I turned 59 this past November and I can already feel that 60 this coming November is going to be a major event. I realize that 60 isn’t all that old but it is, nevertheless, old. You’re definitely on the backside and heading down fast. Things like retirement and death do loom ever larger. There just isn’t all that much time in front of you.

My dad lived to 82 and there’s no particular reason to think I can’t match that – though mom passed at the age of 70. Neither parent took care of their health and while both smoked (as do I) mom smoked like a chimney and some of the harshest tobacco I ever came across. She smoked these hideous little cigars called Erik’s; I did try them and nearly choked they were so harsh. So, 70 to 82…somewhere in there. That’s 11 to 23 years from now. That’s it. And I know any youngster out there of, say 25 years or so will think that 20 or so years is a long time, those of us past 40 know just how fast 20 years go by. It is a blink of the eye. And, yes, with modern medicine I can stretch that out…to, what?, 85? 90? Not much a difference there.

I’m not afraid of dying. I used to be; round there in the ages from 35 to 45 when the fact of mortality came into view I did have a fear of it. Long past that now. As Salisbury said, one might as well be afraid of falling asleep. It is going to happen – sooner or later in a more or less painful manner. As a Christian I do believe in the resurrection and I do work out my salvation in fear and trembling (per Philippians 2:12). Of course, no matter how strong our faith, none of us really know what is going to happen. That is why death is a fearful thing even for saints: you are stepping through a door which you will only go through once. But, no matter: God is with me. Salvation awaits. And if I’m wrong then my surprise at it will be much more short-lived than the surprise an atheist proved wrong will be.

What brought this all up was a bizarre video of Madonna taken on New Year’s Eve. She was wearing some strange, skin-tight suit and dancing like a maniac…but the skin under the suit wasn’t the skin of 25 year old Madonna and it showed. And she had to steady herself with a railing and she just looked absurd. A 65 year old woman trying to live as if it were 1984 forever. I felt sorry for her. I like getting older. No, I don’t like my bum knee. Nor do I like that I have to take pictures of things and use the zoom function to read them. But getting older has many advantages – not least of which is that I’m no longer expected to compete. I am what I am; take me or leave me. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. If you don’t like me, that is a you problem, not a me problem. I’m under no obligation to fit myself into your concepts of what I should be. It is nice to have very pretty, young girls smile at me and know that they’re smiling because they know I’m harmless – that I’m a man they can interact without any worry that I have an ulterior motive.

And I like being able to tell young people about the past. Sometimes you can really surprise the kiddies. One of my best surprises was calling the ‘fridge an “ice box” and my granddaughter asking me why and then explaining it. It gave her a glimpse into a different world, especially when I explained that one of her great-great-grandfather’s delivered ice for a living. She connected it with the movie “Frozen” which opens with men cutting blocks of ice from a lake – until that moment she didn’t know why they were doing that. This was just a cool thing – and it is something she’ll remember. Long after I’m gone; and maybe one day she’ll explain to her granddaughter what an “ice box” is?

And that is another fun part of getting old: thinking about what will be after you’re gone. My granddaughter will be my age in 2071. Think about that. We’ll all be long dead by then. She’ll still be here. And probably a mother and grandmother. I pointed that out to my granddaughter the other day when she was once again making fun of my white hair. And then I really got her thinking – and I could tell she was – when I pointed out that my grandfather was born in 1896. She’s only 11 and so time frames like that are still hard for her to comprehend but I think putting it like that got it driven home – about time, and how it passes.

Anyways, just me thinking about it as I enter the last section of my life. Not the end! Not yet! But I’m out of the rat race; I’m just living and seeing and enjoying those around me. The best part about getting old.