10 older-person things I never thought I would do, yet here I am doing them

 

It's just a Snapchat filter, but this may as well be how I look these days.

1. Paying close attention to the identity of birds that land on our back deck
   
   
2. Finding myself suddenly and randomly thinking about insurance coverage
   
   
3. Making a little noise every time I rise from a seated position (Note: A noise from my mouth, I mean, not from...other places on my body.)
   
   
4. Watering my grass every day (Another note: I only water the two spots in the backyard where we planted grass seed this spring. Give me another 10 years and I'll likely be doing the whole lawn.)
   
   
5. Making a full and protracted stop at a stop sign as an act of defiance to the guy who is tailgating me even though I should be the bigger person and ignore him BUT IT'S 25MPH ON THESE STREETS, SIR, NOT 40 AND YOU NEED TO SLOW DOWN
   
   
6. Related to that, saying (loudly, even when I'm the only one in the car) "Nice stop!" to someone who rolls through a stop sign. On occasion, I've also been known to throw in a "Nice turn signal!" to anyone who fails to use theirs.
   
   
7. Being unable to keep myself from saying things like, "Yes, but at least back in my day, popular music had MELODY and INTELLIGIBLE LYRICS."
   
   
8. Getting visibly angry at the weeds growing through the cracks in our driveway
   
   
9. Earnestly wondering whether I should take up the bassoon (this thought has occurred to me way more often than I care to admit)
   
   
10. Telling the same stories and jokes to the same people over and over, having reached the bottom of what I had assumed was an endless well of charming anecdotes in my brain

Holy cow, people drive fast on my commute to work

(NOTE: When I first drafted this post, I didn't put a comma in the headline between "Holy cow" and "people." Then I realized that, without the comma, it seemed to imply that a random group of religious, bovine-like folks were driving fast on the way to work. Which is not at all what I meant. Thus the comma. Please carry on.)

I have a 44-mile drive each way to the office. I don't really mind it that much, though, particularly this time of year when the weather is nice (ask me again in six months after I've done it through snow). It only takes me a few minutes longer to get to Goodyear in Akron than it did to get to Vitamix in Olmsted Township.

My drive goes almost due south down Interstate 271 and Ohio Route 8 before a very short eastward leg on Interstate 76. These highways won't mean anything to you if you don't live near me, but you can probably think of similar stretches near you.

The speed limit on most of I-271 is 60mph before ramping up to 65mph for a few miles ahead of the Route 8 exit. Similarly, it's 65 on Route 8 until you get to what I refer to as the Land of Eternal Construction, where it goes down to 55mph for a long period.

As far as I can tell, these speed limits are merely suggestions to the veteran drivers of 271 and 8, some of whom own cars apparently equipped with warp technology. People absolutely fly on these roads, let me tell you.

If you set your cruise control to 70 through the 60mph stretches, you had better stay as far as possible to the right, which I do. There are farm tractors that will pass you when you do anything less than 75.

Similarly, when the speed limit jumps to 65, oh boy. Don't even think about entering the left lane if you're not traveling well into the 80s through there.

Again, though, you will not see anyone passing me on the right. I never considered myself to be a slow driver, but I give these people plenty of leeway to jet by me on the left.

Once I get onto the 271 express lanes, I get it up to about 72, turn on the cruise, settle into the right lane, and watch as car after car zooms past at speeds I sometimes can't even guess.

I've seen maybe one police cruiser running radar in this area, so it's basically the Wild Wild West.

I have become a grandpa driver at the age of 51. Much like that black Porsche that had to have been doing 100mph this morning, I never saw it coming.

I got a new car so I stopped speeding

We probably need to address three things about today's headline:

(1) I didn't get a "new" car. I got a "new to me" car. A "pre-owned" car, as they call it nowadays. A "used" car, as they called it when I was growing up. It's a 2015 Honda Civic. It's a great car and about the newest car I've had in my life. So it's new but it's not. Are we clear on that?

(2) To say I've stopped speeding is to imply I don't speed at all, which isn't true. I go about 5 MPH over the speed limit in most instances. It's just that I used to go 10-15 MPH over with regularity. So while technically I still speed, I don't speed like I used to.

(3) The headline also implies that the reason I stopped speeding is because I got the car. And while that's true, it's not the only reason. Sure, I don't want to jeopardize my nice new-ish car, but I've also felt for a long time that I should slow down.

To that last point, speeding always felt good in that it got me places faster. But it also felt selfish in that it (statistically anyway) put others around me in danger. And as a supposed follower of Christian teachings, I'm supposed to submit myself to the law, and the law clearly states how fast I should be driving on a given road in a given situation.

And really, I should clarify that I've only been slowing my roll for a couple of weeks now, so it's not like this is a permanently established habit quite yet. But I intend it to be.

I find, for example, that my morning commute is far more peaceful when I just kind of go with the flow and don't immediately slide over into the left lane and jam on the gas pedal. This morning I was listening to Wagner ("Die Meistersinger," for those who care) and having a good old time in the second lane from the right, averaging about 65 MPH. I got to work maybe two minutes later than normal and it was fine.

Seriously, it was fine. I didn't feel like I was missing anything by not joining my old friends in the speed demon lane – a lane that, by the way, averages about 75 MPH on Interstate 90 westbound heading into Downtown Cleveland most weekday mornings.

I felt a lot more relaxed as I drove and a lot more relaxed when I got to work. Relaxed is good. I could use more relaxed.

A lot of this has been brought on by the fact that I'm teaching my daughter Melanie to drive. She's the fourth of my kids with whom we've gone through this process, and with every one there have been awkward conversations like this:

CHILD: Aren't you supposed to turn into the left lane when you make a left turn?

ME (sheepishly): Well...yeah.

CHILD: Then why did you go all the way out into the right lane?

ME: You'll do the same once you get your license.

Translation: I know what I did is wrong, but everyone does it and therefore it's OK.

Not my finest parenting moments.

So I figure setting the example for my children and for others is a better-late-than-never situation.

Anyway, if you're a chronic speeder like me, I suggest you give, you know, NOT speeding a try for a while. At first you'll be antsy. Just itching to swerve around that slow poke in front of you who has the nerve to do the actual speed limit. MOVE OVER, IDIOT!

But then after a while you'll be that idiot. Except you won't be an idiot. As long as you drive in the correct lane (leave the passing lane for those still addicted to velocity), you'll be the responsible driver.

And that's what we're all aiming for, right? Safe, smart, responsible, relaxed.

Especially relaxed. I'm telling you, relaxed is good.

Four things I know I'm supposed to do but don't

Read the Classics

I have a degree in English and history from a well-regarded institution of higher learning (John Carroll University...go Blue Streaks!), yet I have never read The Scarlet Letter. Or Pride and Prejudice. Or Moby Dick. Or Don Quixote. How could this be?

(Actually, I know how it can be. Upper-level English courses get so specialized and esoteric that you end up reading the collected works of a 17th-century Finnish poet and have no time for The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, or War and Peace, also books I've never read.)

The point is, I should make time to atone for the glaring holes in my literary resume by actually reading these books. But I don't. Nor will I, at least not any time soon. It's easier to lament not having read them than it is to check them out of the library and crack open the front cover.

Lift Weights

I just mentioned this recently. I'm not a strength training guy. Never have been. I run. I run quite a bit. But I never touch the weights.

And it has always been like this. Even when I played football in high school, I was not a frequent visitor to the weight room. And by "not a frequent visitor," I mean I showed up there once a year to perform the mandatory weight-lifting tests set forth by my coaches. Then I wouldn't visit again until the following year.

I know I'm supposed to lift, but I can't stand it. Just like a lot of people know they're supposed to do cardiovascular exercise but can't stand running, cycling or climbing aboard the elliptical machine. To each his own, I suppose.

Take Care of My Fingernails

First off, I have abnormally small hands. And thus I have abnormally small fingernails. Making matters worse, I bite those fingernails. I bite 'em right down to the nub.

I admire people who take care of their nails, particularly guys. Society doesn't necessarily expect men to do much in the way of fingernail work, so I like the extra effort put in by guys with clean, nicely shaped nails.

My nails are ugly. At our wedding reception, the photographer took a picture of Terry's hand and my hand together as we showed off our new rings. Her nails are, as you would expect, beautifully manicured. Mine look like they belong to a 7-year-old. A hyperactive, nail-biting 7-year-old.

I'm embarrassed by it, but not so much that I'm motivated to do anything about it. My ugly nails will live on as long as I do.

Drive Under the Speed Limit

Depending on the mood I'm in, I'll drive anywhere from 5 to 15 mph over the speed limit. Not terribly bad, but still not legal, either.

The trouble is, I have kids. And I'm supposed to model proper driving procedures for those kids. Which is why I try to shield their eyes from the speedometer when I'm going 75 mph down a stretch of 60 mph freeway.

I should slow down, I know. And I don't. There are those who drive way faster than I do, but that's no excuse for breaking the rules. I will freely chalk this up to a classic case of hypocritical "do as I say, not as I do" when it comes to my children.