Dear George,
As I write this our son J and grandkids V and L are busy pressure washing our patio deck. I can’t think of a better birthday gift. Our deck has long been in a sad state of disrepair, and J has been working on fixing it since they arrived from California 10 days ago. The last task is painting the deck. J is supervising, while V is manning the pressure washer, and L is dislodging the chunks of dried paint. Since Katja has been thinking about tearing the whole thing down and starting from scratch, their birthday gift of manual labor is going to save us about $5000.
One thing I think about turning 83 is that our family becomes more important every year as we grow older as a source of social, emotional, and practical support. We’re very proud of our grandkids, delight in their growing up. J and our daughter-in-law K are our good friends to us as well as our closest family members. Our group is driving back to New Orleans in two days, returning to their regular lives (as much as possible) after a summer in Half Moon Bay. We will miss them dearly.
J asked me how it felt to be 83, and I said it wasn’t much different from being 60 or 50 or even 40. My poor hearing is my major sign of being in my eighties, but it’s been poor for the past two decades and it’s not nearly as bad as it might be. I think I am more aware of being in my eighties because of the pandemic because I read in the paper every day that Katja and I are in a high-risk category. I’m going to be extremely angry if I catch the coronavirus and die from it because that isn’t part of my game plan.
I’ve often thought about which decade of life is the best. When I was a kid in grade school, a pharmacist in our family drugstore named Lucien regularly told me to enjoy life because I was in the best time I would ever know. I didn’t pay attention, but I think he had a case. Now I think the eighties are also a strong contender, at least if one is relatively healthy and financially stable. Since retiring twelve years ago (fourteen for Katja), we’ve been free as birds and unencumbered by job tasks, bosses, annual evaluations, and difficult colleagues. We’re more mature, we devote ourselves to enjoyable pleasures, and life is full of contentment. I never really expected this, and it’s a welcome surprise.
I don’t know what my 83rd year will bring. We have the rest of the Trump presidency, the pandemic, unrest from police brutality, the economic disaster. My hope is that we will successfully wend our way through a chaotic world. I wish the same for you and your family.
Love,
Dave
P.S. The photo is my pandemic hairdo and beard, untouched since last February. This geezer looks much more like an 83-year-old than he used to.
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