Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.
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I was having trouble with the idea of turning thirty and was oversensitive to any signs of advancing age. When I found a prominent gray hair in my bangs, I pointed to my forehead.
"Have you seen this?" I indignantly asked my husband.
"What?" he asked. "The wrinkles?"
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Turning 50 two years ago, I took a lot of good-natured ribbing from family and friends. So as my wife’s 50th birthday approached, I decided to get in some needling of my own. I sat her down, looked deep into her eyes, then said I had never made love to anyone who was over 50 years old.
"Oh, well, I have," she deadpanned. "It’s not that great."
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I was turning 40 and decided to celebrate by fulfilling my longtime dream to go sky-diving. Before the jump, my mother and I spent the day at a festival, where we bumped into two of my cousins. They inquired about my upcoming birthday, and when I told them about my jump from 10,000 feet, I could tell they were a bit mystified.
Finally one of them remarked, "Why don’t you just get your breasts done like everyone else?"
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Heading off to college at the age of 40, I was a bit self-conscious about my advancing years. One morning I complained to my husband that I was the oldest student in my class.
"Even the teacher is younger than I am," I said.
"Yeah, but look at it from my point of view," he said optimistically. "I thought my days of fooling around with college girls were over."
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I had been thinking about coloring my hair. One day while going through a magazine, I came across an ad for a hair-coloring product featuring a beautiful young model with hair a shade that I liked. Wanting a second opinion, I asked my husband, "How do you think this color would look on a face with a few wrinkles?"
He looked at the picture, crumpled it up, straightened it out and studied it again. "Just great, hon."
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My husband was bending over to tie my three-year-old’s shoes. That’s when I noticed my son, Ben, staring at my husband’s head.
He gently touched the slightly thinning spot of hair and said in a concerned voice, "Daddy, you have a hole in your head. Does it hurt?"
After a pause, I heard my husband’s murmured reply: "Not physically."
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Jim, my 40-something husband, was playing basketball with friends his age. "Pretty soon," said one of his teammates, "we’ll have to count it as a basket if the ball just hits the rim."
"Yeah," Jim agreed. "It’s scary when you have to look through the bottom part of your bifocals to shoot layups and the top part on jump shots."
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At his 103rd birthday party, my grandfather was asked if he thought that he’d be around for his 104th.
"I certainly do," he replied. "Statistics show that very few people die between the ages of 103 and 104."
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Having fought the battle of the bulge most of my life, I found the battle getting even harder as I approached middle age. One evening, after trying on slacks that were too tight, I said to my husband, "I’ll be so glad when we become grandparents. After all, who cares if grandmothers are fat?"
His prompt reply: "Grandfathers."
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To celebrate his 40th birthday, my boss, who is battling middle-age spread, bought a new convertible sports car. As a finishing touch, he put on a vanity plate with the inscription "18 Again." The wind was let out of his sails, however, when a salesman entered our office the following week.
"Hey," he called out, "who owns the car with the plate ‘I ate again’?"
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Because they had no reservations at a busy restaurant, my elderly neighbor and his wife were told there would be a 45-minute wait for a table.
"Young man, we’re both 90 years old," he told the maitre d’. "We may not have 45 minutes."
They were seated immediately.
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I was with my husband at a baseball game in Boston’s Fenway Park when I decided to go get myself a hot dog. As I stood up my husband asked me to buy him a beer. The young clerk at the concession stand asked to see verification of age.
"You’ve got to be kidding," I said. "I’m almost 40 years old." He apologized, but said he had to insist. When I showed him my license, the clerk served me the beer. "That will be $4.25."
I gave him $5 and told him to keep the change. "The tip’s for carding me," I said.
He put the change in the tip cup. "Thanks," he said. "Works every time."
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Good morning everyboomie.
Happy Labor Day!
IT'S THE END OF SUMMER! IT'S THE END OF SUMMER! 
I'm glad there are no school age GameBoomers. They'd probably put a hit out on me.
Sunday started out cool again, so after I took the dogs to the park, I got the
hair-brained idea to go to the creek again.
The grass at the creek is so thick, and so tall, that I broke my big stick beating the bush for snakes.
I've been using that stick for 5 years.
I only did one leg of the creek (a few hundred yards), and I was still over heating pretty bad, and after that I said 'the heck with this' and came back home.
Lowe's started receiving Trim-A-Tree decorations today, but it ain't looking a lot like Christmas. Not yet.
Have a happy day everyone.
joe
acebook
witter
Good Morning Joe, Ana, and all. Coffee and tea are ready. Wishing you all a great day! 
I had a great morning. Had the morning off. I don't have to be at work until 5:00. I hope you all are having a good day, I am 
