I'm tired and wanna go to bed

There are many things I dislike about getting older.

I don't have nearly as much hair as I used to. Well, not on my head anyway. For some reason it is growing out of my shoulders – that's a great place for a mop of hair. Many other parts of my body that used to be hair free are now sprouting a full-blown lawn of follicles as well.

My eyebrows are so long a family of pheasants could nest in them and I would likely never notice. My belly is larger and my patience thinner.

I could go on and on, but one of things that annoys me the most about stacking on the years is how tired I get.

There was a time not too long ago — actually it was a long time ago, but please let me live in the illusion – when sleep was something to be done when I had nothing better to do.

Long gone are the days when I could indulge in social activities well into the night and pop out of bed early the next morning, ready to take on the world.

When I was 18, I averaged about four hours sleep a night.

Thank goodness for high school where I could at least get some rest.

I worked part time, hung out with my friends part time and slept some of the time. Life was good.

Fast forward 30 or so years and a friend of mine hit the Big 5-0. A social gathering in his honour was organized and we all joined together to bug him about being the first of us to reach the half-century mark.

That gathering lasted until 1 a.m. In my teen years and well into my 20s, 1 a.m. meant it was time to start thinking about the after party.

At my friend's birthday, 1 a.m. meant I was well past my bedtime.

The next day, I was downright tuckered out from a night of vigorous activity so late into the darkness.

In my youth, I can remember thinking sleep was a waste of time. Why would I want to sleep when there is so much fun to be had. Life is too short to sleep it away.

Nowadays, my attitude toward sleep has taken a quantum shift. Now, I like sleep, I enjoy it, I look forward to it. It has become one of my favourite things to do.

Late night TV is now 10 p.m. and anything beyond 11 p.m. is just not worth watching.

There have been days when I could not wait to go to sleep.

The party used to beckon me like a siren calling from the deep to join her until the sun came up. It was a call I answered more often than not.

Now, my bed calls me not like a young, beautiful temptress, but as a comforting old friend that is always there for me, always ready to envelop me in the soft folds of blankets and pillow.

And if I do ignore the call of my old friend for too long, there is a price to pay. Unlike the days of my youth where I could pop out of bed on four hours sleep and be ready to tackle the day bright eyed and full of energy, now I am ready to tackle the couch for a nap the first chance I get.

But the alternative to getting older sucks so I will endure hairy shoulders and the need to inject coffee directly into my bloodstream just to get through the day for as long as I can.

Now if you will excuse me, I feel a nap coming on.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

Terror lurks under the deck

It was not a good job for someone with arachnophobia.
The fear of eight-legged creepy crawlies can be terrifying at worst (and at best actually, because I really do hate spiders.)
Nothing in this world ― not a visit from the inlaws, a trip to the dentist, not even other bugs, scare me as much as a spider.
So with that manhood-shriveling fear in mind, you can understand why I was so reluctant to clean under the back deck of my humble home.
When we moved in to the house, the space under the deck was open and really not good for anything, so I put my vast array of carpentry 'skills' to work and enclosed the area with  two-by-fours and plywood.
The first thing I needed was tools and thanks to a watchful eye, I spotted several much-needed pieces of equipment in local flyers, the discount section of hardware stores and yard sales and soon I had an arsenal of mass construction. 
All of this was purchased with my wife's consent – more or less anyway.
Eventually I had everything I needed from a compound mitre saw (my favourite new tool) to a framing-finishing-gun-air-compressor combo (my second fav tool.)
Feeling like a real carpenter, I even bought one of those little pouch thingies carpenters wear to hold their hammer, nails, pencil, measuring tape, sawdust and what ever else happened to land in all those pockets.
The job didn't take long, and before I could say 'Why won't this stupid board fit, I measured it three times,' the job was done.
I was pleased with my mastery over wood products and the prowess I possessed in building such a fine enclosure.
Three walls, two doors and a window were all done by someone with marginal carpentry experience. 
Next came filling the newly created enclosure with stuff I wanted to store. First were the kid's bikes that could finally be kept under lock and key. After having three bikes 'liberated' from my yard it was becoming rather tiresome, but since I completed the addition to my home not a single bike has wondered off.
As time crept along, more and more items ended up under the deck, some of which had not been moved for years.
But along with the structural addition to my home came another addition: a breeding ground for spiders. At first it was not too bad, but after a few years there were more spider webs in that little space than moustaches in Mexico.
It was also getting full of leaves and dust and clutter, so I decided it was time to charge in and clean it out.
The first task was to move everything out of the area. Actually that was the second task, the first was to get a good pair of leather work gloves so I would not run the risk of my skin coming in contact with an arachnid.
When I moved a box and saw a wolf spider – that was actually larger than a real wolf – scurry away, I knew it was time to call in the heavy artillery: my shop vac.
With the longest tube extensions I possessed, my peak 5.5 horsepower spider killer was ready to go. I would move items with one hand and vacuum with the other. I sucked up roughly 2,347 pounds worth of spider webs, or something in that range anyway.
I also caught up to that wolf spider and I actually heard it make a clunking sound as its enlarged body entered the cold chamber of my shop vac.
I am still shuttering.
It took a while, but a decade of spider build up has been cleaned out. 
I also learned a valuable lesson that day: when doing a job that involves spiders, webs and other forms of ickyness – make my son do it.

copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh

Shhhhhh, I'm old and I'm trying to sleep

There are many things I dislike about getting older.

I don't have nearly as much hair as I used to. Well, not on my head anyway. For some reason it is growing out of my shoulders – that's a great place for a mop of hair. Many other parts of my body that used to be hair free are now sprouting a full-blown lawn of follicles as well.

My eyebrows are so long a family of pheasents could nest in them and I would likely never notice. My belly is larger and my patience thinner.

I could go on and on, but one of things that annoys me the most about stacking on the years is how tired I get.

There was a time not too long ago — actually it was a long time ago, but please let me live in the illusion – when sleep was something to be done when I had nothing better to do.

Long gone are the days when I could indulge in social activities well into the night and pop out of bed early the next morning, ready to take on the world.

The year I turned 18, I averaged about four hours sleep a night.

Thank goodness for high school where I could at least get some rest.

I worked part time, hung out with my friends part time and slept some of the time. Life was good.

Fast forward 30 or so years and a friend of mine hit the Big 5-0. A social gathering in his honour was organized and we all joined together to bug him about being the first of us to reach the half-century mark.

That gathering lasted until 1 a.m. In my teen years and well into my 20s, 1 a.m. meant it was time to start thinking about the after party.

At my friend's birthday, 1 a.m. meant I was well past my bedtime.

The next day, I was downright tuckered out from a night of vigorous activity so late into the darkness.

In my youth, I can remember thinking sleep was a waste of time. Why would I want to sleep when there is so much fun to be had. Life is too short to sleep it a way.

Nowadays, my attitude toward sleep has taken a quantum shift. Now, I like sleep, I enjoy it, I look forward to it. It has become one of my favourite things to do.

Late night TV is now 10 p.m. and anything beyond 11 p.m. is just not worth watching.

There have been days when I could not wait to go to sleep.

The party used to beckon me like a siren calling from the deep to join her until the sun came up. It was a call I answered more often than not.

Now my bed calls me not like a young, beautiful siren, but as a comforting old friend that is always there for me, always ready to envelop me in the soft folds of blankets and pillow.

And if I do ignore the call of my old friend for too long, there is a price to pay. Unlike the days of my youth where I could pop out of bed on four hours sleep and be ready to tackle the day four hours sleep now means I am ready to tackle the couch for a nap the first chance I get.

But like I have said before, the alternative to getting older sucks so I will endure hairy shoulders and the need to inject coffee directly into my bloodstream just to get through the day for as long as I can.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh