Yesterday, September 6, 2007, I turned 69 years old. Some of you might learn of that and muse that Ron is really getting on in years. I prefer to look at it from a slightly different point of view. I am now less than twice as old as my youngest child, Laurie, who incidentally is celebrating her 38th birthday today. When she celebrated her first birthday, I was 31 times as old as she. There’s some consolation in the fact that she seems to be catching up.
Laurie could have been born on September 6, also but I insisted that Judy hold off. I didn’t want to spend the next 15 years with carousel birthday cakes and Barbie dolls on my birthday. No way. Well, she was born on September 7, after Judy ingested a large quantity of Castor Oil mixed with Welch’s Grape Juice. Laurie squirted out that evening like a kid on a greased water slide.
That’s not what this is about, however. The point is I’m now 69 years old. It’s not a particularly memorable age. There are no new senior citizen perks that come with turning 69. It just means you’re a year older. While still in Oregon, we had a very nice Prime Rib dinner off the Early Bird Senior menu, but we've been able to do that sort of thing for years. Nothing notable about turning 69 at all.
Yesterday Luciano Pavarotti passed. I think he was 72 years old. You know him, the really big Italian Opera Singer with the even bigger voice. He was big because he lived life big. Would he have been happier had he gone on weight watchers and knocked off a couple hundred pounds? I doubt it. He married that really young gal and lived life the way he wanted. His passing will leave a much larger hole in the fabric of society than that left by most of us. Most of us will leave only little dents that quickly fill in with time.
Most of us lead pretty simple lives. We grow up, get a job, get married, have kids, raise the kids, maybe get another job, and finally retire to walking our dogs in RV parks throughout the country picking up their shit in little plastic bags which get deposited in trash cans that big trucks pick up. Those trucks are driven by guys who are still in the “get a job” segment of their lives. They see daily what lies in store when they reach retirement age. I wonder if future archeologists, digging in a landfill, will come across these little indestructable plastic bags and wonder about them and their contents. Will they know we were just enjoying our golden years in a "green" manner? Oh well, that's another story that has no bearing on the one at hand.
Most of us will be remembered by our kids and grandkids. Great grandkids, however, will have only to hear of us on the rare occasions when their grandparents are in one of those looking back moments and they really won’t pay a lot of attention. GGG grandkids will probably know nothing of our lives or us. I have more of those looking back moments as the years pass.
My folks are long gone and I wonder why I never sat down and had those long searching conversations about who they were and how they got that way. I have boxes of pictures of strangers who were important in the lives of my parents and I have no idea who they are. Why didn’t we sit around in the evening and label them with post-it-notes?
If there are regrets about my life so far it is in all of those opportunities missed.
It is strange to be in the part of my life where I look back more than forward. Chances are there are only little mountains left to climb and most of them relate to declining health issues. Hopefully, I'll stick more to the valleys where travel is easiest for a while.
Recently some wag compared getting old to a roll of toilet paper. He said it seemed like the closer you got to the end the faster it went. Well, I don’t know how true that is because I have no idea how close I am to the end of mine. I really don’t want to know either and certainly am not going to spend a lot of time contemplating it.
Years do seem to fly by, however and I try to squeeze as much enjoyment out of each of them as I can. If it’s not fun, I no longer want to do it. You may call that selfish if you like but I feel I’ve earned at least that by making it this far. After all, one of my doctors would freely tell you I wouldn’t make it through 1977, yet here I am 30 years later, still kickin’, just not quite so high.
So I gleefully celebrate my 69th birthday and wish my daughter a happy 38th. I look forward to as many more birthdays as life has in store for me.
Happy Birthday, Laurie.
Laurie could have been born on September 6, also but I insisted that Judy hold off. I didn’t want to spend the next 15 years with carousel birthday cakes and Barbie dolls on my birthday. No way. Well, she was born on September 7, after Judy ingested a large quantity of Castor Oil mixed with Welch’s Grape Juice. Laurie squirted out that evening like a kid on a greased water slide.
That’s not what this is about, however. The point is I’m now 69 years old. It’s not a particularly memorable age. There are no new senior citizen perks that come with turning 69. It just means you’re a year older. While still in Oregon, we had a very nice Prime Rib dinner off the Early Bird Senior menu, but we've been able to do that sort of thing for years. Nothing notable about turning 69 at all.
Yesterday Luciano Pavarotti passed. I think he was 72 years old. You know him, the really big Italian Opera Singer with the even bigger voice. He was big because he lived life big. Would he have been happier had he gone on weight watchers and knocked off a couple hundred pounds? I doubt it. He married that really young gal and lived life the way he wanted. His passing will leave a much larger hole in the fabric of society than that left by most of us. Most of us will leave only little dents that quickly fill in with time.
Most of us lead pretty simple lives. We grow up, get a job, get married, have kids, raise the kids, maybe get another job, and finally retire to walking our dogs in RV parks throughout the country picking up their shit in little plastic bags which get deposited in trash cans that big trucks pick up. Those trucks are driven by guys who are still in the “get a job” segment of their lives. They see daily what lies in store when they reach retirement age. I wonder if future archeologists, digging in a landfill, will come across these little indestructable plastic bags and wonder about them and their contents. Will they know we were just enjoying our golden years in a "green" manner? Oh well, that's another story that has no bearing on the one at hand.
Most of us will be remembered by our kids and grandkids. Great grandkids, however, will have only to hear of us on the rare occasions when their grandparents are in one of those looking back moments and they really won’t pay a lot of attention. GGG grandkids will probably know nothing of our lives or us. I have more of those looking back moments as the years pass.
My folks are long gone and I wonder why I never sat down and had those long searching conversations about who they were and how they got that way. I have boxes of pictures of strangers who were important in the lives of my parents and I have no idea who they are. Why didn’t we sit around in the evening and label them with post-it-notes?
If there are regrets about my life so far it is in all of those opportunities missed.
It is strange to be in the part of my life where I look back more than forward. Chances are there are only little mountains left to climb and most of them relate to declining health issues. Hopefully, I'll stick more to the valleys where travel is easiest for a while.
Recently some wag compared getting old to a roll of toilet paper. He said it seemed like the closer you got to the end the faster it went. Well, I don’t know how true that is because I have no idea how close I am to the end of mine. I really don’t want to know either and certainly am not going to spend a lot of time contemplating it.
Years do seem to fly by, however and I try to squeeze as much enjoyment out of each of them as I can. If it’s not fun, I no longer want to do it. You may call that selfish if you like but I feel I’ve earned at least that by making it this far. After all, one of my doctors would freely tell you I wouldn’t make it through 1977, yet here I am 30 years later, still kickin’, just not quite so high.
So I gleefully celebrate my 69th birthday and wish my daughter a happy 38th. I look forward to as many more birthdays as life has in store for me.
Happy Birthday, Laurie.
1 comment:
dear Dad -
I think your 69th birthday is actually momentous cause as you said, a doctor might have told ya you wouldn't make it past 1977 and here in 2007 we are getting to celebrate another year together. I miss you! I miss the birthday hats and the dueling cakes we shared for so many year as gifts were passed around. Even if you did try not to have that happen on the day I coulda been born.. :D
I love this blog. I don't even care if no one else reads it.. because I do and I love hearing about you and Mom and your Mom and Dad even if I did know they for the first half of my life. I like to remember where we've been and see where I could go.
Maybe you've forgotten but I'm still your baby girl and I still look up to you. I wasn't sure if we would see this birthday together but I am overjoyed that we did! We may be a few thousand miles apart but in my heart.. I am with you both, always.
Happy Birthday Daddy Dear Elephant.. Your still my hero.
Me
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