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What did the Beatles know about being 64?

By MARY ANN KOSLASKY
Published May 26, 2006

Were the Beatles prescient, or was their 20-something view of aging a little skewed? I know one thing. That stupid song, When I'm 64, has been spinning around in my head for weeks, because now I'm 64.

Welcome to my 64th birthday - today! Most folks think 65 is the biggie, but trust me, I've found out that you only reach 65 by undergoing an amazing baptismal for 64 previous years.

A baby learns to talk by babbling, creating sounds and putting them together. Eventually words emerge. Anyone who has received a voicemail or answering machine message from me recently will know that I have returned to my childhood.

In fact, I often include a disclaimer in my messages: "I'm babbling so just call me at. . . ."

I have found babbling is not uncommon among my generation. When talking to our good friends, Delbert and Donna, I listen to Delbert and then ask to speak with Donna. We babble in the same language.

I have learned to walk twice in my life: first as a baby and later after recovering from rheumatic fever at age 6.

That was nothing compared with learning how to navigate the Medicare maze. Hubby's stroke was a disaster for us, but I learned that being proactive rather than reactive in dealing with the government is a must.

Although the official age for my retirement is 65 years 11 months, in a few months I will take a trip to the nearest Social Security office and tell them, "I'm OLD! Take care of me."

Not that I expect much to happen. Officially, I don't plan to take Social Security until I'm 70. That is, if Social Security is still around when I retire.

You young'uns out there better get to work and start paying for me.

Many other concerns crop up when you realize that middle age is no longer ahead of you, but several steps behind. I'm talking about things like durable powers of attorney, medical powers of attorney, advance directives, wills and long-term care.

While my boss has assured me that the office will still need me and will still feed me when I'm 64, as the years pass, chance may have it that I become childlike again. Or in some way disabled. With that in mind, I recently purchased long-term care insurance.

To qualify, I had to pass a memory test. I did, but if she had asked what I had for dinner the night before, I would have failed. I can't remember why I walked from the bedroom to the kitchen unless I have a list. Lists are a fact of life at this age.

And take my word for it. If you are looking at long-term care insurance, get it while you're young!

Younger is usually healthier. And younger is a lot less expensive. The "disposable income" we golden-agers supposedly have is rapidly diminished as necessities eat it away.

A lovely suggestion from the boys with the bowl-cut hair is doing the garden, digging the weeds, which is something I love to do. But if they had added a suggestion on how to get up from the ground once I get down, the song would have been a real hit with me.

And though the lads from Liverpool pictured Sunday mornings go for a ride, that depends on my skills. The AARP offers an excellent course that covers dealing with our diminishing reflexes and skills.

But - and don't get upset - I am a firm believer in more frequent testing of older drivers and recision of their license if they no longer have the vision or reflexes needed to handle a multiton motor vehicle.

Yes, I will hate to do it. But yes, when I can no longer drive safely, I will use Citrus County transit or whatever other options are available.

I have already made a concession to aging and driving: I sit on a pillow so I can see over the steering wheel.

Oh, yes. I've shrunk, too.

I enjoy being regaled by former co-worker Bridget Hall Grummet with her Mommy Track column. But I'm traveling the Granny Track, now.

I probably wasn't the greatest mommy. Babies don't come with self-help manuals. You stumble and scramble and in general make a fool of yourself on a regular basis as you travel the road from babyhood to adulthood with your child.

But being a grandma lets you make a fool of yourself any time you want, especially with a grandchild in tow.

And even without Sarah or Jessie on hand, I do silly things and get away with it because folks think I'm into my dotage. Aaah! But am I really as dotty as they like to think?

I'll never tell!

Meanwhile I'll wear outlandish earrings, dress in wildly colorful clothes and go barefoot or don Dr. Scholl's sandals to my heart's content.

So while the Beatles signed their postcard Yours sincerely, wasting away, I will not go gently into that good night. I am going to set off some major fireworks, raise a lot of H-E-double hockey sticks, and - next year I'm going to try to figure out Medicare Part D.

You think I'm nuts now? Watch me then!

[Last modified May 26, 2006, 00:50:07]