LXXV

 

75 trips around the sun. 27,375 days, 657,000 hours, 39,420,000 minutes, 2,365,200,000 seconds, but who's counting? Who would have thought it? Certainly not me.

All the adventures and experiences survived. The sites seen and those that passed before the screens. The people we’ve known and most have gone.

Age is not an accomplishment but a platitude of time. The graves are marked by the number of years you existed, but it doesn’t tell your story. Everyone has a story.

Gandhi was assassinated. Hell's Angels were founded in California, World Health Organization is established by the United Nations, Israeli declaration of independence, the Berlin blockade begins, the Republic of South Korea was established, Truman defeats Dewey.

The war was over and the troops came home and bought houses and cars and refrigerators and raised children. Highways were being built and strip malls were formed. Construction began to use aluminum and suburbia was established. Television took over the entertainment from radio. Movies reinforced the popular culture of Christian religion and successful winners of the war. Schools were still segregated.

Conformity was the rule of the day, especially from a conservative state that still talked of the south rising again. The revolution of ideas in the 60s hit in my formative teen years. Lacking haircuts made boys into hobos and peasant dresses and beads made girls into wenches. Psychedelics opened our minds. The pill gave us free love. The birth of rock and roll gave us a soundtrack.

Wars continued, but they were over-there. The country could continue making cars and refrigerators and high-rise offices and manual labor abound. Confederate statues still stood high to remind everyone which side they were on. Department stores provided knockoff French toiletries to the latest fashion displayed on a runway. Newspapers and milk were delivered to your door and the doctor made house calls.

After a questionable education to learn reading, riting, and rithmetic and avoid the draft, I walked into a job where former workers were on strike to avoid technology and stayed for almost 40 years, until they were tired of paying me.

Was lucky enough to be at the birth of the digital age and experiment with the new tools as they were constructed, test and redesigned. Work was fun. Management was not.

No alarm to wake up to. Just open the eyes to greet another day. Creep out of bed with a back telling that yard work the other day was a bit overdone for a geezer. The ole folk shuffle gets some instant coffee, dressed and outside to loosen flexibility on two-wheels.

Made it this far. Is the next hurdle 80?