Susan’s column for Friday, October 8, 2021, can be found here. In it, we discover that “Ammo Grrrll” is celebrating her 75th birthday, which she does with characteristic grace, humor, and a large helping of irreverence.
But now THIS revoltin’ development! Seventy-five! Three-quarters of a century! The sand is really accumulating in the bottom half of the ol’ hourglass. Your figure no longer resembles the classic glass Coke bottle, but more like the plastic liter. You wake up in the morning and some days you can’t even isolate where it hurts. You now have a “trick” knee AND A “trick” elbow and they are NOT good tricks. Plus two sketchy rotator cuffs that make racking a slide problematic. Best case scenario, I maybe have 20 years left. It’s time for a review of The Bucket List.
But Susan, as I might have expected, doesn’t have much of a bucket list:
I have been extremely fortunate in my life in achieving and experiencing almost everything I could dream. I married my soulmate; I had a wonderful kid; I got to entertain people for 30 years – in a job where you work for an hour a day and get applause when you show up for work and when you leave – and have been blessed with the best friends ever to walk the earth.
Of course, it wasn’t all beer and skittles, and she writes a bit about that too. But as with people who focus on gratitude rather than grievance, she finds positivity in the hardships, and–of course–a source for sometimes grim humor. (I’m reminded of beloved stepdaughter’s wise words about our own family troubles: “They say that ‘into each life some rain must fall.’ But not into ours. Our lives are where the garbage is delivered.” Truer words. Never spoken.
But back to Susan. She concludes with a list of “5 Things I Know For Sure at 75.” They’re all funny. Or true. Or both at once. My favorite:
If I live as long as both my parents, I will only have to suffer through five more presidential elections. Death will then be a welcome relief.
That’s a sobering thought. Centenarians are a dime a dozen on both sides in my family. I’m sixty-seven (and like Susan, pretty happy with my doddering old self). If I live as long as Uncle Arthur and Aunty Betty, I’ll be around until 2057. That’s nine more presidential elections.
Good thing I’m made of stern stuff. I’d best get started right now on the last 35 years of my life, if I’m not to let the side down. Up for today: electrical wiring, plumbing, painting, and–of course–the critters here on the farm.
Happy Birthday Susan, from one old bat to another! Here’s to growing old gracefully and happily. Thanks for the laughs, some of which you’ve provided at difficult times in my life, and which have always cheered me up.
May you live forever. Yes, I know that recurring presidential election thing is a daunting obstacle. No worries, though. At this rate the idea of a “popular election” will soon be a thing of the past, and neither of us will have to worry about them any more.