I published the article below 3 years ago. Covid has now done its damage and is now settling in for the long haul. Looking back at this article, I realize that 69 was a very good year, as opposed to what I thought then. Now that I’m seventy-one, it sucks! In my case, aging is synonymous with rotting. I’m making the best of it but rotting takes its toll. The number 69 still makes me smile! Sixty-nine has come and gone. Seventy-two is right around the corner. I can’t wait to see what it is like!
In the interim between 69 and now, I bought and sold my dream car and now have a handicapped equipped van. It’s pretty cool. I can drive my wheelchair up the ramp and park it where the passenger seat used to be. Road trips are now limited to 5 hours a day and the vast majority are to see the various docs I am currently seeing. I’m still fighting with my weight. My weight is winning. The harder I work at losing weight, the heavier I get! I’ll keep working on it. I suspect that my neighbor (on plant-based diet and doing well) is dumping his weight on my side of the fence. I step in it and it sticks to me!
I’m exercising again, walking 200 steps a day (from the refrigerator to my chair) and opening and closing the doors. “AI” (artificial intelligence) is coming. Actually, it’s here in my kitchen. The LG quick view window lights up as I approach. My fridge is glad to see me. The quick view door weighs less so I can get food with minimal effort. “Hey, Stew, I’ve got goodies for you. Eat me!” And I do. While it’s not as good as 69, it certainly is filling. See what I’m up against.
Three years ago, my perspective was a tad differen. Below is the origninal article:
I’m 69 years old today. I graduated from high school in 1969. The 69 Camaro is my favorite car. Sixty-nine has always been my favorite number. In previous articles, I’ve talked about the importance of keeping your inner child alive. It used to be the mere mention of the number 69 that woke up my inner child. Now, at 69, I’m not sure why that number was so magical. My inner child died from CRS and/or the reality of aging. Either way it sucks. (Nice play on words).
As you know, I’m not happy with the aging process. I fear my 69th year is going to blow (there I go again). Renee and I are committed to biking daily. I’m starting to eat better although I’m not convinced it will make a difference. My job search is not going well. I’m overqualified for most and don’t have the credentials I need as a medical editor for the Sex magazine I talked about earlier. I stopped at the question, “Tell us about your experience.” There was no way I was answering that other than to state that I was 69. For a second, I thought that query had resuscitated my inner youth, then it fizzled.
North Carolina is hot! Covid-19 is driving me crazy. I want to sit in a restaurant and have a nice meal. I want to have the neighbors over for a drink and appetizers. I want to go swimming. I want to go fishing. The reality is I’m stuck indoors like you and the rest of the world.
Writing about this is like puking; you feel better after the foul stuff comes out. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe 69 will be a good year. Only time will tell. It’s 9 am and I have the rest of today to find something to do. Actually, once you are retired, every day becomes the same.
Hopefully, a vaccine will be available by January and then we will be able to do more. We’ll see! Until then, I’ll just have to come up with something to do each day and so will you. Renee, this is my 69 year!
Here’s your joke:
Whatever you look like, marry a man your own age. As your beauty fades, so will his eyesight. Phyllis Diller
I guess three years can make a difference. Some things stay the same; some things improve; and some things get better or don’t. Covid now is manageable; it is still hot in North Carolina; and I’m still sharing my experience with you.