By Den McLaughlin

As I usually do when it’s my time to write this column, I spread some humor. Today, it’s about those people of a certain age, like me.

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A stingy old lawyer who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness was determined to prove wrong the old saying, “You can’t take it with you.”

After much thought and consideration, the old ambulance chaser finally figured out how to take at least some of his money with him when he died. He instructed his wife to go to the bank and withdraw enough money to fill two pillowcases. He then directed her to take the bags of money to the attic and leave them directly above his bed. His plan: When he passed away, he would reach out and grab the bags on his way to heaven.

Several weeks after the funeral, the deceased lawyer’s wife, up in the attic cleaning, came upon the two forgotten pillow cases stuffed with cash. “Oh, that old fool,” she exclaimed. “I knew he should have had me put the money in the basement.”

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My face in the mirror isn’t wrinkled or drawn.

My house isn’t dirty. The cobwebs are gone.

My garden looks lovely and so does my lawn.

I think I might never put my glasses back on.

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An elderly looking gentleman, (mid-90s), very well-dressed, hair well-groomed, great looking suit, flower in his lapel, smelling slightly of a good aftershave, presenting a well-looked-after image, walks into an upscale cocktail lounge.

Seated at the bar is an elderly looking lady.

The gentleman walks over, sits alongside her, orders a drink, takes a sip, turns to her and says, “So tell me, do I come here often?”

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This from George Carlin on aging:

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids? If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited about aging that you think in fractions. “How old are you?” “I’m 4 and a half.” You’re 4 and a half going on 5.

You get into your teens, and you simply jump to the next number. “How old are you?” “I’m gonna be 16.” You could be 12, but you’re gonna be 16. Eventually.

Then the great day arrives and you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. You BECOME 21!!

Then you turn 30. What happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk. He TURNED; we had to throw him out. What’s wrong? What changed?

You BECOME 21. You TURN 30; You’re PUSHING 40. You REACH 50. Then you MAKE IT to 60. By then you’ve built up so much speed, you HIT 70. After that, it’s a day by day thing. You HIT Wednesday …

You get into your 80s; you HIT lunch, you HIT 4:30. And it doesn’t end there …

Into the 90s, you start going backward. “I was JUST 92.” Then a strange thing happens; if you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. “I’m 100 and a half.”

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A little girl was sitting on her grandfather’s lap as he read her a bedtime story.

From time to time she would take her eyes off the book and reach up to touch his wrinkled cheek. She was alternately stroking her own cheek, then his again. Finally, she spoke up, “Grandpa, did God make you?” “Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, “God made me a long time ago.

“Grandpa, did God make me too?” “Yes, indeed, honey,” he said, “God made you just a little while ago.”

Feeling their respective faces again, she observed, “God’s getting better at it, isn’t he?”

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And finally.

You know how important exercise is, as we grow older. Here are a few suggestions. I start by standing outside behind the house and, with a 5-pound potato sack in each hand, extend my arms straight out to my sides and hold them there as long as I can.

After a few weeks, I moved up to 10-pound potato sacks, then 50-pound potato sacks and finally I got to where I could lift a 100-pound potato sack in each hand and hold my arms straight out for more than a full minute!

Next, I started putting a few potatoes IN the sacks, but I would caution you not to overdo it at this level.

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Wishing all a very healthy and wonderful 2020.