Yes, I’ve got ‘em. Today, I feel about 103 years old. I woke up this morning, and Myrna was not beside me again. Approximately 530 days and counting.
Addwaitya, a giant tortoise, died at the age of 250. He had lived in a zoo in Kolkata, India. If the turtle really was 250 years old, that means he was born in about 1756. He lived in the zoo for 130 years.
Mozart was born in 1756. The American Revolution had not yet occurred.
When I told Myrna the godawful news that she had only a short time to live, she replied:
“That’s funny. I thought I’d live to be 120.”
Myrna and I often talked about growing old together, living into our 80s and 90s. Now, I wonder if that’s really such a wonderful thing. I am tired of burying people. The cruelty and eagerness of the young is less appealing with every passing year.
I wonder if Addwaitya was sick of it all and ready to go.
Oh, well… I’m off to the gym to see if moving these old bones around will improve my disposition. It’s not such a terrible thing to have the blues.
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