His pennant blowing out like a prayer flag high in the Himalayas, Reg’s lower limbs bask in still, warm air.
Today, I’m having a birthday that I could scarcely have imagined: my 94th.
By Reg Green
When I was growing up, people died in their 60s, even 50s. If you reached your 70s you were said to have had a good inning. If you lasted till your 80s you became a bit of history. Nineties? Only in the Old Testament. Nowadays, these extreme old ages are unsurprising, even commonplace.
Ironically, for many people this bonus is torture, physical or mental, and their plight is pitiful but for those in reasonable health, besides all the pleasures that being alive offers, there is a small but curious benefit: time to think up our own famous last words that we hope people will remember us by.
I’ve chosen mine and if I get to use them they will enliven a dying moment, so to speak. “Well, there’s one consolation,” I’d like to say, “I won’t wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee.”
Happy Birthday 🎁🎂🎊