Control 60 or be controlled by it

Here’s the thing about 60: You control it, or it controls you.

That’s pretty much the consensus of my fellow members of the Oswego Catholic High School Class of 1971, who gathered in the city hard on Lake Ontario recently to collectively celebrate our 60th birthday.

I’m happy to report, on behalf of the OCHS Class of ‘71, that we are controlling 60 better than it is controlling us.

We’re not as we were when we were 18, certainly, but my sense is that, in the main, we’re healthy, active and engaged.

Sixty is tougher than 50 or 40.

At 40, we celebrated early-ish middle age, thinking that we haven’t even lived half our lives yet. Fifty might be argued as middle age since many regard 50 as the new 40. But at 60 there’s no pretense about middle age. We know there are fewer tomorrows than there are yesterdays.

The problem I have with 60 is the math, never one of my favorite classes at OCHS -- failing geometry as proof of that.

I do the math of how old I’ll be relative to certain events that I anticipate in the years ahead. (As a point of reference, check out Loudon Wainwright’s song “Doin’ the Math” from his “Strange Weirdos” album.)

I think about my daughter Elizabeth and my son David and the children I expect they’ll have someday and how old I’d be when they graduate college, or whether I’d even be alive to see them get married, or see their children.

They are the unknown x and y in the equations I try to solve from time to time.

Some people are spiritually prepared to die, to make that journey to whatever is on the other side. I tend to be a planner when I travel, so I'd like to see the itinerary of what that journey entails.

I’m enjoying 60. I’m retired enough to enjoy the time I have to myself, and I work enough to keep myself mentally and socially engaged. I’m physically active, have a loving wife, and I have easy access to a lot of family.

No, 60 isn’t middle age, but it’s not the beginning of the end either.

Going 60 in 2013

2013 is my 60th year.

Over the hill? Hell, I heard that at 40, so I’m not sure what that makes 60.

Going downhill fast?

Well, put me on my skis and I’d be glad to go downhill fast. I still can and will for as long as possible (as long as there aren’t any moguls involved).

I have a lot of company in this transition to 60. My Oswego Catholic High School class of 1971 will, in fact, celebrate 60 as a group in August. And much of my Class of 1975 friends from the University of New Hampshire turn 60 in 2013.

So I’m in good company.

But this one, as my friend and classmate Martha said during lunch the other day, feels different.

Turning 40 was a no-brainer. Big party.

Turning 50 was a no-brainer. Bigger party.

Turning 60? This one requires some thought.

The thing we want to believe about aging is that we don’t age at all. At least, that’s what we want to believe.

We look in the mirror and think we can still see the 20 or 30 or even 40 year old in there behind the crow’s feet, the sagging chin and the gray hair. Sure, hallucination, LSD flashback, whatever.

We believe we continue to be as sharp and as quick on the uptake as we once were. We believe we can still climb every mountain, ford every stream (follow every rainbow, ‘til we find our dream).

But, at 60, we come to accept that we’re not always the sharpest knife in the drawer and that the knees and the lower back pain sometime keep us from the mountain.

Just the other day, I had organized my clothes the night before and got up very early in anticipation of the snowstorm that came during the morning commute, and I got to my freelance assignment in plenty of time. Only the assignment wasn’t Jan. 16; it’s Feb. 6. I had completely misread the press release.

Last week on the treadmill my beats per minute on my heart monitor suddenly spiked to a number I’d never seen before. Holy crap! Onset of a heart attack!?

Things are changing for sure at 60.

But, hey, that doesn’t mean we stop … maybe rest and nap occasionally but never stop.

“Got fuel to burn, got roads to drive,” according to Neil Young.

Lots of fuel. Lots of roads. At 60, or faster.

The 60th trip around the sun begins

I completed my 59th trip around the sun on June 19.

That means that I’ve begun my 60th orbit on spaceship earth.

Birthdays are occasions for reflection, and as I approach my 60th birthday in 11 months I’ll do more than my share of reflecting -- looking back at what was, looking forward at what’s ahead.

Much of the current reflection comes from watching my children in their own adult lives.

My son David is getting ready to start a terrific full-time, well-paying job at Columbia University in New York City.

My daughter Elizabeth is getting married in less than two months.

I’m six months into grandfatherhood, my stepdaughter Kelsey having giving birth to Rylin.

How can it be that all this is happening when it wasn’t that long ago, or so it seems, that I was getting my first job, that I was getting married for the first time, that I was having my first child?

I know a second is a second, a day is a day, a week is a week, a month is a month, and a year is a year.

But, as you age and look back, those events in the rear view mirror seem a lot closer than they actually are; those years seem more like seconds.

I’m not melancholy or upset about the lightning progression of years. I’m just in awe that it’s gone by so fast.

Yet, I’m determined to hold the years at arm’s length for as long as my physical strength, mental acuity, and emotional fortitude can last.

My sister Margaret gave me what she called a life-changing book; ”Younger Next Year.”

It was my birthday present from her along with a heart monitor for me to wear while I exercise.

The book promotes the notion that we can, as we age, slow the process of decay by better eating and better exercising. I’ve always been a good at exercising, and the heart monitor is helping me do it better. And I can always be a better eater, less starch, less saturated fat, etc., etc. Easy for me to say after consuming a plate of onion rings after a round of golf yesterday.


It’s quite amusing to see me gear up for a run. There’s the iPod and the earbuds. There’s the heart monitor strapped around my chest, the heart rate sensor on my right wrist along with my Road ID bracelet. There’s the stopwatch on my left wrist. And there’s the water bottle carrier strapped around my waist.

All in the name of better exercising.

All in the name of getting around the sun a 60th time and many more times after that.

All in the name, as my new book suggests, of getting younger next year.

No patience for stupidity

I have no patience or sympathy for stupidity and the consequences that can come as a result.

Perhaps as an aging Baby Boomer, someone who's been around the block once or twice (three times and four times) I'm getting less patient.

I've always considered myself as being pretty laid back and tolerant. Make love, not war. Live and let live. Boys will be boys.

But I find myself not suffering stupid very well any more.

My measure of stupid is anyone doing anything they know is wrong or foolish but they do it anyway as a path toward self promotion.

It is especially endemic these days because that self-promotion is so easy on the internet. It's easy to be a fool -- and an internet sensation -- on YouTube.

So I don't feel bad that 17-year-old Steve Consalvi who ran onto the field in Philadelphia during a Phillies-Cardinals earlier this week and was brought down with a cop using a Taser.

The father, who described his son to the Philadelphia Inquirer as a "real good student, heading to Penn State," referred to the incident as "teenagers having fun."

"He wasn't drinking. He was not on drugs," he said. "I don't recommend running on the field, but I don't think they should have Tased him at all".

But if the kid is as responsible as the dad says he is, then he would have known there would be consequences for knowing breaking the law and running on the field. And I suspect he did it because of the instant fame it would give him.

I did a search involving "taser" and "phillies" for YouTube and came up with more than 300 videos. The incident was a hot topic on TV and sports radio talk shows.

He deserved it, I say.

I side with Forrest Gump on this one: "Stupid is as stupid does."

It's all in your mind

I believe wholeheartedly in exercise -- both for the body and for the mind.

There's already a booming industry for the exercising the body -- we as a society spend $16 billion a year on health club memberships, not to mention what we spend on all the attendant gear and stuff that goes along with having a physically active lifestyle.

Now there's a growing industry for mental fitness. According to a recent article in the New York Times, products like computer software to spur brain activity are being gobbled up by Baby Boomers who are concerned about losing their mental acuity as they lose their hair, teeth, eyesight and hearing. The so-called neurosoftware market was worth $225 million in 2007, according to the Times article, and is expected to grow as Boomers advance in age. The Times estimate it could be a $2 billion industry by 2015.

Boomers, who have always thought of themselves as forever young, are realizing that their bodies and possibly their minds will break down over time. And they will not go gently into the night. Still believing we are as invincible at 60 or 70 as we were at 20 or 30, we will kick and scream and whine and try just about any means possible to hold off or delay the inevitability of aging.

You can understand why. Most of us at around 50 start to joke about our senior moments -- like forgetting where the car keys are, or forgetting a telephone number that we've dialed a bazillion times before. But our worry is that the senior moments might portend something more serious -- senior hours, days or years of dementia or Alzheimer's.

You know the moments.

The Times article offered a few of anecdotes: A 47-year-old woman misplaced her cellphone, only to find it in her refrigerator freezer when she went to make dinner. Or the 51-year-old woman who drove to work in her car but took the bus home after work after forgetting that she'd driven in. Or the 61-year-old man in the FedEx store who, while filling out the forms, could not remember his home address.

We might chuckle at these anecdotes, but most of us have "moments" of our own. One time coming back from skiing by myself, I went north onto a highway when I should have been traveling south. I was well on my way to Canada before realizing I'd made a wrong turn.

We worry that what's funny now might not be so funny later.

The Times has this telling quote from Nancy Ceridwyn, director of educational initiatives at the American Society on Aging: "It's probably one of the most frightening aspects of the changes we undergo as we age. Our memories are who we are. And if we lose our memories we lose that groundedness of who we are."

So Boomers are running with evidence that suggests brain exercises will help maintain mental fitness, or, as the Times article points out, help keep "the plasticity of the brain."

Nintendo has something called Brain Age 2 of math and memory exercises (originally devised for a youngster). There is "cognitive behavioral training" software. Beyond that, some Boomers are going to their doctors to ask for medical tests to determine if they already have the early stages or are at risk for Alzheimer's.

I'll stick with my crossword puzzles, thank you very much. For the record, my favorite is the Friday puzzle in the Wall Street Journal. But I'll take on all comers. I like the challenge; I like working the puzzles as much as my morning workouts at the YMCA.

Crosswords have served my mother well over the years. She may not want me revealing her exact age, but she's into her 80s and still chugging along quite nicely as she tackles her daily puzzles. We should all be so fortunate.

Can we slow it down just a bit?

What is it about growing older that time seems to speed up just when we want it to slow down?

I got to thinking about this the other morning with the arrival of spring. Its arrival brings on a parade of important birthdays -- my wife's, my daughter's, my son's and my own.

It's the fact that my daughter Elizabeth is going to be 24 and son David is going to be 21 that is freaking me out. (And I'm not going to even try to venture into my mental state over the fact that I'll be 55, and I'll stay away from public discussion of Jane's age to maintain peace and tranquility at home.)

When the kids were little, time took its time, it seemed. Yes, they had their birthdays and their First Communions and their first days of school, and life as a young parent had a certain, predictable rhythm. For the longest time they seemed forever locked in as just being little kids.

And every morning for what seemed years on end I could wake up and look myself in the mirror and look into a face that wasn't any older than, say, 30 … 35 at the oldest.

There was Little League to look forward to and gymnastics camp and all those things they needed from you because you were the parent and they were the kids.

But then they weren't little kids anymore, and I'm thinking it started when they learned to drive. I remember it being weird at the time that my babies were actually allowed to drive a car. It didn't matter that by virtue of their birth dates they were 16 and therefore allowed by law to begin driving. But they were still my babies and babies aren't allowed to drive.

And they weren't around as much. And they were around even less as they became high school upperclassmen. And they were around even less when they packed off to college.

It's as if the distance of having the children around less often has created some inverse refraction of time. The kids move away, and time seems to shorten.

I'm not the 30 year old in the mirror anymore: the gray will attest to that, and so will the wear lines under the eyes and the folds under the chin and the creakiness of getting out of bed in the morning. It's tough on the psyche to look yourself in that mirror and acknowledge you're the parent of two adult kids.

My daughter Elizabeth will mark her 24th birthday in late April, just shy of her completion of her doctoral graduate work in physical therapy. It's amazing to still think of her as a kid when at 24 I was already two years into a job as a newspaper reporter.

My son David birthday marks his being 21 -- an adult in every way, shape and form. And yet he's the Little Leaguer I want to play catch with now that winter has given way to spring.

Make no mistake -- it's great having adult children. We really enjoy each other's company when we can span time and distance to do it. I just wish the time part of it wasn't speeding by me as quickly as it is.