How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will
Whose armour is his honest thought
And simple truth his utmost skill
Way back when, on November 28th, 1981, my dear old dad turned 65 years old. At the time, I was just 26. I would have considered him an old man then, and compared with me, he was old. Considering what he had been through in his life up to that point in time, he was probably older than many of his contemporaries. Life has a way of wearing us down at different rates, and in addition to the life that we lead, which includes some of our bad habits, there is also the genetic component that we have no say in. Stack on top of all of that, the numerous close calls that most of us have faced from time to time, and it's a wonder that anyone gets to the ripe old age of 65, or even longer, like the gentleman featured at the top of this post.
So what is the point of all of this talk about being 65? Well, by the time I post my next blog on March 7th, I will have crossed over to that age, assuming that I make it that far. I think that the odds are in my favour at the moment. Mind you, Kwame the furball might decide to attack me between now and then, but the chances of that happening are very low, as he is a mellow fellow to be sure.
Getting back to my dad for a moment, I do think that he was older at 65, then I will be next week at the same age. Mind you, I have had a dream run in comparison and not a day goes by that I don't appreciate that fact. Sure, I have had more than my share of close calls along life's path, perhaps more than some, and less than others. However, I've never started a single day in my entire life having to wonder if I was going to get anything to eat, or have fresh water to drink. So in comparison to a large number of souls on the planet, I have lived an extremely privileged life up to this point in time. For that, I am always grateful.
On my daily walk, I go past a local graveyard, and yesterday instead of just whistling as I walked on past, I decided to take a few moments to have a closer inspection of some of the headstones located there. That is where I took the photo featured at the top of this post. That man had a pretty good run as far as the number of years he got to spend on the planet. Near his grave, there was another one, with just a first name on the gravestone. Seth was the name and he only lived for two years. It's a bit of a cosmic lotto, this thing called life. I took that photo, because I really liked the words inscribed on the gravestone. I can relate. However, as much as I would like to think that I too will make it to the age of 77, I certainly don't like my odds at this point. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind living that long, but I just don't think that it will happen. All the more reason to enjoy each day as it presents itself, and live each day like it's your last, as written on the gravestone below.
In any event, and for however long my life goes on, I'll continue to enjoy the simple things in life, like fresh air, a walk in the woods, or even an afternoon nap. I have Kwame the furball to set an example for me in the napping department.
As I mentioned last week, Kwame is now 14 years old, and if we go with the generally accepted rule that one cat year equals seven human years, then he is now 98 years old. He's had a good run, and perhaps it's due to his sleeping habits. Plus he's still got another eight lives to go.
So what is old anyway? I'm just happy to be here, and happy to be alive.
grateful for every breath,
Paul
The Thoughtful Wanderer
