On Turning 85

When I turned 85 recently, I was relieved. I’d had a silly, personal superstition: my Dad died at 84, and I thought I might do that too. 

Eighty-five arrived not only with a faint frisson of relief but with loving phone calls from family and a flurry of emails, wishing me a happy birthday. The emails came from:

  • Two friends
  • Virgin Atlantic
  • Allstate Insurance
  • AARP
  • My dermatologist
  • My audiologist
  • My cardiologist
  • My otolaryngologist
  • Medicalert

Do you suppose the list says something about my age? But I’m still standing.