The Fifteenth of December (with three embedded links for you)

Here we are on another fifteenth of December.  Another day.  Another year.  Another bittersweet memory.  I am sitting in the waiting room of a Honda service depot awaiting the punchline to the joke, "how much is this going to cost?"  Not my car but I care for and about it for obvious reasons.  Cars, like people, age and the reliability-maintenance ratio becomes highly inefficient to society and owner.

Someone posed the question would I prefer for my grandmother to be alive even though she'd turn 89 today.  Honestly, that's not an easy question given all the factoring of health, financial resources, companionship, and quality of existence.  Dying at the age of 72 is, arguably, fairly young by modern standards if one has health, resource, companionship, and quality factors well balanced.  But who's to say when time is time? Selfishly, of course I wish she was alive.  But her life would probably be pretty miserable at this age.  She had a rough life.  Et cetera.


I hold the opinion that the age 89 is too damn old.  I have opinions.  The usefulness-to-burden/worry ratio is highly inefficient to society and family.  I may sound harsh but facts aplenty support this notion.  There are exceptions of course; people who live very useful, productive, healthy lives well into their geriatric years.  I know some people like this, aged like cheese or wine or whatever ages great.  But for the most part we use our science and technology to keep humans alive well past the comparable age where we would have put a loved canine or feline companion to a loving "sleep."  As many seniors have personally emphasized, the "golden years" aren't.

But this frank talk just makes me sound evil and mean.  And I'm not.  I can be a jerk but evil?  Mean?  Not inherently.  I can be coldly logical and pragmatic though.  And eighty-nine is too damn old, man!

I highly doubt that I will reach the age of 89.  Honestly, what the hell could I possibly be doing of any value at 89?  Sometimes I live frantically in the belief that I may not live another day/week/month/year/whatever.  And I'm only half of 89.  At this point, and historically, anything over about 65 has seemed unattainable, if not irresponsible.  I'm like Logan 3 watching my crystal color change (which has long run black).  I'm a runner.  Lastday was in 1987.

I've long repeated that I refuse to be a broken down sack of vulnerable, miserable human suffering.  Maybe when I get to a certain age I will reconsider.  Perhaps upon the end of my lease I can rent on a monthly basis.  Maybe I can exercise the option years.

OK, that's the end of the obligatory rant with regard to aging.  The next one is scheduled for March 12, 2011.

Anyway, today is the birthday of someone special and essential to me.  All we are is directly attributable to what we were given.  As always, I can never express enough gratitude.  Wish you were here.