As much as I hate to admit it, I'm getting older. No, really, really old. There was a time when fifty years old was pretty much the end. I used to feel sorry for people like me with fifty big ones behind them. Actually, I still feel sorry for them/me. Although aging beats the alternative, it is not without its share of drawbacks. My body isn't the machine it used to be and that bugs me big time. Last night I went to take the garbage out. It had been raining, so I took off my socks so I wouldn't get them wet. I planned on a quick run out to the trash and back to the house, and before I knew what had happened, I was lying on my back with trash spread all over the porch and a really big pain in my left arm. Black ice. A few years ago I probably would have laughed and done a back flip to right myself again. Not so, last night. I stood up gingerly, and holding my arm I took several futile steps forward with my life flashing before my eyes. I did manage to get back to the house, eventually, and my husband picked up the garbage, and my arm is only bruised, but I know the ugly truth... I am a little bit...fragile.