Happy Sunday! It’s November 16, 2025. As always, welcome.
Today in History:
2001: The movie version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was released.
1988: Estonia declared its independence from the USSR.
1965: The Soviets launched Vernera 3. It was supposed to probe Venus, but it didn’t send any data back to earth. The next success the Soviets had with the series wasn’t until Vernera 7.
1940: The Warsaw Ghetto was sealed.
Birthdays include Singer Diana Krall, Burgess Meredith, and British Nazi Oswald Mosley.
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I’ve been pretty serious in these columns the last few weeks. Maybe it’s time to break out of that with some lighter fare. So, let’s talk about the passage of time.
The first thing to know about getting older is that you gain an extremely detailed understanding of the human condition. Of course, that also means you more easily identify and become less tolerant of stupidity, of which there seems to be no shortage these days.
You tend not to care what the repercussions are for speaking the truth. I have come to regard that thick skin I’ve developed over the years of blogging and now writing here as something of an advantage. It has made me somewhat more agreeable for the most part. I suppose some would call that wisdom, whereas others might call it crystallized intelligence.
You can tell when you’re old by the reactions when you fall down in front of group of people. If they panic and run toward you, you’ve accomplished old age. If they laugh and point like it’s the funniest damn thing they’ve seen all week, you’re nowhere near old yet. If they simply ignore you, you haven’t quite made it, but that light at the end of the tunnel isn’t Bugs Bunny with a flashlight.
(And yes, come to think of it, if you understand that reference, you’re probably old.)
Getting out of bed in the morning tends to take longer and takes on what can easily be mistaken for the audio from a Rice Crispies commercial. Between the moans and groans, anyway.
You begin to recognize the age thing when, after making all the appropriate noises moving from the bedroom to the bathroom, and after the initial shock at the sight greeting you from the mirror, in reality there isn’t some old guy standing between you and the mirror. That grey-bearded gink you didn’t recognize at first really is you..
ou observe that your beard is getting longer and spend a few moments trying to decide if trimming it is necessary today, but in the end, you decide to let it be, since it looks better than the face beneath it. And, anyway, the excessive hair under your glasses tends to make up for the increasing lack of hair over them. Your once-wavy hair is still waving, but these days it’s waving “bye-bye.” That picture lingers in your mind for the rest of the day, setting your mood.
There’s that special and indescribable emotion involved in explaining that your neck muscle injury was from “sleeping funny.”
Consider the mental strain of seeing someone doing old-guy stuff and then realizing: “Oh, I used to go to school with that guy.”
I used to be on the radio years ago—more years than I care to tell you about. As a result, I can name any ’60s and ’70s top 40 hits on three notes. I can recall all of them right down to the waveform. I don’t play the stereo as much as I used to because, with my memory, I don’t need it. There’s always music playing in my head these days, and I don’t like the competition. (Do they actually call it a stereo, anymore? If not, I’ve no idea what to call those huge boxes in my living room.)
You know you’re getting older when you spend 20 minutes scrolling through years in an online form to get back to your birth year.
I haven’t gotten around to using a pill organizer yet, but I do have one awaiting the call to duty in the kitchen cabinet next to my pill bottles.
Doctors are getting to be young enough to be your kids. That’s enough to confuse your speaking with them. And somehow, my getting a prostate checked by a nice-looking blonde 30-something… oh, never mind.
Gasoline. I suppose it’s a measure of age that I can recall paying 26 cents a gallon. Nowadays, they’re not even making cents anymore.
You know you’re getting older when you hear songs you once played on the radio now on store PA systems while you’re trying to find your prune juice. You know you’re really old when you don’t recognize a darn thing they’re playing, because it’s all too new.
Trying to find your car in a grocery store parking lot takes on a new edge when, after 10 minutes of searching, you finally recall you’re not driving the ’72 Chevelle with the side pipes anymore.
My alarm clock is feeling lonely these days. It hasn’t been used in months. It sits in the corner dutifully keeping time, but no longer has the privilege of rousting me out of one of the few vices I have left.
I love that at age 68, I’m being carded when buying a six-pack of suds. (Do I look like a 17-year-old to you?) In that situation, I am invariably reminded that the first time I was asked for my ID was when I turned 18, which, as it happens, was the minimum drinking age in New York at the time. It’s now 21. The funny part is I’d already been drinking at that bar for about a year at that point.
One of the better things about growing older is your understanding of history. You have the advantage of having been there for most of it.
For many, following retirement, there comes a search for some purpose. I consider myself fortunate that I have been writing stuff like this long enough that I can make the shift from what I was doing for a living to this fairly easily. I often see people saying that after retirement we should do what we like; that we should shift from “I have to do Xxxx” to “I get to do Xxxx” As it happens, I like doing this. Again, a net plus.
You calm down a bit at my age, as you begin to recognize that if they haven’t found the bodies by now, they never will.
Of course the biggest advantages of getting older is when you consider the alternative.
I have been told, and I believe, that humor doesn’t work unless there’s a grain of hard truth at its center. I hope this piece has managed to raise a smile, as you see a bit of yourself—or of loved ones—in your mind’s eye
Let’s plan on your being here tomorrow — a day older and wiser. I’ll see you then. Until that time, my friends, celebrate where you are in life; you’ll only get to do this once.
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