The end times are just around the corner. The signs are unmistakable.
I now wear slippers.
When I was a boy I would pad about the house barefoot all the time. My dad would wear slippers now and then, but it was my grandfather and other certifiably antiquated men who wore slippers.
Of course, back then I lived in Maryland, much farther south than west Michigan. But only thirty years ago - egad is has been thirty years! - in the hills of western Massachusetts, in a clapboard parsonage ancient and drafty, I would nip down the long linoleum covered hall in the morning for my ablutions. It was cold but my feet were bare.
Now, in my toasty warm brick house I need to put on slippers right away, and even a sweater over my PJ's.
I am becoming Mr. Rogers without any of the charm and sweetness of the character or the man. I must wear glasses to shave and tie my shoes.
My mother was right - 'growing old is not for sissies.'