Pants

            When I was working on the book, Pet Loss: A Death in the Family, one of the older people interviewed said, “I’m on my last dog.” With the same reflection on the short future lying ahead for people my age, I can say, “I’m on my last pair of pants.” This appears to be consistent with Thoreau’s famous words, “Beware of any enterprises that require new clothes.”  

 

            To put this in some context: In the last three years I have gotten eleven new pairs of pants. And when we consolidated our two “snowbird” homes into one, we also consolidated two of my closets into one. That’s a lot of pants.

 

            First of all, there are my dress pants, by which I mean pretty much anything but jeans or hiking pants. I donated three of these, and the rest have worked their way to the back of the closet, waiting for the next indoor wedding, so far not immanent. These may or may not fit, may or may not be pleated, may or may not have cuffs. Who cares?

 

            Then there are my pants from The Territory Ahead, which actually fit me, so I was advised to order a bunch more. Three of these are waiting, unused, in a drawer somewhere.

 

            I also have two pair of skinny jeans, a gift from my stepson. I suppose these make me more stylish as I shovel snow or vacuum the floors. With the skinny jeans on I feel like I am wearing an “outfit,” which is another word for “costume.”

 

            That leaves me with two pair of grayish work khakis, which I bought because Kim thinks they make my butt look nice. I’m going to wear them next week.

 

            I also have a couple of pairs of lightweight hiking pants, primarily for birding, with lots of pockets with snap, zippers, and impressive belt-loops. I don’t feel inclined to put on an “outfit” when I go birding.

 

            So, I’m on my last pair of pants – though Kim has suggested that I buy some new Levis.

 

            We are in our last house. We will either end up here or move to some sort of assisted living next. Actually, we both enjoy assisted living now, as we assist each other.

 

            But I am not on my last car. I have a year left on my lease, and I’m thinking electric.

 

            Back to pants: Let’s look at the Thoreau quotation a bit more fully: “I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how can the new clothes be made to fit?” The point is not to keep wearing your raggedy pants. It’s to become “a new man” – a “new wearer of clothes.” It’s all to obvious that I am becoming “a new man,” and this new man is an old man. This may require new clothes. So, what new kind of old man do I want to become?

 

·      Geezer doesn’t have much appeal – too comical.

 

·      Senior Citizen sounds neutered.

 

·      Retiree? No, that just describes what I’m not.

 

·      Old Fart? Perhaps, but seems deliberately offensive.

 

·      How about a Sage? That sounds good, though according to the dictionary I’d better start accumulating wisdom. This may be possible if wisdom consists of questions rather than answers, for the questions are accumulating.

 

            And how does a sage dress? What kind of pants does he wear?

 

 

            Baggy Pants

 

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

 

with room in mpockets

for mhans an mkeys

an ahm there hidin inside

no they cant see me hidin

jus mpants baggy pants

cut saggy an flappy an wide

 

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

 

Yo tight pants is nice

fo doin yo-yo moves

letm see whatcha got when ydance

but fo me makem loose

set me free jus to be

in mblow-ina-breeze baggy pants

 

Gimme them    baggy pants

hangin loose all over mlegs

Yeah them    baggy pants

they smooth    theys mfavorite rags