Signs of my advancing age are everywhere as I approach 70

I am creeping up on my 70th birthday, although to be honest, lately it feels less like creeping and more like being locked in a footrace with Father Time, with old age bearing down on me with increasingly malicious delight. For example, after 31 years with the same company, most of the people I work with now are not just younger than I am, most of them are younger than my own children, which means they are far closer in age to my grandchildren than they are to me.

The signs of my advancing age are everywhere. I got a cramp in my right shoulder the other day after only a couple of hours raking leaves in the yard. I’ve never gotten a cramp from raking leaves before. When I tried to put a little Bengay on my right shoulder, I got a cramp in my left shoulder. I got winded walking briskly up the stairs at Coleman Dock in Seattle the other evening, and when I bought my ferry ticket, the ticket seller didn’t even bother to ask me if I qualified for the senior rate. I don’t seem to need, nor be able to get, more than about six hours of sleep on any given night. Of course, these days the idea of having dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon is beginning to make a lot more sense to me. How else can I justify wanting to be in bed by 9:00? (Okay, I’m lying. I like to be in bed by 8:30).

Unless I listen very carefully and tilt my head at just the right angle, I cannot hear what people in the back seat of a car I’m driving are saying. I also can’t hear much of what is said at many of our office’s weekly staff meetings, but I look at that as more of a blessing than a sign of aging. I just assume most of the discussions are about TikTok or the Kardashians.

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Maybe it’s just me (and it usually is just me), but everywhere I look, whether it’s in magazines, at the movies, on television, or online, most of what I see consists of someone trying to sell me medical coverage for my declining years or convince me to move into a living arrangement designed for active seniors who, judging from the pictures, seem endlessly to be sitting by a pool enjoying an adult beverage or else engaged in a game of tennis or pickleball, neither of which I am any good at.

I for one am looking forward to joining the leisure set even though at times our society treats getting older almost like a criminal offense to be avoided, denied or delayed as long as possible rather than a destination we’re all headed to in the end, come hell or high cholesterol.

I may be engaging in magical thinking here, but I don’t plan on changing my life all that much once I hit the Big Seven Oh and retire. There are, however, a number of things I will definitely NOT do when I retire. They include:

1. I will no longer ever stand on the top two rungs of a ladder while cleaning out the rain gutters or pruning trees in the yard unless I have someone holding the ladder and another person holding my dental records and Medicare card.

2. I won’t be buying sporty new clothes to make me look like I play lots of tennis or pickleball. I’ve gotten this far in life in traditional dorkwear and see no reason changing clothes in mid-stream.

3. I won’t be doing any skiing or snowboarding. In fact, I hereby commit to never renounce the gift of traction in any sphere or circumstance.

4. I will not be investing our retirement money in any get-rich-quick schemes, particularly none promoted by any elected public servant. I hope not to outlive my retirement and hope not have to go out and look for another real job, which is something nobody wants to see me do, least of all any prospective employers.

5. I will not be coloring my hair, combing over my bald spot, sporting an artificial tan, or driving more than 10 miles per hour under any posted speed limit. I reserve the right, however, to engage my left turn signal on my truck in a random, arbitrary and capricious manner.

My late father always used to say that growing old is no fun, but it sure beats the alternative. As he was about most things, my dad was right about that. May I age half as well and as gracefully as he did.

Tom Tyner writes a weekly humor column for this newspaper.