I have reached another milestone in my life...the pivotal age of 65. No, I am not retired, nor do I intend to retire from my present job for at least another couple of years or so, but Medicare surely thinks I am. About a year to six months ago, I started receiving mail about Medicare expounding its greatness along with that all kinds of supplemental insurance info. I mean, I was inundated with it. It was worse than when I started receiving stuff about AARP when I reached 50. My mailbox was full of junk mail from every insurance company known to man. Then, I started getting calls at my office from my OWN insurance company. The guy spoke with an accent ,and believe me when I say, I have nothing against this except he evidently didn't understand ME because he called back two days later asking the same questions. I answered him both times stating that I didn't have any intention of retiring. The second time, I have to admit that I wasn't as nice as the first time. But I also wasn't really rude. I was just a bit more forceful in saying that I'd be sure and let my insurance company know when I was planning to retire. Lawsy!
The thing is, I can't imagine, at this time, not going to work. I really like what I do other than dealing with bureaucrats who have no clue about people, but really like those numbers. I enjoy dealing with adult students. I love it when they succeed even if it takes them longer than expected. I like our new facilities. I have fun at my job. I laugh...a lot. Besides, I've worked at some kind of job even in the summers when I was a kid ever since I was 14. If I had to stay at home, I'd become slovenly and lazy. I know this would happen. It would. I promise.
I also don't know how someone my age is supposed to act, be, or look anymore. At one time, 65 was really really old, like when I was six. Now, 80+ seems pretty old, but not as old as it used to be. I've known people my age and even younger who are heading for a nursing home. Gad!!! I'm still exercising, doing crunches, a bit of running, walking on the treadmill when the mood hits me. I'm not bragging. It's just that being 65 doesn't seem much different than being 45 if you ask me., except I don't have as many responsibilities dealing with my children and their activities.
My dad lived a long life until cancer claimed him at 88 a little over a year ago. My mom is 88 now, and other than missing the love of her life for 67 years, she's hanging in there. She's pretty independent, and although she's battling a case of pneumonia right now, she's doing okay. I know she's sick of doctors. Which brings up the fact that I haven't seen a doctor in a very long time. Maybe I should. Maybe I should do all this wellness stuff being preached right now. Maybe I should take all those tests, but there's something kind of greedy about all this. Magazines, newspapers, television bombard people with all kinds of medical conditions and the dire consequences if this or that isn't done. It's enough to scare a perfectly healthy buffalo...or human. Now, this is not to say that anyone who wants to do all this medical stuff should be kept from doing it. And me choosing not to do all the procedures, may just or will bite me on the butt sometime, but my dad kept himself healthy for years by walking, being active, and laughing a lot. Cancer still got him even after surgery, chemo, radiation. I'm thinking, "What's the point?" But then, I'm treading on dangerous ground here because I believe in taking every measurable way possible to save a life...as long as that life will be worth living once all the medical stuff has been done. I miss my dad a lot, and I'm pretty miffed that more couldn't be done for him. I so wish that he wouldn't have had to suffer so terribly at the end of his life. I wish a lot of things.
So I'll leave this subject alone. It rattles me. I like to be more upbeat since I'm Little Mary Sunshine and all. I love early mornings especially in the spring when the songbirds have returned, things start "greening up" as my Uncle Butler used to say, and the air promises warmer days. Being 65 isn't so bad. I'm not quite as "spry" as I used to be, but I believe that age can be a state of mind. Sometimes I feel in my 20s and other days, I feel closer to 90! In reality, I think that's pretty normal.
The thing is, I celebrate every birthday. It means I'm still here. It means I'm still alive and kicking. When people tell me that they are not having any more birthdays, I figure they're planning to croak over because until they're dead, they will have birthdays. They don't have to celebrate them, but why the heck not!?!
My birth date was March 1, 1947. And what a great date that was for me. My life has been pretty good these last 65 years. I'm looking forward to March 1, 2013 when I turn 66.
The thing is, I can't imagine, at this time, not going to work. I really like what I do other than dealing with bureaucrats who have no clue about people, but really like those numbers. I enjoy dealing with adult students. I love it when they succeed even if it takes them longer than expected. I like our new facilities. I have fun at my job. I laugh...a lot. Besides, I've worked at some kind of job even in the summers when I was a kid ever since I was 14. If I had to stay at home, I'd become slovenly and lazy. I know this would happen. It would. I promise.
I also don't know how someone my age is supposed to act, be, or look anymore. At one time, 65 was really really old, like when I was six. Now, 80+ seems pretty old, but not as old as it used to be. I've known people my age and even younger who are heading for a nursing home. Gad!!! I'm still exercising, doing crunches, a bit of running, walking on the treadmill when the mood hits me. I'm not bragging. It's just that being 65 doesn't seem much different than being 45 if you ask me., except I don't have as many responsibilities dealing with my children and their activities.
My dad lived a long life until cancer claimed him at 88 a little over a year ago. My mom is 88 now, and other than missing the love of her life for 67 years, she's hanging in there. She's pretty independent, and although she's battling a case of pneumonia right now, she's doing okay. I know she's sick of doctors. Which brings up the fact that I haven't seen a doctor in a very long time. Maybe I should. Maybe I should do all this wellness stuff being preached right now. Maybe I should take all those tests, but there's something kind of greedy about all this. Magazines, newspapers, television bombard people with all kinds of medical conditions and the dire consequences if this or that isn't done. It's enough to scare a perfectly healthy buffalo...or human. Now, this is not to say that anyone who wants to do all this medical stuff should be kept from doing it. And me choosing not to do all the procedures, may just or will bite me on the butt sometime, but my dad kept himself healthy for years by walking, being active, and laughing a lot. Cancer still got him even after surgery, chemo, radiation. I'm thinking, "What's the point?" But then, I'm treading on dangerous ground here because I believe in taking every measurable way possible to save a life...as long as that life will be worth living once all the medical stuff has been done. I miss my dad a lot, and I'm pretty miffed that more couldn't be done for him. I so wish that he wouldn't have had to suffer so terribly at the end of his life. I wish a lot of things.
So I'll leave this subject alone. It rattles me. I like to be more upbeat since I'm Little Mary Sunshine and all. I love early mornings especially in the spring when the songbirds have returned, things start "greening up" as my Uncle Butler used to say, and the air promises warmer days. Being 65 isn't so bad. I'm not quite as "spry" as I used to be, but I believe that age can be a state of mind. Sometimes I feel in my 20s and other days, I feel closer to 90! In reality, I think that's pretty normal.
The thing is, I celebrate every birthday. It means I'm still here. It means I'm still alive and kicking. When people tell me that they are not having any more birthdays, I figure they're planning to croak over because until they're dead, they will have birthdays. They don't have to celebrate them, but why the heck not!?!
My birth date was March 1, 1947. And what a great date that was for me. My life has been pretty good these last 65 years. I'm looking forward to March 1, 2013 when I turn 66.
