It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger. When you notice this, try not to yell at them. Some are oversensitive, and there's nothing worse than an oversensitive woman.

Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife, Julie. When I took "early retirement" last year, it became necessary for Julie to get a full-time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed. Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age. I usually get home from the golf course about the same time she gets home from work.

Although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner. I don't yell at her.

Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table. I generally have lunch in the Men's Grill at the club so eating out is not reasonable. I'm ready for some home cooked grub when I hit that door.

She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating. But now it's not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won't clean themselves. I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.

Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think. For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour. But, boys, we take 'em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three days. That way she won't have to rush so much. I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn't hurt her any (if you know what I mean). I like to think tact is one of my strong points.

When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the lawn. I try not to make a scene. I'm a fair man. I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while. And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.

I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support Julie. I'm not saying that showing this much consideration is easy. Many men will find it difficult. Some will find it impossible! Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older. However, guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile. After all, we are put on this earth to help each other.....

Signed,
Ron.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Ron died suddenly on May 27th. The police report says that he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club rammed up his butt, with only 2 inches of grip showing. His wife Julie was arrested and charged with murder; however, the all-woman jury found her Not Guilty, accepting her defense that he accidentally sat down on it very suddenly.

Hello my name is Flicka and my Owner's a clinic junky. Yes, it's true. She went thru her mid life crisis and came to the sale barn and bought me.

I spent my whole life misbehaving and being passed from greenhorn to greenhorn till someone finally got smart and sent me to the sale barn.

I was seriously hoping to be picked up by one of those show horse fella's so I could live in a fancy barn and stand around and look pretty, but they told me my butt's too small, my heads too big, and the crest on my neck from a bout with grass founder (thanks to owner number 2) is not desirable, and in general I was just not that capable of looking pretty, so I went home with Phyllis instead.

She pets me and loves me, and in general I had a pretty good life at first. Then she heard about those guys who whisper to horses. Life has never been the same.

First there was Pat. At Pat's clinic Phyllis learned to twirl a big stick and chase me around a round pen till I was ringing wet with sweat.

Once I had quote "calmed down" (I was never really fired up in the first place till that guy came at me with the stick like an idiot) she began learning to ride me with no bridle. Talk about giving an old spoiled horse an opportunity to have some fun! Initially I went along with it. I'd lope around the pen real nice like, and everyone would oooh and cooo over my "natural horse" abilities.

Then, just when everyone had gathered around to watch, I would see the SCARIEST!! (tehehehe) Shadow in the history of scary shadows and switch directions and take off with my rider clinging terrified to my back. Every other horse on the place was envious of me because their owners would take them out back and beat them with that overpriced stick when no one was watching, but I knew my Phyllis would not.

Eventually Philly (as I like to call her) gave up on the whole natural horse idea when Pat tried to talk her into jumping me without a bridle over some barrels.

Off we went in search of another guru. In our search we found Monty. He threw a string at a horse and talked to the horse with winks and stares. I spent some time with his clinic horses. I saw the demonstration where an unbroken 2 year old became an overnight Reiner.

Later I talked to the 2 year old. He was actually 5 and had been doing this same routine for about 5 clinics now. The first time Phyllis broke out the string I again, went along with it. Well, until she got tired of me stopping and looking at her like she was stupid. When she went to get herself a glass of water and refer to that chapter in Monty's book, I grabbed the string and chewed it to pieces.

And this is how I got my Jolly ball!

Then there was the Indian fella with a name I can't pronounce. To get the full effect of his clinic Philly painted stuff on my body and put feathers in my hair. I looked like I was in a Costume class, but hey whatever floats your boat. I thought maybe at least with this guy we might get to play Indian pony games and have mock battles or something but no. More round pen work and gimmicks. This time there was a fire in the middle of the round pen and they danced around it while praying that I would become a good horse and always mind my owner. He only took her for a couple thousand pelts and a bottle of firewater.

There's been the Australian guy. Training with a Boomerang while he hopped around like a kangaroo and called me his mate... "Sorry fella, your cute and all but my mate has 4 legs. I Just don't' swing interspecies."

A horse psychic who told Phyllis my momma didn't lick me enough when I was born.

A guy who used his hands like ears to talk to me and of course the touchy feely lady.

I can't complain though I've got an owner who loves me and has devoted her time to trying to make me a better horse. I really should behave, really I should, but I think I am contributing to her youth by giving her a reason to take me to all these clinics. Maybe the next clinic will involve turning me out with the mustangs so I find my inner wild stallion.

Sincerely, Flicka

Bush was baffled, so he e-mailed it to Condi Rice. Condi and her aides had no clue either, so they sent it to the FBI.

No one could solve it at the FBI so it went to the CIA, then to the NSA.

With no clue as to its meaning they eventually asked Britain's MI-6 for help. Within a minute MI-6 cabled the White House with this reply: "Tell the President he's holding the message upside down."