Will You Still Love Me When I'm Sixty-Five?

I turned sixty-four last year…which means, by the sequential rules of maths, I will turn sixty-five this year.  My  birthday is several months away but My Reader knows and understands that the light bulb has been glowing but has not been fully illuminated to the albeit dimly lit, soon-to-be reality of the happy sixty-five birthday to me event.   However… I received my government issue Medicare card in the mail last week.

My Reader can now forget dimly lit. Think strobe lights. Add sirens.

My thinking on turning sixty-five is this: the last nail to completely seal the coffin is not the same as using finish nails to complete the house that Jack built. Honestly, I don’t think I even know a Jack but the analogy serves to illustrate the point. Which. Is.

Turn on those strobes and crank up that volume!!

I’m far from done.