I turned 70 today. Seventy. Fucking. Years. OLD. I was in my late 50’s when I joined this motley crue here!  YIKES!!!!

Is 70 the new 50 these days?  Nope. Seventy is still  ….. fucking old age! I know this because of the questions that rumble through my now addling brain. Once upon a time when I’d hear others asking these questions I would say to myself, “Man, that person is old!“. And I was correct in that assessment. Questions like this;

— “How did this happen?”  You have officially crossed over into waiting-for-death territory the very first time you ask yourself that. For sixty-nine friggin years you knew this day was coming … and now you wonder how it happened?? Seriously, you might want to consider getting tested for dementia. Be not afraid about that … you are still qualified to be President of the United States!

— “But, but, why do I FEEL like I’m still in my fifties?”. Well, dumbass, it’s because your in the DENIAL stage of the Kubler-Ross stages-of-grief ladder. You better quickly climb to the “Acceptance” stage before you commit suicide.

— “Why am I losing hair on my head and how is it making it’s way into my ears (and nose) and why are my ears getting so damned big? Why do my eyebrows look like a Fuller Brush?” Because you are. Seventy. Fucken. Years. Old. You really need to get a grip on reality, sonny boy.

— “Should I get dentures now or wait another year?”. Friends my age are dying of  various and horrible diseases and I worry about this? Self absorbed prick! OTOH, our finest President, George Washington, had dentures.  They were wooden, I believe.  It was a hard wood. Jeebus, hard wood in my mouth at 70 … not exactly how I envisioned life in my declining years.

Life is hard.  It’s even harder when you’re stupid. And, lonely.

And a lonely life it has been for the past two plus years. I have kept to myself entirely … venturing into the outside world only to buy groceries, go to the library, and occasionally make a 20 mile trip to Barnes & Noble. My only in-person human contact basically has been my mother, and although I love her dearly, with all the pain she’s in (she turned 92 a couple weeks ago), she’s just not that much fun most of the time (although we are not without occasional gaiety and joy). Other than that, you TPBers are my only regular human contact.  And although 95% of you are really really nice and my internet friends, well, when you get right down to it that’s also really really kind of pathetic. Indeed, it has been my lifestyle choice, and I have my reasons. So, I’m not bitter or complaining … just stating observational facts.

So, I joined the Senior Center this past November.

The minimum age to join is 55 but, there are less than a handful that young. The vast majority are in their 70’s and 80’s. There’s a ton of things to do there. Bingo, for example, which is another sign that death is knocking on your door. They have a wide variety of exercise classes (regyoulah yoga, chair yoga, stretching for health, an exercise room, etc.), book discussion clubs, etc., and also various volunteer organizations one can be part of. And at noon they serve up damned good hot lunches for $2.25. So far I’ve participated in only one thing …. playing pool.

There are about 20 guys that play, and about 10 guys that show up every morning at 9AM, and we play until noon … 8-ball and 9-ball. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years. Great all-around camaraderie, laughter, whooping it up, and at least one or two heated arguments every day — whether or not a foul was committed, or a person is taking to long to shoot,  or they’re talking too much, and whatever else just to argue — and the f-bombs fly left and right, and I even got a couple of them to yell angrily at me (I play rather slowly), “Lurch (yup, that’s my nickname again, just like in high school!), you suck Diseased Donkey Dick!!”.  Truly. We’re just like a bunch of playground kiddies, except we’re stuck in old bodies.

Lemme digress and brag a bit. Every few weeks we play teams from other towns.  Back in November we played a team from Plainfield … all black dudes (and they were NICE as can be, so solly!) and all pretty damned good. Hustlers since they were in first grade! We had 14 guys go.  We pair up according to rankings, and I was ranked …. 14th.  I could hardly sink a “duck” sitting six inches from the pocket. Lurch sucked DDD, fer sure.

So, I practiced and practiced some more. After lunch when all the old farts could no longer play, I would stay until closing, 3:30, and practice.  I also watched countless youtube videos. And, I checked out two books from the library and read them, twice, cover to cover. It’s paying off. We play a team from Union in two weeks … and I’m now ranked third! I’m aiming for #1 but, I probably won’t get there anytime soon since that dude is 84 years old and has been playing the game since he was 18 years old while in the Navy (he’s an ex-SEAL, to boot!). About half the time he runs the table before I even get one shot. Fuggin old prick! I’m more or less counting on him croaking soon.

One more digression before I get to my main point, shortly.  I am sooooo glad I’m not in the Dating Game!!!  Generally speaking, I’m discovering that women just don’t age as well as men.  I would say that 80% of them have issues with weight control.  OK, they’re fat. And if you ever wondered if laying out in the sun and getting that gorgeous tan comes without consequences, well, just stop by our Senior Center.  The exceedingly wrinkled and leathery skin is a dead giveaway. Lastly, judging by conversations during lunch you know what two things old women mostly talk about?  Their dead husband(s) or their very many ailments …. and usually in great detail!  Hey, dudes … if you’re 70 or older and you have a good woman you better hang on to that gift from God with everything you’ve got! Cuz otherwise you’re looking at Dating Hell, my friends!

But, what I really want to talk about is this;  they’re dropping like flies! The following three short vignettes are true, but the names are fabricated. All this happened in just the last month.

1). Susan.  Susan was the wife of our second best pool player, George. She was one of the friendliest and happiest ladies there. A red-head who always had a smile and a kind word to say. At lunchtime I always looked to see if there was an open seat at her table. And one Thursday I did just that. She was all excited about throwing a big Super Bowl party, and seeing all her grandkids. She was a fussy eater and would often give me half of what was on her plate.  Anyway, Friday comes along and George doesn’t show up for pool.  George always shows up for pool. Around 10AM one of the ladies from the office informed us that Susan died the previous evening.  WTF??? She was only in her late 60s, according to her she had great health, and dammit I just had lunch with her yesterday!!!  Turns out that George went to watch his grandson at a high school basketball game, and when he got home she was lying on the floor, barely alive, and died at the hospital shortly after arriving.  I went to the viewing … open casket. They dolled her up real good.  She looked …. so alive, like she was just sleeping. Magic with formaldehyde! To tell the truth, I find looking at a dead body is fucken morbid and disgusting!  Only the second one I’ve ever attended.  I only went to support George, who was simply devastated.

2).  Harry.  I hardly knew him at all. He was a pool player from an opposing team from Piscataway.  But, my friend Joe knew him for years. So, Joe says to me, in his strong Brooklyn accent; “You see dat guy ovah dere? How old you dink he is?”  I guessed late 50’s … maybe mid 60s at worst. Wrong! The guy was 82 years old!  I’m thinking to myself “Holy crap, I GOTTA talk to this guy for a while and get some tips from him!”.  So, I did.  I sat next to him and we talked a good 20 minutes while waiting our turn. I told him he looks like that Mr. Clean dude (completely bald, highly toned muscular body, surely less than 10% body fat). There were no “secrets” other than living right; he exercised a LOT, never smoked, drank alcohol only on social occasions, was meticulous about what he ate, and took plenty of herbs and supplements. Like I said, living right. So, he went to Florida, the Keys, to do some scuba diving and fishing. And on the third day, this incredibly fit looking man simply died in his sleep.

3) John. I hardly knew John. He and his wife, Mary, joined one month after I did. Mary always showed up without John. One day at lunch Mary tells me that John used to love pool, that he played a lot while in the Navy (he was a lifer). I ask why he doesn’t come to play. Well, it’s because he’s not been feeling that great lately and he’s uncomfortable around strangers.  I tell her to tell him that Lurch (me) is also ex-military, and that I’ll take care of him, and make damned sure he has a good time.  Lo and behold he shows up the following week. I kept my end of the bargain, and we had a good time. He was great company. But, his pool game?  Well, let me be kind and just say it was “rusty”.  And he knew it. Mary said he blamed the house cue sticks … and, fer sure, they’re in pretty bad shape.  So, he shows up the following week — with a beautiful brand new $300 stick and case, which Mary bought him. And I say, “Dahum, you got an awesome wife.”. And he simply says, “You’re damned right.” And at lunch the next day I compliment Mary on her kind and loving gift, and then I say to her (really), “You know, when John croaks I want him to leave me that cue stick!“. She laughed, said “We’ll see.”.  Well, I had no idea that John was suffering from several ailments. And then one day, just like that, John croaked.

And this is how I found out. I’m at the pool table playing. In walks Mary. She’s holding the case with the cue in it.  She hands it to me!  And I’m wondering, “What the heck is this??”. And she says,  “John died last night and he wanted you to have this.”.  I was absolutely stunned. I just sat there with my jaw dropped for what seemed like eternity. And then the tears came gushing out. And I hugged her. And all I could say was, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

So, here’s the deal.  Please do not wish me a “Happy Birthday” (unless you really really feel called to do so). That’s not why I wrote this.  I wrote this because on my 70th birthday death is on my mind.  In addition to the above stories, three months ago a lady a few houses down from me, a lady I’ve know since high school died. Two weeks ago I saw another high school classmate make the obituaries. People my age are starting to drop like flies, or so it seems.

In closing, I just want to leave you with two pieces of wisdom. Nothing earth-shattering.  Advice you surely have heard at least a hundred times already.  But, my friends, it’s one thing to hear it … it’s another thing altogether to live it.

I guess it’s taken me about 70 years to live it … please, try not to wait that long yourself.

#1.  Be thankful every morning you wake up.  A thankful heart heals many ailments, is literally true. It can be as simple and mundane as I do almost every morning now; “Good morning, God!  Looks like I racked up [God loves pool also] another day! Thanks a lot!!“.  Many mornings I take an extra 5 -10 minutes to reflect on what it really means to be thankful. BTW, the days I forget to do this are usually lousy.

#2.  Live each day as if it’s your last day on earth. Because every one of us WILL have a Last Day.  And that day could be today. How do you know it won’t be? I’m sorry if you find that morose or depressing. Me?  I call it “Reality”, and I find it to be quite invigorating. You might also if you give it a chance.

Peace to all of you.

Live long and prosper.

Stucky

BONUS VIDEO:

I’m not afraid of dying. Not now anyway.  Maybe I’ll feel different on my deathbed. How can one be 100% sure ahead of time? Anyway, sometimes I feel just like George …. this is pretty funny.

THE END

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Author: Stucky

I'm right, you're wrong. Deal with it. View all posts by Stucky