Well, I have passed another milestone.
I arrived at age 75 the other day. Achieved didn't seem to be the right word, since achievement is commonly defined as "a goal being reached by effort, skill or courage." In my case, I kind of snuck-up on it, by merely surviving.
I did not plan to live this long. Life expectancy for my cohort --males born in 1942 -- was age 68. My dad died at age 64, and none of his three brothers lived past age 65. So I went through middle-age believing that Noonan men could count themselves lucky to enjoy a year or two of retirement.
That's why I took early retirement (ie started collecting Social Security) at age 62.
But here is the thing about life expectancy: From birth, the actuaries have to factor-in the average rate of demise for those who will succumb to accidents, war, disaster, infectious disease and other threats to life. Assuming you don't wrap the family car around a tree on prom night or drown in the lake, there is a raft of fatal diseases that strike during young adulthood and middle age years. But if you survive until age 65, there is a new calculation. Suddenly, you get a reprieve of another 18 years. Now, the new life expectancy age for my cohort is 83.
Eighty-three seems old to me. My new goal is trying to achieve that age. This time, it will be a deliberate objective; I will not sneak-up on it, I will arrive on a band wagon drawn by a team of six Clydesdale. Well, you get the idea -- I will apply effort, skill and courage to get there.
I think it will take a lot of effort to stay upright, to keep moving and be as flexible as possible. Gravity is an enemy of age, it keeps trying to pull us down. I plan to reduce my body mass significantly to lessen gravity's effects on knees and joints.
It will take skill as well; the brain wants to shrink, to erase memories, to shut down -- just when we need it the most. We can't let that happen. We must encourage our own curiosity, caring, and social interaction just when it is easier to sit in front of the TV like zombies watching Jeopardy, The Kardashians or NCIS. We need to keep reading, doing crosswords, challenging mental acuity by debating those who disagree with us.
It will take courage - I like the definition: "Strength in the face of pain or grief." We need to keep a perspective on ourselves and the world, recognize those emotional triggers and fears which are the meat of media "news". We need to stay positive, and to stay funny. A sense of humor is indispensable.
Frankly, I have given-up on questions like "Why are we here?" "Is there an afterlife?" I can accept that my life may have no more meaning than a crow's.
Just the same, both the crow and I want to stay alive as long as possible.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
7/01/2017
6/29/2013
A Good Day
On this date in 1942 - 71 Years ago - , a woman in Cambridge gave birth to her second child, another boy. She was quite relieved to find that the child was healthy and had all the "normal" requisite digits. No small factor in her relief was the fact that she had been carrying him around 3 weeks beyond her due date, thus accounting for the weight of the baby - 10 lb 11 oz.
The story of that birth had been recounted every year on June 29th. The elements of the story never varied:
- The frightened look on the taxi driver's face when she got into the cab - ponderously pregnant - with her little overnight bag, and asked him to hurry to the hospital.
- The busy night at the maternity ward. The contractions were starting to come frequently, but there was no available delivery room, so the young mother was placed in a wheelchair rolled into a small room ( she said it was a closet) and told to cross her legs to keep the baby from coming. At one point a nurse sat on her knees.
- But the baby -- after loitering for three weeks -- was now determined to take his first breath. Somehow a table was found and the birth took place, without further incident. The details get somewhat fuzzy at this point since the mother was by now drugged into unconsciousness.
- The dad finally arriving at the hospital, after getting relieved of his night shift responsibilities at the post office, and the nurse looking at his big Irish face, didn't need the name. She brought the pudgy baby boy to the window as soon as she spotted him looking through the glass. He always remembered the woman near him remarking, "That's not a newborn!"
As the child matured into adulthood, the thing most people remarked about him was that he was almost always late. For everything except meals.
During his senior year at high school, he was late 50 times, despite the fact that his house was only about 200 yards from the front door of the school.
As an adult, he was diagnosed as a chronic procrastinator. Despite the fact that he lived within a short walk to the commuter railroad station, he always drove into the city when going to work. It was impossible for him to get to the station at the time when the train wanted to leave. He generally came to work late. He probably would have been fired for tardiness if it were not for the fact the his procrastination also applied to leaving work. Thus he came in late and worked late, so he got enough things done to avoid termination for being tardy.
Other than the aforementioned problem with deadlines and schedules, his life was generally unremarkable. He was never president of anything nor was he ever accused of a crime. His life was fairly mundane, stable, even predictable. Still he felt lucky. He had many happy moments, remained in fairly good health despite his penchant for beer and bread. Other than having crossed the borderline from fitness to obese, he was not troubled by the myriad of trials and tribulations that he read about everyday in the newspaper.
His one minor claim to fame, was the coining of the word natanate.
This came to him many years ago when reading the section of the paper titled "On This Day in History", where he would note that actor Gary Busey and comedian Richard Lewis shared his birthday. He realized that there is no word in the English language to refer to someone who was born on the same day. Thus: natanate became his contribution. One of these days he plans to address the word for someone who was born on the exact same day, but being a procrastinator, well, you know...
Now he is retired, and the words tardy and late hold no meaning for him. He comes and goes as he pleases. He stays up late at night and gets up when the Siamese cat yowls in his ear to come down and put some canned food in his dish, or when the noise outside becomes unbearable -- usually from the infernal gasoline powered contraptions used by lawn service companies.
On the morning of his birthday, he arises, feeds the cat, starts the coffeemaker, cooks 4 strips of bacon in the microwave, and makes himself a sandwich with 2 slices of heavily buttered toast.
He thinks: this is what I would call the start of a good day.
I wonder how my natanates are doing.
The story of that birth had been recounted every year on June 29th. The elements of the story never varied:
- The frightened look on the taxi driver's face when she got into the cab - ponderously pregnant - with her little overnight bag, and asked him to hurry to the hospital.
- The busy night at the maternity ward. The contractions were starting to come frequently, but there was no available delivery room, so the young mother was placed in a wheelchair rolled into a small room ( she said it was a closet) and told to cross her legs to keep the baby from coming. At one point a nurse sat on her knees.
- But the baby -- after loitering for three weeks -- was now determined to take his first breath. Somehow a table was found and the birth took place, without further incident. The details get somewhat fuzzy at this point since the mother was by now drugged into unconsciousness.
- The dad finally arriving at the hospital, after getting relieved of his night shift responsibilities at the post office, and the nurse looking at his big Irish face, didn't need the name. She brought the pudgy baby boy to the window as soon as she spotted him looking through the glass. He always remembered the woman near him remarking, "That's not a newborn!"
As the child matured into adulthood, the thing most people remarked about him was that he was almost always late. For everything except meals.
During his senior year at high school, he was late 50 times, despite the fact that his house was only about 200 yards from the front door of the school.
As an adult, he was diagnosed as a chronic procrastinator. Despite the fact that he lived within a short walk to the commuter railroad station, he always drove into the city when going to work. It was impossible for him to get to the station at the time when the train wanted to leave. He generally came to work late. He probably would have been fired for tardiness if it were not for the fact the his procrastination also applied to leaving work. Thus he came in late and worked late, so he got enough things done to avoid termination for being tardy.
Other than the aforementioned problem with deadlines and schedules, his life was generally unremarkable. He was never president of anything nor was he ever accused of a crime. His life was fairly mundane, stable, even predictable. Still he felt lucky. He had many happy moments, remained in fairly good health despite his penchant for beer and bread. Other than having crossed the borderline from fitness to obese, he was not troubled by the myriad of trials and tribulations that he read about everyday in the newspaper.
His one minor claim to fame, was the coining of the word natanate.
This came to him many years ago when reading the section of the paper titled "On This Day in History", where he would note that actor Gary Busey and comedian Richard Lewis shared his birthday. He realized that there is no word in the English language to refer to someone who was born on the same day. Thus: natanate became his contribution. One of these days he plans to address the word for someone who was born on the exact same day, but being a procrastinator, well, you know...
Now he is retired, and the words tardy and late hold no meaning for him. He comes and goes as he pleases. He stays up late at night and gets up when the Siamese cat yowls in his ear to come down and put some canned food in his dish, or when the noise outside becomes unbearable -- usually from the infernal gasoline powered contraptions used by lawn service companies.
On the morning of his birthday, he arises, feeds the cat, starts the coffeemaker, cooks 4 strips of bacon in the microwave, and makes himself a sandwich with 2 slices of heavily buttered toast.
He thinks: this is what I would call the start of a good day.
I wonder how my natanates are doing.
3/24/2012
What's in your Bucket?
My grandson, Dennis (who caught a 14" bass his first time out), likes to go fishing with grandpa.
The other day, on our way home, empty-handed, from (shark) fishing, I took him to the local seafood store to see all the varieties of fish in the case. I bought some red snapper for dinner. He asked for a piece, which he took home. My daughter says he insisted on cooking it himself. When I asked him how he liked red snapper he said, "It was good; I like the skin!"
The other day, on our way home, empty-handed, from (shark) fishing, I took him to the local seafood store to see all the varieties of fish in the case. I bought some red snapper for dinner. He asked for a piece, which he took home. My daughter says he insisted on cooking it himself. When I asked him how he liked red snapper he said, "It was good; I like the skin!"
He is going to be a fine fisherman some day, especially as his attention span improves. My previous experience fishing with kids is that at age 7-8 they are good for 1/2 hour of casting and reeling, then become more keenly interested in throwing rocks in the water, scaring away any hookable fish that might have been lurking nearby. It takes a lot of sitting and waiting quietly to become a real fisherman.
---
On somewhat parallel thread, last Tuesday, I was sitting at my regular corner stool at Dunn-Gaherins -- my favorite local Irish pub -- when a party of folks came in. 4 young people and one older guy. From the conversation, I could tell that it was the old guy's birthday. I offered to move down a few seats so they could all sit together and talk, whereupon they bought me a beer. (Sometimes a good deed can be rewarded). The old guy sat next to me and told me that it was his birthday. "How old are you?" I asked.
"Eight-four," he said stirring his martini. (He had asked them serve it in a bourbon glass, because his hand shakes and he didn't want to spill any). "These are my grandchildren," he nodded to the young folks who were smiling and giving him their full attention.
This gave me a new item to add to my bucket list: "Celebrate 84th birthday at a bar with grandkids."
Update 3-25 One of my math wizard friends has reminded me that Lila will only be 18 when I am 84. I may have to ammend the bucket age to 87. Scary.
Update 3-25 One of my math wizard friends has reminded me that Lila will only be 18 when I am 84. I may have to ammend the bucket age to 87. Scary.
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