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I'm a lucky man; born in 1942, early enough to hear stories about the Great Depression, my mother selling peanut butter sandwiches door to door, to know the Great Generation that defeated fascism, early enough to get in on the Family Farm with chickens and cows and plow horses, before farming got industrialized, early enough to hear rock 'n' roll when it was about cars and girls and surf, before it took itself seriously, and born late enough to take advantage of open-heart surgery and blood thinners and anti-seizure meds, which have given me a couple bonus decades.
And now here I am, having fallen two weeks ago and crunched my left shoulder and become a one-armed man, and I am scheduled for minimally invasive replacement surgery in New York by Dr. Samuel Taylor who showed me, with a video on his cellphone, how this will give me ten to fifteen years of usefulness.
The idea of giving an old man a future, and not sit limp in the chimney corner — this is revolutionary. I'm a lucky man.
I was on a solo stand-up comedy tour of the Southwest, when it happened and suddenly certain things became very clear. The fragility of life, the importance of a left arm even for a right-handed man, and the devotion of my wife.
After thirty years of marriage, it's easy for a couple to take each other for granted, but in the two weeks since the fall, it's been stunningly clear that the woman loves me truly and deeply and is my guardian and best friend. I'm a Minnesotan, I come from modest people, we hope for friendship, loyalty, forgiveness, but this woman who now adjusts my arm in its sling and deodorizes me and slips the black T-shirt over my head and buckles my belt — I can see that she adores me. I admire and adore her. Which makes my mishap worth all the trouble, the attention of staff at the Hospital for Special Surgery on East 71st Street, the expertise of Dr. Helfet and Dr. Jensen and Dr. Taylor, the attention of the cruel physical therapists who will torment this sedentary sluggard into shape.
My ambition is to become America's oldest working stand-up. Life is a comedy. When you're a kid, you can dabble in depression but beyond 60, there's no time to waste, you need to appreciate your everyday life. We stride across the room confidently, hit a wrinkle in the rug, and become a clown act.
I was cool fifty years ago when I was a Grateful Dead fan and I sang:
In the attics of my life
I'm not cool anymore. I can't even see it from here. But I'm a lucky man; I had a productive life. So if the great American Experiment is winding down in its 250th year, I'm glad I got to see it.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.
Full of cloudy dreams unreal,
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see.
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me.