Went to a friend's house because I was asked to help move "a few things" to help him get ready for some new carpet in his basement. HOLY BAT CRAP!
A gun cabinet, an old vanity that was his grandmother's, emptied out a book shelf that goes from the floor to the ceiling, then move the bookshelf up stairs with all the books I just hauled up. A homemade bar with no booze in it. Kids' games, three safes of different sizes (that were full), a couple of gun safes, full. Pulled carpet and pad that went out to be hauled away with the gun cabinet and bar. (He put a "for free" sign on those.)
He did not have any keys for the safes, but he had the combos for them somewhere "in a safe place," he said. All written down. Dirt, dust, runny nose, sneezing, a couple banged up fingers --his, not mine. Removed some doors for painting. Washed some of the floor. By the time we got all this done in about three and a half hours, my butt was about two inches off the floor.
I'm going back today to help with painting of some doors and bookcases. That is, if I can lift my arms up past my waist. And if I can manage to get down all of those stairs he has. My god, I think I've gotten to the "old man" stage in my life. It's not time to be a old man yet, at least for another ten years or so, I would think, or hope. That would make me seventy or so.
That's when old age is suppose to begin, right? Please tell me. I can handle it. As long as you don't throw it at me. I don't catch to good any more. So, it's time for some aspirin, and maybe a rub down (or up) from Kathi.
If I can get out of the chair in front of this computer.