How Do You Unwind?

Feel as if you are being pecked to death by ducks sometimes? Try trimming a tree, your tendons tight as crossbows.

A writer named Mark Strand talks about the way, after a certain age, melancholy seeps into the human spirit.

“If you’re lucky!” I respond, because not everyone makes it to the age where wistfulness can mellow out your mind. To me, better to grow old and melancholy than to never have had the chance.

Our screwy culture glorifies youth and beauty, vitality and verve. The young don’t have a lock on that, though it does come easier to them.

Young people seem to have the quick-twitch impulses — the buzz, the curiosity. Just look at Coachella’s bee hive of quivering flesh.

Me, I am less restless these days, though curious as ever. I don’t know how water pumps work, for instance, or why crowds line up for Trader Joe’s tote bags. Some issues defy understanding. Especially TJ’s tote bags.

I also don’t understand the phases of the moon. I need one of those sun-earth-moon mobiles they used to have in science class. Even then, I’ll never understand moons.

By the way, how do you kick back, how do you unwind? Might I recommend beer — it’s so good on cereal. Also, the more I move, the happier I feel.

In that vein, I trimmed a tree for Suzanne the other day. As we know, life can be a cascading waterfall of crud and obligation. When that’s not enough, you blow out a knee.

But shaping up a crabapple tree is a glorious task. I’m sure the pain in my right shoulder is only temporary, and the pelvic thrusts I do, as a warmup every morning, have been put on hold.

Otherwise, trimming a tree is good and heavenly work.

As you may know, I am a son of the soil. And Mother Nature was my biological mom (picture her in heels and a trippy French skirt while walking a yappy dog).

So I work feverishly in a stiff morning breeze, under April’s latte clouds. I trim with every molecule of my bod, my tendons tight as crossbows. As I work, clumps of crabapples thud to the ground. They sound like children scampering across the floor.Glorious.

Of course, applewood is quite heavy, dense as marble. As I struggle with this 40-foot tree, I keep imagining the brisket I will smoke with it.

Life tip: Being away from your phone, even for an hour or two, is a gift. I don’t have to deal with push notifications, or alerts that my bank card had been used online. Kaiser can’t bug me, nor the hundreds of L.A. contractors who want to cheat me.

Digitally, don’t you feel as if you are being pecked to death by ducks?

Well, I was away from all that, though I still faced challenges. The telescoping tree saw kept binding, as they always do. I pushed, I pulled, I cursed, I cussed.

“Is cursing worse than cussing?” I wondered. Then I cursed and cussed some more. It’s what men like me use in lieu of logic.

Yet, little by little, the tree takes shape. I recall how we used to taste crabapples as kids, a tart candy. I tried one. Still in my esophagus two days later. Yep, still tart.

So, if you’re ever melancholy, I suggest trimming a tree. At the very least, it will give you an appreciation for the workers who do this all day, the heft of the tree saws, the importance of finding the right angles (which don’t even exist).

In any case, we’re now entering The Season of Yard Work. I think we outsource too much of that, and it can give us a sense of accomplishment to knock out some of this ourselves, whether it’s threading a new vine through a trellis, or replacing a crummy old bird bath.

Meanwhile, a public service announcement: I read recently were mosquitoes prefer blue-eyed victims over brown-eyed folks. Is it the melanin in the skin? The beer in the blood? The purity of our hearts?

In any case, relish your beautiful smoky-brown eyes.

Damn mosquitos. They’ve always been lusty for me. They leave hickeys, made worse by my clawing nails.

For Suzanne, it’s even worse. Skeeters leave 10-inch Whoopee Cushions on her arms and legs.

She’s still dashing, of course. Like Lindy. Or Ted Turner. Or Justin Bieber in a blowing scarf that makes me hate him.

Point is: Dashing people have their challenges too. Don’t we all?

“We beat on,” Fitzgerald said, “boats against the current.

Indeed.

Next week: Another grandchild! Plus, tapping into Boomer Wisdom.

Save the date: How about a Descanso Gardens hike May 2? Invites to come.