Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Well, not to be self-congratulatory, but today ol’ Robbo turned the big 5-0.
Because this is a school night and some of the family are down with a bug, plus the fact that I’ve never really been one much of one for Robbo-centric hype, celebration this evening was fairly muted, just some take-out Chinese followed by a chocolate mousse-y cake.
I try to think what it means to hit this particular mark, but to tell you the truth I really can’t. On the one hand, I just don’t feel old. [Mothe – “That’s because you’re not!”] In fact, apart from the fact of a gray hair or two, a bit of arthritis in my fingers and my ever-worsening eye-sight, I feel pretty much the same as I have since I first got out of school. On the other, I don’t feel any memento mori-based anxiety at hitting the milestone because, honestly, at least at this point the thought of my own mortality simply doesn’t frighten me. (This does not appear to be universally the case among old high school classmates over on FB.)
In fact, I’m rayther looking forward to the next few years. As I joked to Sistah today, various people have been accusing me of having a 50 year old mentality ever since I was a teenager. (Indeed, one college flame, shortly before she became an ex-flame, said that I must have been born sixty.) I guess my body is just finally catching up age-wise with my mindset and people will stop having attacks of cognitive dissonance trying to put them together.
Actually, no. No they won’t. This is because our wretched so-called “culture” has largely abandoned St. Paul:
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
– 1 Corinthians 13:11
Instead, it has adopted the Peter Pan quest for perpetual adolescence, a frame of mind which I utterly detest. So the bafflement will continue. Too bad. Damned Boomers.
On a better note, this morning teh Middle Gel asked me what I would like as a birthday present. Well, I told her, what I always wanted more than anything else growing up was some day to have a family and a comfortable home of my own. Thanks largely to a healthy portion of fool’s luck (or the overtime work of my guardian angel, if you like), plus at least some effort of my own, I seem to have wound up with exactly that, and for this birthday present, I am profoundly grateful.
(Not being satisfied with this answer and looking for something more material, she pressed me a bit further, so I had to admit that I would also like to have a harpsichord and a horse, but I don’t think either of those is likely any time soon.)
Anyhoo, a glass of wine all round!
UPDATE: Oh, the one thing I did want to mention was the curious acceleration of temporal perception I’ve started to feel over the past couple years. Time seems to be running faster the older I get. Well, it occurs to me that this is simply a matter of math. When I was ten, a year constituted one tenth of my life, amirate? So parse it out accordingly: when I was 20, a year was 1/20th of my life; when I was thirty, 1/30th. And so on.