Donna turned 60 on May 23rd; I’ll turn 60 October 31st. We’re first-year baby boomers. That means we’re the snout of the pig in the python, which is a good thing seeing as how we stand a better chance of reclaiming the money we paid into Social Security than boomers at the tail.
Turning 40 didn’t mean much to me, nor did turning 50. Turning 60, though, positively looms. They say six-oh’s the new four-oh, but that’s a crock. When I was 40 I was still flying jets and running several miles every day. Things are different now, and they’re only going to get differenter. Still, when I think of my father, healthy and active in his 80s . . . still mowing his own lawn, for God’s sake . . . I feel better about it. So bring it on, I guess. There’s nothing I can do about it, anyway.
Hallowe’en is a heck of a great day for a birthday. It should be a national holiday. Actually, in our house it is a national holiday. Gregory and Beth are coming down with the grandchildren; Polly’s coming too. It’s going to be a great birthday. But when the celebration’s over, I’ll be 60. Like Donna.
Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.– Ezra Pound
p.s. Donna, I’m just teasing!