Heavy lifting

We have a white tea towel in our upstairs bathroom that says this in bold, black capital letters: “I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO GO TO THE GYM TODAY. THAT’S 7 YEARS IN A ROW.” It makes me laugh every time I see it, which is at least once or twice a day, not only because it’s funny, but also because it’s true. Neither one of us has ever been a gym rat or fond of fitness centers. For several years, we attended Jazzercise classes regularly three or four times a week. It was a fun way to socialize and get some exercise through dancing, light weight training and building cardio. We loved it until our bodies didn’t. The jumping and pounding started hurting more than helping as we aged. So, when our favorite instructor/owner left the business, we did, too. Getting older has a knack for making you realize what physical activities are safest. Pickle ball? Nope. Not for me after two knee replacements. Walking? Definitely. We can still walk. Bicycling? Sure. We’ve got eTrikes! Strength training? Maybe. Still up for debate.

Our friend Pat, who is a creative woman of a certain age, can deadlift 160 pounds. On purpose. According to me, that’s an outstanding achievement and represents significant strength that knows no bounds. Apparently, lifting more than your bodyweight is the standard benchmark for adult beginners of any age. Her bone density and joint health likely have improved since she started working out with a personal trainer. And her longevity, no doubt. I would not cross her, mostly because she could hurt me and also because she makes a mean spaghetti casserole.

I’m fairly certain neither Rebecca nor I could do this deadlift weight stuff. Not that we haven’t tried on occasion. Take last week, for instance, when my beloved had the bright idea to move a 250-pound solid cement porch sculpture that has been positioned to greet visitors with “Welcome Winter” for two years now. (It’s winter somewhere.)

“Here’s how we’re gonna do this,” she said. “You lift up that little hand truck dolly trolley, and I’ll scoot the Welcome thingy onto this new plant caddy with lockable wheels,” adding with a straight face that “it can actually hold 450 pounds!”

Welcome to my world.

Truth be told, 450 pounds is the size of an 11-foot alligator, which, ideally, would not fit on this plant stand any day of the week.

Sadly, I went along with this nonsense. I’ll blame the oppressive summer heat for clouding my judgment. Or perhaps I thought we could do it. The mind says yes, and the body says WTH?

Not surprisingly, her plan didn’t work – Newton’s Laws of physics aside – but we are both scheduled for hernia surgery next month. Seriously, after a fight ensued, we left that Jolly Green Giant-sized paperweight on the porch for our landscaping guys to handle another day.

Took them about five seconds, but it was much heavier than they imagined. I swear I heard one mutter, “Dios mio,” but I could be wrong.

It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks around here. Lots of home improvement projects started and completed on time. We’re fortunate to be able to do this stuff while we still have our teeth and despite being on a fixed income.

Brick wall demolition, a new porch patio and a long overdue front flower bed facelift. Looking well, despite her years.

Reminds me of something completely unrelated that I read last week.

I had never heard of Wally Funk. That in itself, doesn’t surprise me. She was a woman of a certain age and era who accomplished great things, but she was, well, a woman. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of stories like hers.

Mary Wallace Funk, who once set an age record for space travel, died July 8 at age 87. Her obituary ran in the New York Times, so that’s something, and so was she. Everyone called her “Wally.”

As a young woman in the 1960s, Wally wasn’t allowed to become a NASA astronaut. After college, she became a flight instructor, began an aviation career and waited eight decades before realizing her long-held dream of flying in space.

In summer 2021, after returning from a roughly 10-minute spaceflight aboard a rocket built by Jeff Bezos’s company Blue Origin, Wally said: “I loved every minute of it. I just wish it had been longer.” She was 82.

In her memoir, Higher Faster Longer, written with Loretta Hall, Wally said she had logged more than 19,000 hours of flying in her career. She never flew for NASA, which didn’t accept women until 1978. (The first American woman to fly in space was Sally Ride, a mission specialist, in 1983.)

But Wally’s passion for aviation never wavered, and after that spaceflight, she still had one overriding desire: “I want to go again, fast.”

Later in 2021, Capt. James Kirk broke her record. Yeah, that guy. Actor William Shatner of “Star Trek” fame, set a new record for the oldest person to fly in space. He was 90.

Seems ironic that Wally was upstaged by someone who played an astronaut rather than one who had spent an entire career working as one. Shatner’s record was later broken by some other older guy. (It wasn’t Spock.)

Nothing is forever these days. Not spaceflight records and not even the cost of Forever stamps.

On Sunday, first-class Forever stamps went up again, from 78 cents to 82 cents. We restocked before the July 12 increase during a recent Costco run. We certainly don’t use as many stamps as we used to, so let’s hope they last at least until the next increase.

When Forever stamps were introduced in 2007, they cost 41 cents each. Just a year ago, the U.S. Postal Service raised the price from 73 cents to 78 cents. Now at 82 cents apiece, that’s a 100 percent increase in 19 years!

No wonder I get fewer birthday cards.

Anyway, we will continue to beautify our surroundings and enjoy life.

As my irreverent Uncle Jake used to say: “Go first class, or your kids will.”

Whatever’s left may be just enough to buy some stamps.

(YouTube: One of the best bands of the 1960s, The Hollies never quite got the recognition they deserved. Here’s their worldwide hit, “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” from 1969. The ballad was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell. And here’s a little-known fact: Elton John, who was working as a session musician at the time, played piano on the song.)