Subtitle: Why I love getting older.
Yes – that’s us white water rafting in North Carolina. I was letting Marie and Jill do all the paddling. We were about sixty that year and who knew more good times were still ahead of us. The best, really.
Let’s face it. From the moment we’re born, we’re growing older. But don’t expect me to commiserate about the negatives of aging. I choose instead to dwell on the good side of the condition and I find more to appreciate with each passing year. Seriously!
Yesterday I got the saddest call I’ve ever received. My friend Marie had a catch in her throat as she asked “Have you heard?”
I’d heard that same catch two years ago when she called to tell us our friend Gary had died. I knew what was coming was going to be bad so I braced myself for the saddest news I’ve heard since I lost my mother..
Robert Harrell, an indescribable man and a friend to everyone he ever met, died Monday after a car accident in our hometown of West Point, Mississippi. There was some question if he had suffered some sort of medical episode which caused the wreck.. I don’t know the details and this is not an obituary, just a few thoughts on a remarkable man who had a positive impact on so many lives.
My editorial board (currently composed of me, myself, and I) has begun work on a new book tentatively entitled “Taming Tigers in the Woods”. The “woods” represent that dreaded condition called aging, and the “tigers” are all the factors which conspire to make our passage into this phase of life so treacherous.
The tigers are laying in wait for their opportunity to attack with any weapon they can find to derail our smooth ride through that condition known as Boomeritis.
This week my best high school buddies got together to launch plans for our 50th class reunion. If truth be told, it’s probably more like our 150th reunion because we get together at the drop of a hat. Nevertheless, we try to put on the dog at least every five years, and the 50th anniversary of our matriculation is cause to put on a dog AND a pony show.
I went to bed at 8 p.m. on New Years Eve thinking how horrified I would have been 40 years ago to greet the new year without all-night merry-making sometimes bordering on the insane.