The Old Coot has coffee elbow. Published 04/22/2026 in upstate NY

 The Old Coot asks, “Tennis anyone?”

By Merlin Lessler

 I’m sitting on the patio at a Starbucks in Ormond Beach, watching two little birds hop around picking crumbs from the cracks between the tiles. Not too exciting you say. You’re wrong. It is. For an old coot, anyhow. It’s a nice distraction from a changing world. When you’re young, you can’t wait for change – to graduate from school – to get a job – to get married – to get your own place – to buy a new car. Eventually, you go the other way; you don’t want change; you want things to stay the way they are. That’s when you officially become an old coot. You’ve decided that most changes are not for the better. (for me)

 It means another friend has moved away. It means your favorite restaurant went out of business. It means you’ve heard yet another clerk say, “They don’t make that anymore.”  You just want to cover your ears and block out the changes that pop into your life in an endless parade: eggs are bad for you, coffee is bad for you, meat is bad for you, your mower can’t be repaired, and the new ones won’t start unless you squeeze the handle.  CHANGES = UGH!

 Today’s change is my elbow. The right one, to be specific. It hurts. It’s a new pain; I never had it before. So, I sit here drinking coffee with my left hand, dribbling a few drops on my clean shirt, distracting myself by watching two little birds have their breakfast. Eventually, I’ll have to get back to the elbow and try to puzzle it out, to wonder why I didn’t appreciate it last week when it felt so good.

 When I’m asked what I did to cause the problem, my answer will be the same answer I’ve had for every other new issue. “Nothing!” I did a couple of push-ups. I took out the garbage. I hosed off the car. I raked some leaves. I really didn’t do anything to it! I hate this conversation because it always ends up with the same response from everybody: my doctor, my wife, my friends. “You’ve got to expect that at your age!”

 I’ve learned to deal with these things. I’ll tell people it's tennis elbow. I won’t mention that the last time I played tennis was in 1991 when my 17-year-old daughter, Amy, beat me for the first time. That’s when I invented tennis elbow and used it as an excuse to save myself from further embarrassment. Now, the pain that I faked so long ago has finally arrived. I think I figured it out as I sat here watching the birds. The pain comes from constantly walking around with a container of coffee in my hand. My elbow finally gave out. I have coffee elbow!