Well…it’s a number. Seventy four. They come along in sequence. Last year it was seventy three. There’s a temptation to attach some significance to each one…but the most remarkable thing for those of us over the sixty something mark is that we’ve made it this far. The accumulated scratches, dents, aches, pains, scars, ailments, additions, deletions, complaints, defeats, arrivals and departures , successes and failures don’t add up to any particular number.
We were just back from Spain, the Costa del Sol. In the Spring northern people fly to the south. Happens everywhere. In Spain thousands of middle aged and senior citizens wash up along the reef of hotels along the coast. I don’t think about my age much other than to marvel that I’m still here. But when I’m in Torremolinos, surrounded by hundreds of older folks There are more than I’d encounter in any whole year at home. And they come in all shapes and sizes and states of rectitude. I find myself sitting at the table in the dining room, looking around, wondering about these people…and considering my own age. It’s pointless, really. What is to be done?
Enjoy it I suppose…make the best of the good days…try to make sure there are more of those than bad days…and endure the bad days as well as we can. Keep going.
For me…I’ll mutter through tomorrow (Birthday) and try to forget the number until next year…And to all of my friends…don’t remind me…my mirror does that. Love to all of you,
Blues 
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