Milestones

There's a new pope in town

It looks like the Catholics have picked a good one.  A decent humble man of God is the new pope and no doubt  some refreshing new ideas are in store at the Vatican.  I'm not Catholic; in fact not much for church of any denomination.  I never liked the music nor ritual and quit attending just as soon as I escaped the iron hand of my mom.  She and dad were of the "these boys will be religious if we have to beat it into them" school of Christianity.  My brother is a church slacker too.  Maybe there really is a religious gene.   

Certainly I think more about the spiritual these days.  Tomorrow my odometer hits 65, one of those milestone birthdays like 21 and 40.  It's a safe bet that "youth and high spirits" is definitely out the rotation  as an excuse for bad behaviour.  Try pulling that card with a bald head and a face that shows some party miles.  From my side of these eyes I'm about twenty-five, but in the mirror every morning I greet Dad.

No complaints here.  Too many friends have tennis-shoed the planet or become husks of humanity merely waiting for a gust to blow away what's left of their once vital selves.  I'm lucky; always have been.  I missed deployment to Vietnam by two weeks.  At least two pals never came back from that misadventure and never will know what it's like to hammer at the moments we put together as life.  Others stayed too long at the parties we all think are unending in our twenties and thirties.  Sometimes our talents and abilities take us to altitudes where our character cannot sustain us.  It's a gift if you catch yourself before it's too late.

Complaints?  As I mentioned, I have none.  I'm 65 and grateful as hell to have made it.  I look forward to watching my kids and grandson grow older, but never ever, catch up with me.  Like I said, I'm lucky.  I get to beat them to the finish line.  With luck, I'll do it with the woman who has put up with me for forty-four years and counting.  Once again, I have all the luck; she deserved better.

The late Art Buchwald had a great line:  "Whether it's the best of times or the worst of times, it's the only time we've got."

Sixty-five is just a mile marker.  I plan on stacking years until I attain that "old guy" smell.  You know, the one that hints vaguely of vitamins and pee.  Then you can show me the parking lot.

"What, me worry?"