My next birthday is approaching. I barely remember the skinny, dark-haired kid I used to be. Back then I'd stay up all night playing and get to work at 5 a.m. Now, when I'm up late, it's called insomnia and I take a pill for it. I used to catch boxes of groceries off a truck. Now I use a home shopping cart to wheel a half dozen of my sweetheart's Diet Cokes from the garage to the kitchen. I've had one knee replaced and the other one's going. Something's narrowed in my back, but if I do my exercises it doesn't hurt too badly. What I'm learning is that while my time is running out, aging gobbles time like a Ms. Pac-Man.
This article appears in Aug 30 – Sep 5, 2012.