Two Women & A Text Message

Two weeks ago, while we were travelling through the Cascades, we frequently dipped out of cell phone reception and/or other modern connections.  It was great. All I needed was a covered wagon. 

At one juncture, however, while were were driving out of Mt. Rainer National Park toward Gig Harbor (Seattle), Becky suddenly received a backlog of text messages . . one of which was from our daughter informing us that she was engaged.

For the next few miles, I seemed to drive in a fog . . . wondering how such a thing was possible, given the fact that I am still a man in possession of most of my faculties and do not yet have to wear a diaper.  Where did my daughter go?  When did I become an old man?

At this juncture of my life, all I have left now is a half jar of cocktail peanuts and, at best, a shelf life of fifteen years.  In another decade I will be on the cusp of collecting whatever vestiges of social security and medicare remain once the smoke clears from the national bankruptcy.  My teeth will be gone.  I'll be gumming my licorice or eating pureed prunes.  I will, however, continue to walk around the house in my underwear and mumble to myself as I do now.  The pantry will be full of laxatives.

This is the vision, the dark mirror that a man stares into when he receives word that his daughter is getting married.  It is the beginning of the end of his life and he continues to look for any signs of beauty remaining in his old wife.  He talks more to animals and dreams of feeding pigeons.  He often pats himself on the head and says, "Good boy!"

I don't know what to do with these two women.  But I'll take any suggestions from experienced navigators.