When I wrote earlier today about a reunion with a couple of old friends, I realized — in addition to how good it was to see them — that there aren’t many of them left. Because they are just that: old friends.

I never expected to live this long. You see, my mother and sister had died at the same age, and when I eventually reached that age, I expected that I would follow suit. But I didn’t, and I’ve already beaten their record by more than two years.

That reminded me of something I’d read recently from the writings of the late TV writer and broadcaster Andy Rooney, whose wit and sense of irony made his weekly broadcasts something I looked forward to for many years:

“It’s paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn’t appeal to anyone.”

Perhaps Colombian author Gabriel Garcia Marquez had the solution to that conundrum when he wrote:

“The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”

– Gabriel Garcia Marquez “One Hundred Years of Solitude”

Taking into account what good, long lives they both enjoyed, they must have done something right. So perhaps I’ll try making a pact with . . . well, not total solitude, but a much quieter life. We’ll see how that works out.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/19/26