I'm 80.

 

I'm 80. Why else have such a large font size? I want my friends to be able to see the writing on this particular wall.  I'm 80, and I like to say it aloud: I'm 80. It feels as good as announcing you're five and holding up five fingers.

Tom is 83 and likes to say that he is in his  84th year. (I'm five, going on six). He spends most of his day on his iPad making paintings of old friends and new friends. He calls his 91 year-old-sister daily, and they talk about growing up on McClelland Street in the forties and fifties.

We play Parcheesi.

I still meet with my sisters once a month to play cards and tell ridiculous stories and laugh until we snort. One or two of the sisters still care about winning.  One or two of us don't. Most of us can't talk and play cards at the same time. The youngest sister is 64. She works out with her husband. One sister is under 70 but just barely. Two are in their seventies. I am 80. The only one who is 80.

Tom and I eat chocolate sprinkles on toast in the mornings. The Dutch call it hagelslag. It's an authentic Dutch breakfast. I like being Dutch, and I like being 80.