Sunday, January 8, 2017


We are all getting older. It somehow just seems to happen. One day you’re hitting a homer for It’s funny, but in a lot of ways, I don’t feel old. I suppose by today’s standards, I’m not. Sixty-nine. They say it’s the new fifty. They probably aren’t sixty-nine.

I still like my music loud and I can tolerate most anything. My only problem is, I can’t make out most your high school baseball team, the next you’re wondering whether you can get out of bed.

of the lyrics nowadays. I don’t know if it’s my ears or the younger generations propensity for mumbling. Whichever, I still like my music, even some rap and hip hop.

I can still shoot a basketball pretty well, although I can’t make many trips up and down the court. I gave up softball about fifteen years ago. I could probably still hit okay, but throwing would be difficult, for medical reasons.

I don’t think my thinking has turned old, but I’m probably a bit bias. Sometimes I get the feeling I’m slipping into geezerdom. I hear myself complaining about the younger generations at times, but I think rather than disappointed, I’m envious. Then again, if I had the chance, I don’t think I would want to be younger again. Once was enough.

My main issue with growing old is medical. There are times, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. With our modern medical technology, they find everything.  At times, I long for the old days when it was “take two aspirins, and sleep it off.” You either got better or died.

One old age benefit is social security and Medicare. These are socialist programs most old people, many readily against socialism, partake of. Being retired, I took my benefit at age sixty-two. I don’t really think a whole lot about it. I’m viewing it as getting a bit even with Uncle Sam. And with today’s politicians, better early than late.

I will say, the older I get, the more I enjoy simple things, like waking up in the morning. There is a certain pleasure in opening your eyes and seeing the familiar. I like sitting on the back patio and watching the golfers. Pulling weeds, having a beer with a friend, doing some writing, playing a little golf, watching some senseless show on TV. The little things get more enjoyable, probably because there are fewer big things. Or at least that’s what you hope.

I don’t think in terms of retirement. I think more that now I can do what I want. No more butt kissing. If I want to be a greeter at Wal-Mart, I can do that. Or volunteer. I go to the food bank on Tuesday and Thursday. Or go back to school. I only have four more courses left in my 46 year seminary career. Just finished two. Or go down and get a part-time job at the race track. That’s freedom. You don’t like the boss, tell him to kiss it. I don’t think there is a retirement anymore. Now it’s a life style adjustment.

Growing older isn’t all that bad, although I’m not so sure it’s all that good. As they say: It is what it is. Or isn’t.

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