65

It's really an arbitrary thing, no less so than, say, a Fiftieth Anniversary. Why is that such a milestone compared to the 49th or the 51st? Be that as it may, here I am turning 65. Technically, at 4:30 this afternoon, the more or less exact time I was born. It was a Friday. The world rejoiced.

65. Intellectually you know (or at least assume) that by the grace of God you'll make it. Then you actually do. 

I indeed feel different this morning, although I'm sure that's psychological. A milestone has been achieved, such as it is. The first hint was my Medicare card coming in the mail at the end of March. Oh, this is actually happening, that 65 thing, I thought, even though my joints and muscles have been proclaiming its approach for a few years now. 

Yet here it really is. I took my walk this morning; I puttered in the old barn. Outwardly things seem the same. But, 65. Might as well embrace it with all the gusto those joints and muscles will allow.