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aka The Geezer

When I turned 60 the shock was seismic. It felt like the beginning of the end. The fun was over.

Turning 65 was another matter. It doesn’t seem nearly as tragic. In fact it often feels exhilarating. The kids are grown, the house is paid for, my hip bones are not stainless steel.

I swim 70 laps a day and cook a great pepper chicken. I’m still kicking and enjoying the view from over the hill.

So what if my sparse hairs are all white? So what if my neck looks like the scarecrow’s in the Wizard of Oz? I am, proudly and irretrievably, a geezer.

I made an executive decision to revel in my dotage.  It’s not that I’m a kid of 50 again, but the Bay Area is my sandbox and I’m loving digging around in it.