If This Is Mid-Life...Where's the Crisis?
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If This Is Mid-Life, Where's the Crisis? Explores the peaks and pitfalls of being forty-something and married--with kids. Sam Cook takes you on a rollicking ride through mid-life with stops along the way to enjoy life's special moments. Finding humor in the little things that drive us all crazy, he helps you laugh at the trials and tribulations of family life. But Sam is not just funny--his delight in life's small pleasures shines through every story.
two, a few hundred stops at day care, maybe some night classes toward a master's degree, and it's easy to see why some people feel more like roommates than husbands and wives. I was thinking about all of this because I've spent some time recently with two couples who seem to have good marriages. After each visit, I came away sort of inspired about the institution. In the case of each couple, it wasn't an outward show of affection that told me they were in love. It was a sense of quiet
high-tops were black. His boom box was at idle. Out came Phyllis. She was wearing elbow pads, knee pads, and a white hockey helmet she had borrowed. She looked— how can I say this?—silly as heck. Our three-year-old watched her walk by, no doubt wondering,Is this the woman who sings me "Twinkle, Twinkle" when I go to bed? The lesson began with short runs down a grassy hill. Phyllis wasn't bad. Matt didn't give a lot of instruction. He mostly stood by, talking about the time he broke his wrist
juggling two pop bottles and a butcher knife. It is 1967 or '68 and I'm a wideeyed freshman or sophomore at the University of Kansas. I'm in for a wonderful night, alone in the station wagon. The cruise control is set at 65—OK, 66—and I'm northbound for Duluth with this radio station that is replaying the 1960s and 1970s for me. This is chic now, among radio stations—this "classic rock" programming for us baby boomers. I have heard it from Duluth to Minneapolis to Tampa, Florida. We are the
a slurry dog food that waited in a sawed-off barrel across the room. On the other side of the woodstove, in a large metal pan, a beaver lay on his back. He was dead and furless, his exposed flesh a Swiss cheese white. His orange and curled teeth pointed toward the ceiling. His webbed feet and his flat tail hung outside the pan. The beaver, too, was on his way to a state of thaw and to becoming the highlight of some Alaskan husky's next meal. I call my friend a dogsledder. He is not only a
starts squirting stuff on the spots and laying the clothes aside. And presoaking. She gets the clothes in the washer and adds some special powder to them, fills the washer with water and lets them sit there for a couple hours. 36 WORKING IT OUT I say, are we washing these clothes or giving them a bath? I have a policy on drying clothes. Except for the Polypropylene Long Underwear, I dry everything in the dryer. Put it in. Crank it up. This, too, causes problems occasionally, in that some of