65
it
is not just a number any more
When
I turned 50
Jimmy Buffett released a book “A
Pirate Looks at Fifty”. A
retrospective on his life at the half century mark and what it meant
to him. As he was getting “old”, he went on an adventure. He sent
his amphibian plane on a tour of the Caribbean and he would fly in, in
his jet and he called that a “adventure”. While driving to the
Florida Keys from Miami Beach, where I lived at the time, to my
friend George Arkebauer's 50th
birthday party, many years before Jimmy Buffett's book, I thought
“damn, 50.” “George is old”. When 50 came to me I blew right
through it without a thought.
At
60,
the U.S. Government at that time, said you were no longer mentally
or physically capable of operating an airplane for passenger airliners.
The airline business had once been a glamorous job. Despite being “60
and old” I could still remember those days. Sadly the airlines had
turned into the Greyhound of the skies with a lot of Honey Booboo's
relatives as riders and management that had long given up the idea of
service for bottom lines. More and more they wanted me and the fellow
employees to fund their yachts and villas in the south of France.
I
used Chapter
447 of title 49, “too old to work”
law
of
the U.S. Government to celebrate being “old”. I bought my first
Vespa and began my meandering around the country. I went to France
and lived for four months unsuccessfully trying to learn French but
having a great time. This adventuring was supposed to last 1 year but
it has continued until today and me loving every minute of it.
Now
I am facing 65
and
again the government is trying to tell me I am “old”. I know
this as I am looking at the official door to “old age”. This is
not like the “age 60 rule”. I know this is official also because
Social Security is holding the door open and Medicare is on the other
side with a wheel chair. This, I admit, does give me pause and I am
having thoughts of being “old”. Must be going to happen because
there's the door and there is no way around. Maybe it is the
challenge of navigating through “socialized medicine” choices of
Medicare that gives me pause. Or getting on line and applying for
Social Security which I find out I can not because I am “foreign
born”. All these “official” moves must mean I am old and I am
worried. Maybe it is because over recent months, the guy that used to
smile back at me in the mirror, now has wrinkles on his neck and “age”
spots on his face. Even the State of Florida gets in on the deal. I
can now fish without a license because I am “old”.
Many
people I know have been through the door and survived. Others have
not. Some of my idols, like my Dad who just passed away at 93, had a
great run on the other side of the door. By far the greatest was my
friend Bob Lubliner, who lived to 92 alone on his beloved boat Eden
and served us martinis in his hospice death bed. Still out there is
Richard Lemon who, at 92, still uses his Vespas for his main
transportation. It is a pleasure to watch him slowly walk to the
handicapped parking spot, strap his cane to the front of his scooter
and roar away into the sunset.
So,
next week I will step through that door. I will call you when I get
to the other side.
