7-11

I like the idea that the lifespan of the average human is eleven chunks of seven year segments -- or 77 years.

And in my own calculus, that means we get about 49 years of life as a more-or-less formed adult... because for the first fourteen and the last fourteen years of our lives, our participation in the affairs of the planet comes mostly as observers. We sit on the sidelines and watch others play the game.

Case in point: I have a ten year old grandson who can't wait to become a grownup. He wants desperately to be playing the game he sees grownups playing -- righting wrongs, killing bad guys, being President. But he knows he's not a grownup yet, and, more importantly, the grownups know he's not one of them, no matter how much he pretends to be one.

And I think the same thing is happening to me (and everyone else my age) in reverse. We're beginning to fade away into irrelevence. One by one, we limp off the field toward the sideline, take a seat on the bench, and watch the action we're no longer really a part of.

The only real difference between me and my grandson is that I've played in the game, and I've learned something, so I get to hobble up and down the sideline, sharing my experiences with the active players.

At least for a little while.

it's good we die

That is the essential wisdom of old age.

My mother was born on a farm and used an outhouse for the first dozen years of her life. Now she's pushing ninety and can't quite figure out how to use the computer, though she tries, gamely. And before that, her mother, born in 1885, had to stop going to department stores because she simply couldn't figure out how to get on an escalator.

A friend of mine recently confessed that he was terrified of cell phones and i-pods and every other electronic gadget he didn't understand.

It seems like for most people there just comes a time when the next change is one change too many and it's time to get out of the way.