25,550 days and counting

Today I acknowlege as being my 70th birthday. Aging is strange. I certainly don’t feel 20 years older than when I was 50. What I mean is that if I could remember being 50, I surely must not have felt 20 years younger than I feel now.

When we look in the mirror every day, the change is imperceptible from yesterday, and I swear I look much younger in the mirror than in ANY photograph. Wonder how a photograph of me in a mirror would look?

Some parts of aging are kind to you. Your eyesight dimishes a bit, so you can’t see wrinkles and sags as well in the mirror. You become more relaxed (could be worn out, but I prefer relaxed) because you’ve already dealt with the crises younger people are facing for the first time. There is one aspect of aging that seems unfair. Even though my memory isn’t as good, I can still remember how much brighter I once was. I would prefer to think that I’m as bright as ever I was, but it ain’t so.

I’m unusually poor at nailing down the passage of time. There aren’t many of my life events I can place a year on. Years I got married, or divorced,  or what years I worked for a particular employer… they just aren’t there, so I have notes.

Two years ago, I had a small mini-stroke that made me mad, and I’ve been watching my diet and working out ever since then. I do both religiously. Just this morning, I pumped 10 tons of weight. If I had had the sense to do that when I was 30, I’d be built like a brick backhouse now. But… too late we get smart.

At any rate, reaching age 70 isn’t really a big deal. Lots of people do it, and a lot more would if they weren’t so clumsy. Keep reading, and I’ll write (probably the same thing) when I’m 75, and that will seem really old.