Perished Assumptions

When I was 18, I thought that from then on I would always be 18, and for quite a long while that seemed to hold true.  

When I turned 40, I knew that I had left age 18 some distance behind.   Still, I thought that henceforth I would always be 40 or thereabouts.

 But then more time passed.

Two decades later, when I reached age 60, I believe I thought that thereafter not much would change, and I would always be somewhere in the neighborhood of age 60.


But after that still more years passed, and this past summer I reached age 82.

Now, however, I have learned my lesson, and I am quite well aware that in every one of the days that wait ahead, I will be that much less of age 82, or any other age that I might reach,  than I was the day before.

I place the lion's share of  the blame for this new enlightenment on all thoughts of having to go up on my roof -- any of my several roofs -- though there are dozens of other culprits or "teachers" close at hand as well, especially my increasingly wobbly feet -- or is it those all too comfortable crocs?.

I can happily live with that.

But of course, I have to, don't I?