Born in the Panama Canal Zone 80 years ago, Mr. Zidbeck came to California in 1944 with his mother and three siblings. He enlisted in the US Army after graduating from high school. Honorably discharged in 1952, he attended college under the G.I. Bill. After graduating from UCLA in 1958, he worked as a probation officer in LA County. George's wife of 55 years died this past August. However, he plans to remain in San Luis Obispo County since retiring in 1985.
In addition to penning observations and reflections since living in San Luis Obispo County, George has authored six volumes of a family saga that addresses the negative influence of alcohol on a family from the perspective of the mother (two volumes); the father (three volumes); and the first born son. Anyone interested in contacting the author, may write George Zidbeck.
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Rochester, George's Good Buddy |
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The Big 80 - Aging on the Squiredom #3
by George Zidbeck
Lest you suspect that I am going to continue monthly with comments on this olde squire and his aging shtick, I promise to change the subject for the balance of this year. That statement consequently leaves the door open should I wish to say something next January about turning 81.
To me, there's something most proper about breaking a lifespan into decades. You might select seven year segments. If memory serves, Henry Miller did such in one of his literary commentaries. Moreover, Hindu scriptures also use seven year Karmic divisions to explain birth through death. Nonetheless, I propose that ten year cycles adequately outline the major physio-ethnical progressions of the human species.
From total helplessness at birth, but thence acquiring upright posture and a semblance of intelligence, it takes at least ten years before many homo sapiens have the wherewithal to get about without constant supervision. By the twentieth year, many individuals have survived a sufficiency of challenges and tribulations to then look in a mirror and say, "I'll take over from here thank you very much!"
Ah, age 30. Even if smoking and drinking, should one have the financials to handle such expenses, the majority of us have started a family and a career. And, barring major afflictions or serious monetary setbacks, I wager you enjoyed a wide range of satisfying activities. Moreover, your involvements didn't overtax your stamina.
Whether you like it or not, age 40 lets you and the world know that youth has slipped away. How many athletes can still play the game with the full fervor and gusto of yore? Yep, like it or not, you've arrived at mid-life. Therefore, slip and slide down the slope taking you into the senior citizen bracket. Rant and rail all you want—get goat gland shots and see the bestest plastic surgeon while exercising and swallowing all the right nutrients—you're not gonna get one day younger. (PS: my wife hated turning 30, feeling as a woman that she had then already turned old, but at forty found herself enjoying life fully in all aspects.)
The BIG FIVE-OH! Likely, more males make much more ado over that age than the females of our human species. No matter. It's at that point that the phrase "oh, act your age" truly penetrates the ear's cochlea. Conversely, grandparentage idioms and attached behaviors blossom and radiate. Plus, that age bracket generally has the money and the time to travel and begin shedding a few of the restrictive mores that control younger population groups. Whoopee, let's go to Laughlin (or casino of your choice) for a Mon-Fri special!
What? No, don't tell me. I've turned 60? Ach, mein godt! Where did the time go? Social Security lies just around the corner and I've got to see the doctor for this or that black skin spot or creaky joint or whatever, but maybe I can put it off until Medicare . . . . Yes, yes, yes, I'll quit smoking and this time I mean it! How about eating out? Or, let's have take-out tonight if you don't mind, huh? All right?
Finally. At last. Against all odds, we've come to 70. Not too bad a time, all things considered. Didn't insurance actuaries give me, an American male born 1931, a sixty-two years lifespan? Me, who smoked twenty-eight years and reached a four pack a day habit until quitting when forty-five? Me, who tippled the booze for nearly as long, but recognized at age forty-seven that alcohol inexorably intoxicates, and thereby poisoned not only my corpus and soul, but my marriage and many social contacts.
I simply can not explain with any scientific certainty what brought me up to age 80. I am most grateful however. The clarity of perspective achieved following numerous years in the trenches has opened up vistas of insights that please, calm, and instill comfort. Yes, friends of my generation peel off from my directory without my adding new names. Most importantly, my dearest friend of fifty-five plus years died this past year. Still, life is a journey and I love journeys. Additionally, since the age of three, curiosity stands ever ready and totally undiminished. The world and its wonders forever beckon.
I thank my long deceased parents for joining their chromosomes back in 1930. The litany of my friendships shall not be introduced here. Notwithstanding a period of clinical depression, even considering traumatic episodes popping up when least expected, how can I allow such negatives to cloud the positives befalling me lifelong? The word "miracle" bespeaks a supernatural force or entity. Would that I had a this-world expression to translate my gratitude, my ethos. If you've got such a word or phrase, let me know. I'll add you to my THANK YOU LIST.
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