During my career as a late-in-life columnist, I have been blessed with the opportunity to chronicle three birthdays ending in zero.
(My so-called “good” cholesterol has not exactly overperformed in helping me reach these milestones. It usually “phones in” its duties, and even then apologizes, “Sorry, driving into a dead zone here” an awful lot of the time.)
It’s six years until another “big” birthday; but as a Beatles fan, I have eagerly anticipated writing this essay about the fast-approaching day “when I’m sixty-four.”
(And as an Elton John fan, I’ve eagerly anticipated building up the nerve...
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