Welcome to the commune podcast. My name is Jeff Krasnow.

How many of you may receive my weekly Sunday commusing article, where I address a breadth of issues from the spiritual to the physiological to the sociopolitical.

And on occasion, I will also record an audio version of these articles

and release it here as a bonus episode.

Today's commusing is written and read by my better three quarters, Skylar Grant, who shares

her reflections on aging. So if the young, new and the old could,

this old trope is biting at my ankles

like a peskinoseum, I'm not sure I know or can

at this very moment.

Every time I think I've got my thumb

on a field of interest, something new

arises to confound me. Like when you bring a torch into the evening, it reveals the vast

obsidian darkness of the night sky. Such is the way with knowledge. The more I know, the more it unveils what I don't know.

And my back is out again. It's a shame as I'm 23 years old again on the tennis court for about

a half an hour. Then father time flexes his biceps and sends my multifidus into spasm.

But every harvest moon, my mind and body yoke I know and can.

And it's these fleeting, intoxicating moments that propel me forward, reading, listening, doing pull-ups and squats.

I suppose the world will get the best of me in every sense.

I joke with Skyler, like a tart cherry jam. You're remarkably preserved.

You still look like a teenager from a car park away.

She claims she ages five years with every 10 yards. A few years back when Phoebe was a precocious 12 and Skylar 46, they were strolling down Ventura Boulevard,

a car full of testosterone approached behind them.

...