I used to brag about the fact that in all of my life, I could not recall needing to nap in the middle of the day. I was a workaholic (still am)  and rarely stopped working on a day or sleeping. As I rush to the mystery of the other side of life, learning and dozing as I go, things have changed.

I am no longer a dozing heretic or a macho man too proud to rest.  I’m a big fan of dozing. I have come to love it.

Well into my 70s, I am working hard to learn the art of dozing. I do it once a day, sometimes just a few minutes after I get up in the morning. I can’t explain it. I have plenty of energy but rarely skip my flower photos or write on the blog, often much more than once. Oddly enough, I’m writing better and taking more and better pictures than ever. I credit dozing.

Dozing is one of my favorite activities now.  It’s the ability to know who you are and where you are, and to get the rest, you need to be weird and crazy.

But it’s an art, not a nap. There is a lot to doing it right.

For example, I never say, “I’m taking a nap.” I say, “I need a quick doze.”

My rules:

I only doze when thoroughly showered and dressed as if I were heading out to work. I’m not retired or living in a condo, so this fools no one but me. Dozing while not fully dressed is for assisted care, not a tough guy blogging or living on a farm.

I have learned to spot the dozing alarm, as I call it, when I can’t stop yawning. Or when my head nods, and I stop writing for a second or two (even thinking about it makes me want to doze.)

It’s time to doze when I have no idea what Maria is talking about. (She loves listening to the radio, studying bugs in the woods, or quoting the latest New Yorker Magazine to me. That alone can put me to sleep instantly.)

When I start drooling in the middle of a movie, it means I am already dozing, but nobody usually notices. I’ve learned to doze sitting up and with my eyes open. I never nap during movies; I sometimes doze. That can hurt; if Maria catches me dozing, she will elbow me in the side (there goes the bag of popcorn, which I clutch to the end.)

(I knew the Bob Dylan movie was great when I didn’t spill any of the water, nod, drop popcorn on the floor, or nod my head even once (it was a two hour and 10 minutes, which can require as much planning for old people as D-Day did in WW II.  I didn’t need to use the bathroom once. I knew it was a great movie, according to the pee scale.

You must dress warmly if you wish to doze in a movie theater. Be prepared. (Theaters save money these days by keeping the heat down.) I always know where the toilets are; I check that even before I get my popcorn.

I have found that dozing requires exceptional etiquette and good manners. I make tea at home (NO CAFFEINE) and place it by my reading chair. Although I rarely drink it, it helps me go to sleep instantly. I feel like British Royalty, savering my “cuppa.”

I ask Seri on my Iphone to wake me after 15 minutes. I’ve studied this. Longer than 15 minutes is bedtime, not dozing. I put aside all distractions like reading on the iPhone and set it to silent (Siri sounds bells anyway). It is essential to get up as soon as the alarm signs and take a short but brisk walk inside the house if the weather’s terrible; outside, it isn’t.

I never dream while dozing (dreams are when you sleep, not doze.)

I’ve trained my dogs to drop to the ground and freeze when I doze, and Maria knows to stay away during that time (easy for her since she is always working.)

If the dogs remain silent, which they do, I reward them with praise and a treat. I scan my Amazon app to see when the deliveries are coming and schedule my nap accordingly. When Amazon comes, the dogs bark as if Godzilla were at the door, but when I open it, they are all over the delivery people, wagging and licking. They will give up the treat for that, disloyal bastards.   If I know that Amazon is close, I’ll walk instead.

I zip some tea when I wake up, but I’m back at work after my walk. I always feel wide awake, no matter how short the doze. Most days, I doze once; the last few, I’ve squeezed in what I call an “instant” doze, and it charges my batteries for several hours, even the rest of the day. I have to say the doctors are right. Dozing is good for me.

Attitude has a lot to do with getting older.

I used to think naps for sissies, but I consider dozing a life safer and one of the healthiest things I do.

My doctors, flustered by my lifelong hatred of gyms and intense exercise, practically applaud when I talk to them about “dozing.” They say this is good for me; they are relieved by any signs of maturity and common sense. Dozing doesn’t bother my wife a bit, primarily because I only doze when she is working in her studio on her art, which, as I’ve said,  she does every minute of the day, every day of the week, but Saturday. I’m the only Jew in the family, but she is the only observer of the Sabbath, and she was raised Catholic.

My devout Jewish grandmother thought it was scandalous to rest during the day or any other time. She would not have approved of dozing for people who could still walk.

Aging is not so bad for me. I’ve learned to make fun of myself before others can get around to it (it drives the Trolls mad).

I wanted to discuss the art of dozing more but found myself nodding several times.

I will see you later when I get up to finish this report. I have flowers to photograph.