Pepto-Bismol

I’ve begun to notice that my 13-year old senior dog is eating earlier and earlier.

He used to eat dinner at 5:00 p.m. — but over the last few weeks, through insistent whining and vocalizing, we’ve moved dinner time to 4:00 o’clock.

Who Could Stand the Crying? 

So what’s the big deal? Who cares when the dog eats?

Certainly not me. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind eating dinner at 4:00 p.m. but I’ve been told that I’m too young. Only the elderly eat so early. And since I certainly don’t want to be judged as elderly, I shrug and go along.

But I’m Hungry

So what I’d really like to know is — what does age have to do with the time of day when you get hungry? Someone please answer me that.

Besides, it turns out that 4:00 p.m. is now designated as Happy Hour. A chic, sophisticated concept, created by the Hospitality industry. Discounted bites and liquor. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s the time when adults gather in the late afternoon to drink. A prelude, if you will, to the real show. That little thing I call dinner.

Teetotaler

I don’t really drink. Maybe a martini now and then. A glass of wine to be polite. Champagne on special occasions. It just isn’t my thing. Remember — I’m the one who is hungry.

But Phoenix is ripe with all sorts of restaurants catering to this Happy Hour concept. I suspect more than one cheapskate has figured it out — loading up on discounted food — making that social security check stretch. But when we go — I don’t see those folks. No walkers or canes. No wheelchairs. Only young hipsters — upscale adults — gathering about, smartly dressed,  engaged in witty repartee. The food seems to be of secondary importance. The focus is on the drinks.

I can’t figure out why I’ve been feeling so well lately. It’s not like me to be without an ache or pain. Not that I’m so very old, but I’ve come to expect sore muscles in the morning. It’s kind of routine.

Eating right?

We just came off of a cruise ship. Four course meals were the rule.  The bread basket at the table was sometimes refilled twice. I became very close with the sourdough. And afterward, there were chocolate chip cookies everywhere. Many were in my hand — before magically disappearing.

Weight Lifting

I usually go to the gym a couple of times a week, but with travel to Asia and the jet lag, I kind of let that go. Besides, it’s dangerous to work out when a ship is rocking. Experts (don’t ask me who) agree that dizziness might cause a fall. No sense risking a broken bone. I’m sure you’d agree.

Surprisingly, I didn’t miss those sessions on the elliptical machine. Or peddling, peddling, peddling on the stationary bicycle, going nowhere, sweat soaking through my clothes. It was nice not to immediately shower in the morning, lounging about instead. People seemed friendlier than when I typically walk around after a workout. No one cleared a path, stepping back, giving me the sense that something was terribly wrong.

Backache?

My back feels great. No muscle aches at all. My feet are terrific.

That must be because of the dog. We usually go on long walks, but he recently tore his ACL. With congestive heart disease, he can’t have surgery. So walks are much shorter. Barely to the end of the block. I’ve been spending a lot of time looking up as Charlie slowly hobbles along. Arizona has amazing sunrises and sunsets. You should check it out.

Vic and Jack 

Which leads me to wonder about the virtues of diet and exercise. Could Vic Tanny, Jack LaLanne, Weight Watchers and Pritikin, all have it wrong? Could excessive eating and a lack of exercise actually be good for you?

Well, it’s only been a week since we returned from our overseas trip. Three weeks since I’ve last stepped into a gym. Have I given it all up? Of course not. But I’ve loved the break.

So as I lace up my sneakers, I find myself thinking of all the professional athletes soaking somewhere in an ice bath. Those weekend warriors straining into the next stretch. I wish them all, wherever they are, a big basket of hot sourdough bread — some real butter — and maybe a chocolate chip cookie thrown in for good measure.