Random thoughts on turning 78

Woke up today at floor 78 on the escalator of life. First thing I noticed…the air’s getting a bit more rarified up here. Also noticed more folks below me and less above me. That’s a bit unsettling. If you go high enough, say floor 115 or so, you’ll find yourself all alone. No interest in that.

Glanced at the heartbeat meter: 2,730,000,000 without missing a tic. Thanks for good DNA mom and pop. Been playing running sports for last 72 years. That likely helps too.

Birthday 78 a tad unique. First time on the Disabled List from all that running. Unlike the heart, my right pedal extremity stopped working. Here I lay with it up in the air after foot surgery. During those 72 years I’ve been knocked down, knocked out, cut, piled on, bounced my head off a wooden beam chasing a tennis overhead. But it took a stubbed toe years ago that went rogue to land me on the DL.

Early thought that comes to mind each morning: Make a difference. Discovered that’s a good motivator not to waste the day. Tho often fall short, very gratifying when I occasionally do.

One thought on entering my 79th year is not random. Have it every year. My birth date March 10, 1945, always congers up the Dylan lyric “He who isn’t busy being born is busy dying.” While I was busy being born in a safe, clean Chicago suburban hospital, a hundred thousand Japanese were being incinerated under 1,510 tons of napalm bombs dropped on Tokyo by 282 B-29s. A million were left homeless from the disappearance of 268,000 mostly wooden homes.. It was the deadliest single day of human destruction from war in history, a dubious distinction I cannot separate from my entrance to life. I learned about it early on, staring in horror at pictures of the man-made firestorm devouring one of the world's largest cities. The Cold War was raging. McCarthy was rampaging. I feared a similar fate awaited me from nuclear war, having to practice ‘Duck And Cover’ in school. Seventy years on still fear the Big One, not so much for me but for the kids and grandkids. Guess that’s why I work in the Peace Movement. We’re in a new Cold War against not just pipsqueak Russia, but also gargantuan China as well. The Doomsday Clock is 90 tics from midnight, the closest in my life. That is not progress.

Onward to 79.