I read a story on line about how whoever decides such things has declared that middle-aged in America now lasts through 68!
Imagine my surprise--I'm still middle-aged!
And here I thought I'd entered the golden years.
Well, first of all, when I'm sitting here in my comfortable desk chair typing, I don't feel much different than I did at 45 or 40 or even 35. But when Bern calls me for dinner in just a bit (it's her night to cook) I'll get up and feel considerably older than 35 when I walk down the back stairs to get my plate and both knees ache a bit.
And, second of all, when I try to remember who it was in the article that decreed I'm still middle-aged, I come up with a blank--at 40, I could have told you in a heart-beat.
So, still being middle-aged is a bit of a high (since it's been decades since I smoked anything that made me high, it feels good). Until I get up and feel my knees and can't remember a phone number I dial several times a week.
I'll honor whoever decides such thing and be middle-aged for another year. But come April 17, 2016, I'm going to complain about my joints and admit I can't remember like I used to.
Come on 'golden years', I'll be ready for you in April.....
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- some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.
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