A NONAGENARIAN AT LAST!
CELEBRANTS: Your blogger celebrates his ninetieth birthday with his youngest grandson, Jamie Geroux, who marks his ninth month on planet earth.
First, deepest thanks to all of you who sent me those kind words and birthday wishes on my 90th. I am both grateful and humbled.
I should also like to thank my GP, my cardiologist, my neurologist, my nephrologist, my urologist, my hematologist, my oncologist, my dermatologist—as well as the countless surgeons who used their knives on my carcass—for their parts in getting me here. Finally, and chiefly, thank you to my wonderful wife Timarie, to whom I’ve been married 37 years, for all of her loving care.
Beyond their contributions, to what do I owe my longevity, given the less than vice-free life I’ve led? Beats me. Luck to be sure. Maybe you could partly attribute it to good genes. According to the 23andMe folks, my haplogroup is I-M253, which is fairly rare and traces back on the male side to some dude who left his bones and SNAPs in a Finnish cave 3,000 to 5,000 years ago. That makes me a descendant of Vikings, I guess.
To celebrate my 90th as a frustrated do-gooder still looking for a mission in life, I thought I would pass along to you my ten top tips to living this long. (As a disclaimer I feel obliged to remind you of the wisdom passed down to us by the actress Bette Davis: “Growing old is not for sissies.”)
Eat Your Fruits and Vegetables. As soon as I saw as a young child animals grazing in the field, I refused to eat any meat put before me. No amount of cajoling by my mother and father could persuade me to break my vow not to eat animal flesh. Then at age eleven I dared to bite into a hamburger. Hooked! Instantly I became a red-meat carnivore for many decades, before my vegetarian daughters nagged me back to a healthy diet…a modified Mediterranean light on meat. Learn to love salads.
Avoid the Infantry. When your country goes to war and you are called to serve, volunteer as I did for the Air Force. That was during the Korean fracas. Yes, I survived without a scratch in Japan as a weatherman, attached to the Ninth Fighter Bomber Squadron that sent F-84s into North Korea to hit secondary targets. No flying for me. Yet I got the same Korean Service Medal as those true heroes in the Second Infantry Division…many of whom did not come home.
Don’t Smoke Tobacco. If you do fall into that pernicious addiction, try your best to delay its start and to quit it early. I speak from sad experience, having lost my father and two younger brothers, none of whom could give up cigarettes. I did quit 38 years ago, but still score a wheezy 93.5 on those blood oxygen tests. Let me tell you it’s particularly painful for an oldest brother to outlive his younger brothers by thirteen and fifteen years…so far.
Control Your Intake of Alcohol. You might rightly challenge my credentials to advise you on this subject. Yes, I confess to having had some trouble with booze; indeed it took me all of 65 years to become a teetotaler.
Born into a family of Germans, beer was always present in the fridge, there to sample as an open gateway drink that helped bring me out of my youthful shyness. No harm, no foul with the suds. But by age 18 I had graduated to the harder stuff and I gave them all a try; it became over the years a cleansing process of giving each of them up. Sake took one hangover. Scotch tasted like rat piss…no problem kicking that. Bourbon briefly became the drink of choice until I became employed in the corporate world and one’s after-lunch breath became an issue. Vodka in all its serviceable disguises came forward to fill the void.
Then, in my mid-thirties, I discovered the Bombay gin martini. There is a saying that two martinis are too many, and three are not enough. So true, so true. My last one was at age 76, but I can still smell that wonderful aroma from time to time and momentarily feel that happy glow within. At age 83 I quit chardonnay under Doctor’s orders and that was it, the end. I’m seven years booze-free now and don’t miss it at all. Advice? Don’t wait as long as I did to quit killing brain cells and escape those morning hangovers.
Don’t Drive Drunk. This is a no-brainer. Get a sober spouse or friend—or call Lyft—to get a lift to your favorite crash pad. Don’t insist on driving yourself home, then stop en route for a nightcap. You’re safer taking night swims in a shark tank.
Gamble Minimally. All things in moderation, the sages say. An annual trip to Las Vegas to enjoy blowing your tax refund is OK. An occasional friendly game of poker or cribbage with friends is preferable. But more than one a year of those Vegas trips can be costly and portend a growing addiction to the wheel or the slots, to the dice or the cards. Or all of them. You know the odds are stacked against you, and the House always scores big over time.
The same is true of playing the ponies, as I did for a third of my life. The government and the track take big bites out of that parimutuel pool and leave a small pie to be carved up by the winning handicappers. Though I was a reasonably good handicapper, it took me many years and much time wasted to confirm that sad fact that you’ll overall end up a loser. Even then it didn’t dent my love for those beautiful thoroughbreds—so much so that I actually bought small shares of three colts. Training, stabling, and feeding Azure Blues, Wait for the Wind, and Tell a Story soon convinced me horse racing was indeed the “Sport of Kings”— because only royals could afford the costs.
If you just have to “bet” on something, be smart and look to the stock market where you can win by putting those restless bucks you have into an index fund with Vanguard or Fidelity. Here the odds favor you, and the long-term payout may come in handy at retirement time.
Get Married and Stay Married. Yes, married people live longer than single people. This is especially true for males of our species. Of course in this turbulent day and age you’re likely not to get the right mate the first try. Take heart. In this land of second chances you are entitled to a second chance at finding a wife for life. No third chances, though. Strike two and you’re out. If you botch the first two, you were meant to become an adult orphan, and die younger than the average. But as compensation, you will drive a fancy sports car, eat out a lot, have profound philosophical chats with your cat, and avoid a pitiful expiration in a nursing home.
Here’s a bit of final advice to serious spouse-shoppers: ladies, resist getting hitched to a sharply dressed short guy who’s a great dancer…a type not to be trusted; gents, don’t go seeking a bride after midnight among the Beer Bar Barbies…such behavior can be habit-forming.
Avoid Stress. It kills. Or so goes the common wisdom. Yes, you can meditate. Practice mindfulness…whatever that entails. I tried Tai Chi with great success before I encountered that great curse of aging—loss of balance. For myself, I’ve found the best way to avoid stress is leaving the corporate world with its claustrophobic cubicles and Byzantine office politics. Try working for yourself at something you enjoy, even if it means fewer bucks in your 401K and a smaller pad to maintain at retirement time. It also brings a longer life to waste goofing off and enjoying grandkids.
Nourish The Soul. A few folks may merely listen to the music of J. S. Bach every Sunday morning to find that nourishment. Many, many more regularly go to a Church, Temple, or Mosque to meet their spiritual needs, ensemble. An even larger number of us find spirituality in the outdoors, far from the madding crowd. Call them pantheists, sons and daughters of Gaia, or just plain old nature lovers who have their own holy places—places where you feel both humbled by the boundless immensity around you and comforted in the acceptance that somehow you belong here on earth. These are places where you are an undistracted witness to the wonder of life pulsating around you, evoking distant memories of an Eden that was or should have been. California is blessed with a surplus of such sacred places. For the fit and high-minded, their choice might be a multi-day trek along the Sierra Nevada’s John Muir Trail. More down to earth, try a hushed and pious walk through the cathedral of towering trees at Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. Those of more austere mind might consider camping a full-moon night on the vast, now silvered lunarscape of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Close to most is a night hike alone along the foamlap of Mother Pacific, and hearing in her rhythms and roars a hearty welcome home. Sacred places are where you find them.
Keep Moving. I didn’t come up with this simple bit of advice myself. Every doctor I currently have (that’s nine at latest count) tells me the same thing: move. As long as you’re moving you’re alive. Of course most of us have our own preferred exercise program. (Maybe preferred isn’t the right word but I’m at loss for a better.) My daily regimen consists of 30 minutes or three miles on a recumbent bike, and another 30 minutes stretching, twisting, bending, and lifting two-pound arm weights. Yes, your energy wanes as you age, and it gets harder by the day. Adjust! Lessen the resistance on your torture tools. Space out your exercises in time. Just don’t sink into your couch and watch telly all day, while your blood pools. Move!
Th-that’s all, folks! But then you already knew all this and you want your money back. Sorry. All blogs here are final. And besides I can’t remember where I put your money. Hey! Go easy! Even with Prevagen, you can’t be expected to remember everything when you’re 90!