I still enjoy downhill skiing in New England in the winter even at my advanced age! I like to take easy trails and stop from time to time and look at the frozen lake, the mountains, the village below, whatever that particular ski slope has to offer. I actually want the run to last a while.

I learned to ski as a high school student, way too late to have developed much of an expert form. My daughter skied from the time she was in first grade as did her daughters. They all put grandpa to shame on the difficult trails! Once each youngster began to take the chairlift I took her into the ski shop and bought a helmet on sale.

I bought my first pair of skis and boots my senior year in high school and kept them for twenty years or so. Near the end of that first pair’s life, I was riding up in a double chair lift with a teenager who looked over at my double leather boots and asked, “Say, is that something new?”

My next pair were more high tech, at least for that time. The boots were plastic of some sort and the skis were fiberglass. Two years ago, skiing with family at Loon Mountain, the toe of one of my boots actually broke right off while I was underway. Old guys should not have to get to the bottom of the mountain on one ski! It must have been a sight to behold.

My daughter helped me select my current boots and skis. These are parabolic or shaped skis. They are shorter in length and bigger at both ends. My boots sit high in the biddings. Turning on icy slopes is a breeze. I really like these skis.

And it’s important that I proceed cautiously. Because if I fall down I will have to wait for spring to get up!

Here are some books you might enjoy on skiing.

I was half watching a movie on TV the other evening and the male lead had to go away, on a ferry boat of all things, apparently forever. Shortly after that scene the female lead said something like, “Saying I miss him would be too easy. Everything has simply changed.”

I know that feeling.

I was married to my childhood sweetheart for nearly forty years before she passed away over a year ago. She was 59 and had been diagnosed with colon cancer. She had two very difficult surgeries and then she was gone. And exactly everything changed.

My adult daughter pushed me to participate in a “grief” group that Hospice House was offering in Merrimack. I was sure the last thing I wanted to do was talk about this with strangers. But I went and, at first, reluctantly participated. By the end of six weeks I was crying along with everyone else and practicing meditation again after a lapse of many years. I was glad I had done it but unsure what it all meant.

I continued projects on our old house that Martha and I had planned. I vacuumed and cleaned and washed and cooked. I found it odd that a now wild and crazy bachelor would keep his house neat as a pin!

I helped my daughter and her family move away for a better job and, hopefully, a better life. I still travel the long distance to be with them at holidays and important events. I thought I should probably retire and devote more time to my granddaughters.

Then it occurred to me that I should be on the lookout for eligible ladies. I wasn’t sure what I intended to do with one if I found one but it seemed like the thing to do. I posted myself in the frozen food section of the supermarket and when a likely candidate came along I would open the freezer door in front of me, grab the box I’d picked out in advance and turn to the lady to ask if “this is enough for one”.

That isn’t exactly true. Well, it isn’t true at all but I found that friends got a kick out of my telling them that.

What do I know a year and a half later? Only for sure that everything has changed and that I have to cope, not by designing schemes for “picking up chicks’ (and never carrying them out!), not by finishing endless projects, not by waiting on granddaughters like a butler but rather by authentically finishing my life as I see fit.

This link is to a number of books on grief. I’ve never actually read one but then I’m probably not a good role model.

I can remember a time, probably right after the Civil War as my daughter likes to interject when I start a story like this, when I could jump out of bed and be fed, bathed, dressed and at my desk less than an hour later. Way less.

Now-a-days, I can barely make it if I have a two hour head start! What's the difference? Well, frankly I try not to rush around like a headless chicken for fear of charging into a door jam or a chair leg. The peripheral vision ain't what it used to be!

I have to do my exercises. I walk on the treadmill and watch the Today Show. According to my crack Internist I'm not walking nearly long enough! Then I need to take pills by the hand full.

I have to stop to eat large quantities of fiber.

I also have to practically shave my entire head. As my middle granddaughter said recently after inspecting my face, "Grandpa, you have hair in your nose!". And in my ears!

After showering I have to apply lotion. I never put lotion on in my life. Manly men don't put on lotion. But if I miss a day in the winter I begin to itch. When did I suddenly start to dry out!

I actually floss. I have thousands invested in these teeth. And dressing requires finding pockets for work keys and home keys and car keys, wallets, checkbooks, nitroglycerin tablets, a handkerchief, a pen, cash, notes reminding me who to call, a datebook. Don't forget the briefcase.

Now I'm locking the door. Wait did I shut off the coffee maker...

Here's a link to a couple of books about staying sharp and aging gracefully.