On May 18, I turned 60.
60 -- what the fuck is that all about? 60? That's old people -- but not really old enough to be a Senior Citizen. It's gray hair; receding hairlines; hairy ears and noses; curving spines and getting shorter; thinning and freckling skin; it's wrinkles; bulging bellies; and somehow you begin to think you should be wearing pants with elastic waist bands and un-tucked Hawaiian shirts that hide the bulge.
I can remember where I was when I turned 20 (Madison WI), 30 (Boston MA), 40 (Seattle WA) and 50 (San Francisco CA).
But I never thought about turning 60. And now it's here.
What's weird is I've already outlived a sister who died @ 56 and a brother who recently died a couple of months short of his 62nd birthday. And even more weird is that my mother is still alive at the age of 90 and so are her brothers at ages 94 and 99.
I used to look forward to turning milestone ages. 21 -- when I could drink, 35 -- when the US Constitution says I am old enough to be President; and 50, a half-century old.
But now, I don't look forward anymore -- each new year brings me closer to the end of my life; and as much as I am pleased with the life I've led, I dread watching as I see myself slow down, my mind begin to lose some of it's quickness, and my body succumbing to it's ultimate entropic fate.
O well. Next May 18, I'll turn 61. I'll let you know how that feels when I get there.
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