been recommended that I should exercise more this coming new year. Hey, I do a lot of work here on the ranch. I might not do it every day or even every week, but dagnabbit, when I do work, it’s real exercise and very productive. Chopping a mess of mesquite shrubs burns as many calories as running on some treadmill while watching Dr Phil in an air-conditioned gym. Not only do I burn calories, but afterwards, I can sit back and admire my hard work while replenishing those calories from my ice chest.
Lots of health nuts wear something called a Fitbit when they exercise. It’s like a wristwatch that measures your pulse and tracks your heart rate. I hear it figures how many calories you are burning and lets you know when you can end your workout. When I exercise, I don’t need a Fitbit. I have other means of letting me know when it’s time to call it a day, like having back spasms, seeing buzzards circling overhead, or having heat-induced hallucinations of beer cans dancing a jig.
What I need is some gadget that’s worn on the wrist that counts how many sips of beer I take after a workout. I could program it to track the number of times my wrist travels up towards my face, and once I reach my goal, it starts beeping to inform me that should be my last beer. Perhaps I should invent such a gadget and call it a Sipbit. I must remember to install a mute button to stop that annoying beeping.
Clint Younts doesn’t share his beer with his cattle, but when he’s in a good mood, he might invite his cousin over for a beer. Hmmm ….