In a couple of months I'll be a senior. Sixty. I'll be able to apply for the whatever they call it when you turn sixty.
I'm in denial.
Truth is, I'm heading headlong for one of the markers of old age, and I have yet to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.
Fuck, does that ever suck.
Just recently I was toying with the idea of buying out Ernie's Fish and Chips down Chesley way. It was on the market for the longest time. Came with it's own building on the main street, with an apartment above.
I've always wanted to run a restaurant. Me and the Farm Manager could live in the apartment. She could become the Fish Manager, or maybe the Chip Manager, or even the Fish and Chips Manager.
Anyway, while I was mulling it over in my mind for months, someone more decisive swooped in and scooped Ernie's from underneath me.
I wish them well.
So what else is on the table when you're turning sixty?
I was hoping the Harperites would get their shit together and actually start up that long-promised ship-building program. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at Irving Shipbuilding in Saint John. I could handle an encore performance.
Unfortunately, the rate at which they're rolling that out leads me to conclude I'll be well into my 90's before they need marine steel-fitters on the project. By then it may be too late.
But maybe not. From all reports the Rolling Stones are totally rocking this latest "Zip Code" tour, and they're all in their 90's.
Maybe there's hope for me yet!