The clock is ticking: A 75-year-old deals with the realities of age
I’ve dubbed these increasingly irregular pieces a “Geezer’s Diary,” but until now I have not fully explored the realities of actual geezerdom.
Now on the far side of 75, I’m getting to know them well.
First, a reality check: That 75th birthday I celebrated last April? Nobody brought gag coffins, crutches or canes, as they might have when I turned 40. With so many decades in our personal rear-view mirrors, that stuff now hits way too close to home to be funny.
But a good friend did bake me a “porcupine cake,” with 75 quills (or candles). Then she and my party guests actually lit them! With an extinguisher at the ready, fire risk was probably slightly lower than my own of a sudden heart attack.
But these superannuated birthday affairs do allow for a good long look at the past (plenty of it) and at least a fleeting glance at the future (an indeterminate, but far shorter number of years — or days).
After all, turning 75 you embark on your fourth quarter-century on earth. Compared to the first three, this one will seriously suck. Simply put, you will almost certainly get sick and die.
In NFL parlance, it’s the fourth quarter, the clock is ticking and there’s a chance of sudden death. Finally, one more thing: We geezers have no time outs left.
By the time this landmark birthday rolls around, most of us geezers have already had our share of medical adventures. We’ve swapped tales with fellow ancients at “organ recitals,” which became a party staple in our mid-60s. But, some time in the next decade or two, our tales of medical triumphs and close calls will end. Something we can’t beat will catch up with us. End of story.
In a good mood yet, fellow geezers? No? Well, let’s look at the bright side: If you’re like me, you remain close to many friends made over a lifetime. You likely have kids who care about you, and maybe even grandkids.
And a near lifetime of memories, many of them heartwarming, is at the ready.
Also, chances are, you are not working. By now, you have grown used to retirement and can hardly imagine punching
a clock or logging 40 hours or more a week at the office or shop. And at our age, alarm clocks are unneeded — unless they’re reminding us to take medication.
You now have time for vacations, reunions and holidays that you couldn’t squeeze in during those younger years. So, while you are physically able, take that trip of a lifetime.
Because who knows whether you’ll be able to pull it off next year. (Or even next week.)
Yes, everything is different as you age: Forty, 50 or 60 years old, which you once thought of as elderly, now seem young. Folks in their 40s are whippersnappers. “Oh, to be 70 again!” you may someday in your 90s yearn.
More good news for my fellow 75-year-olds: If this were the 1950s, you’d likely be dead. U.S. life expectancy back then, just a few years after many of us were born, was 68. Now it’s 78 and on the rise.
Want to pad that advantage? Move to Japan, Switzerland, Spain or Italy, where the average is nearly five years more. Of course, because you would likely yank that average down, these nations may not let you in.
Meanwhile back here at home: Depending on your level of creakiness, strangers may soon begin offering you help climbing stairs or boarding a train.
At first you might take offense: “How old do you think I am??” you’ll scoff. But a year or two later, you could be taking all the help you can get to do almost anything.
And some things you might wisely steer clear of altogether.
Ladders, which you once climbed with alacrity, are now deadly weapons that can kill oldsters stupid enough to go beyond the third rung.
My advice? Stay off them. And never climb on top of your roof for any reason.
In fact, avoiding potentially dangerous manual labor of any kind looks better and better as you age: Don’t want to mow the lawn, rake the leaves, sweep the floor or do the dishes? Dismiss them all as chancy and hazardous. Find someone much younger (maybe 50 or 60) to take over.
I’m just getting started with this geezer business: Over the next few weeks — or few months, depending on my levels or energy, inspiration and ambition — I will explore the pros (there are a few) and cons (there are many) of geezerdom.
But be warned readers, at some point in the above-described endeavor, I may conclude that cranking out newspaper copy is far too risky for someone my age.
And thus — deadlines real or imagined be damned — I may simply stop. It’s a risk both of us will take.
Next chapter: Doctors by the dozen.