Sesenta y Dos

The title is Spanish for sixty-two because I can't remember how to spell it in French. It also coincides with the number of years I've been walking this big blue marble. Well, I guess I was carried for a while then crawled a bit but you get the picture. We had a nice get-together last Sunday evening with the Tucson Howes and the Clarks along with Aunt Lorna and Mia. Per tradition, we had earlier feasted on the meal of my choice which happens to be German pancakes and bacon.

Babs had treated me to "Zinburger's" the previous afternoon before the Wildcats lost to Washington in the PAC-10 championship game. I even whined enough that she got me a blizzard after the game to soothe my sadness.

It's way past weird being sixty-bleeding-two years old. I really didn't see it coming. Senior discounts without lying about my age. It's a good thing I love my job so much or I could collect Social Security and live off of all the taxes we all have paid over over our lifetimes.

I feel much younger of course except when I get up from a chair or am startled when I see that fat bald guy looking at me from the mirror.

The good news is that I see that guy on a regular basis staring back all red-faced while I'm straining away on some of those Spanish Inquisition machined at the "Old Man's" gym on base.
My last few doctor visits have been quite outstanding too. Who'd a thunk that diet and exercise doo doo would actually pay off.

Even at the dentist. I had an exam last Tuesday. Look Ma, no cavities! They still yang at me about flossing but I just smile, nod, and tell them "No thanks." Why mess with success? These pearly-whites have lasted me lo, these 62 years and will probably last however long I need them without putting strings in my mouth. Perhaps my mother was frightened by some dental floss while carrying me.

More on that next week...