I joke about age all the time but, to be honest, it doesn’t bother me a whole lot.  Oh, the ramifications of age bother me.  Arthritis especially.  However, the concept of getting older,  in and of itself, doesn’t.

I have known some people who crumbled when they “got old”.  Some as early as thirty.  Can you believe that?  Thinking that thirty is old?!

Anyway, as I joked about signing up for Medicare yesterday, I realize that it is nothing more than another marker that I am progressing through time.  When I was a child, I used to think anyone over eighteen was old and anyone over twenty-five was ready for death.

As you all know, the older we get, the more we boost up the definition of old.  Heck, my grandmother died at the age of one hundred and two and I’m beginning to think that was still young. 🙂

Care to comment?