75 years old doesn't feel real. What I see in the mirror doesn't change from day to day, yet I am so different in appearance from my graduation picture on the wall that visitors often ask me who that boy is. Occasionally I'll see my profile in a reflection or in a candid photo that looks like an old man. But the image I carry around in my head is younger and it's there that 75 doesn't seem real.
There are times when my body reminds me that I am 75. When I get up after sitting for a good while, it takes several steps before I cease to look like a cripple. But I am still walking two miles in the morning, fast and comfortably.
I forget a common word in the middle of a sentence and confuse directions. But I can still write here.
I have no desire to be younger. I am happier and more peaceful now than I have ever been. And, I hope, wiser. My relationship with God is deeper. I am more and more aware that that is not my doing.
I looked back through my pictures for one that captures some of what I value. This is my favorite view in my favorite time of the year. It includes a bit of my home and my deck and yard and my single red fuschia. I can see the top of a tea pot and the top of a maple syrup bottle on the table where I am eating my breakfast. There is even a tiny humming bird right below the fuschia. All of these things that help to make my life here complete. I am blessed.