In a few days I will be having a very special birthday, at least in my eyes. Reaching the age of seventy-five seems like a wonderful milestone to celebrate. Just think about it – three quarters of a century, seven and a half decades, seventy-five years of time.

Like most seniors, I don’t consider myself old because we don’t think old. In our minds, we are still in our forties. Our bodies may say differently, our faces may have wrinkles, but our hearts are young. Furthermore, we don’t behave like we are close to our expiry dates. I definitely keep my family on their toes by NOT acting my age.

Now I must admit that some of our routines and habits suggest that we might be getting a little further down the time line. For example, I read the daily obits. This is a habit seniors do. While the younger generations are busy checking their Facebook pages for updates on their friends, we seniors check ‘Passedbook’ to see the status of ours. So really, it is the same thing. What’s the big deal! The other day I came across a person in Passedbook who had died at the age of seventy-seven. I caught myself thinking, “Well, he lived a good, long life.” Then it clicked. “Holy hell, he was only two years older than me. The guy died young!”

Let’s travel down the aging road. When you are a teenager, everyone is old. As you approach thirty, those over fifty are elderly. When you hit sixty-five a reverse way of thinking kicks in. The older people, from your perspective, appear to be younger. Eighty is viewed as a senior in his prime, eighty-five is getting a “little” older and well, maybe that ninety-year-old is – old.

I enjoyed my fifties. The kids were through university plus they were not living at home so any extra money was ours to spend on us. With the arrival of sixty-five, I no longer had to ask what the qualifying age was for senior discounts. Was it 55, 60 or 65? I qualified for them all. Retirement usually occurs around this time for most but not for me. I was not ready for that change in life style so I continued to happily work well beyond that age.

It is rather interesting to note that once you hit your seventies, the kids begin to think that you might be starting to “lose it”. For example, if we forget something, it is because we are getting old, or worse, maybe developing the first stages of dementia. But if they forget stuff (which happens frequently) it is because they are busy, busy, busy with a lot of things on their minds. It is during these years that your kids believe they should start looking out for you. This can either be quite endearing or as annoying as hell.

An example of this concern for our well-being happens when my family comes over for dinner. The first thing my kids do is stick their heads into the fridge to see if any items there have gone past their expiry dates. They have even passed this duty of food inspector onto their kids. When staying with me for holidays, the grandkids will often say, “Grandma. Is this still good to eat?” and I simply reply, “If it isn’t growing a coat of fur, it should be fine.” Because they love to devour food and Grandma hasn’t poisoned them yet, they accept that answer.

And now I am seventy-five. I am so grateful for the life I have, for my family and friends, for my good health and for all my other blessings. I live a full and active life making the most of each day. After all, when I DO get old, I don’t want people thinking, “What a sweet little old lady”. I want them saying, “Oh crap! What’s she up to now!”