How did this happen? How did 75 years go by so quickly? Wasn’t I just a Brownie? Sweet 16? Spending my college years protesting? Able to vote? Having babies? Dreading 50? Whoosh…
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This morning I sat on my front porch listening to the insistent buzzing of the bees, drinking greedily from the turtleheads, the late blooming flowers that signal the end of summer in my garden.
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According to Cohen, “70 is indisputably not youth. It’s not extreme old age, but it’s the foothills of old age.”
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Last week I wrote that the most important thing college graduates should have learned is how to ask questions of themselves and others. I was thinking too, of my own life. Since retiring I find myself asking new, existential questions.
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A friend of mine frequently notices – and insists that I notice - that I am doing several things at once. Most often these activities involve one or more devices.
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