Laundry day

Aging is like laundry.

It may get little thought until it happens. It gets old. The alternative might stink. But somebody’s gotta do it. Somebody’s gotta wash the load away. It’s a fine mess.

Each generation leaves the next a fine mess. Mine accepted a fine mess from my forebears. The younger gripe of a fine mess left by us. So it goes.

The President and those who would be President are doddering fools. They struggle to complete sentences or remember years. Similar incompetence affects many who govern.

Pop quiz for the younger. Their forebears haven’t trained them to step up. It gets little thought until it happens. It’s time for the laundry.

As a habit, I interrupt my laundry. The washed laundry may sit awhile waiting for me to move it to the dryer. Or the dried laundry may sit awhile waiting for me to carry it away for stowing. In some rare cases, the basketful of dried laundry may lie on the bed a few hours waiting for rest in its storage places. All the more wrinkly as time goes by. Like aging.

The world has turned like a dryer. The government waits, wrinkling, for the younger generations to take over.

It’s a fine mess. Somebody’s gotta do it.