77, Daddio!

Meaning.... I'm Officially Olllllld!

Aug 23, 2024

Wellll… just about 24 hours ago, more or less, since this Substack is always posted at precisely 12:01 a.m. on a Friday morning, every other week, making it, in this case, on this past Wednesday August 21st, just a little before 5 p.m., I officially turned… fucking 77.

Actually, I was born, so my birth certificate says, at 4:40 p.m. on August 21, 1947, in Queens Hospital, in one of the five beautiful boroughs of the great City of New Yawk.

The date and precise time make me astrologically a late Leo (time of the month), and a Capricorn rising. Ohhh no, here he goes, Trules’ late 60s, “hippie astrology thing”. Yeh, man: Leo, sign of both The Lion, king of the jungle and The Sun, center of our solar system. Talk about the most self-aggrandizing, narcissistic sign of the Zodiac and there you have it - me, a Leo. I’m sure that explains a few things to a few of you, right? Lol. But Capricorn rising, wait…. that’s the outward manifestation, the external personailty, of the sign. Well, Capricorn is… The Goat (not THE GOAT), meaning sure-footed, cautious, a good planner, not a person who takes too many risks. An odd combination, then… Leo and Capricorn. In my case: my creativity and improvisation, that comes from my Leo, while my successful grant writer and good father and teacher, that’s perhaps the Capricorn.

What can I say?

You can take the kid outta the 60s, but you can’t take the 60s outta the man…

But back to the point… fucking 77!

How’d that happen?

Welllll…. you all know the answer: FATHER TIME… the old man nobody defeats.

Hell, I’ve survived lymphatic cancer, thoracic spine surgery, hip replacement, mumps, measles, and chicken pox. I’ve been taking pillboxes full of Western-gelled meds to keep gout, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, depression, neuropathic pain, and hosts of other colorful, life-threatening maladies from slowing my knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s Door - for more than half my life. I’m lucky and grateful that… I’m still here.

But… 77?

I guess I have to be willing and simply - just force myself - to say it:

I’m ollllllllllllllld.

My knees and shins hurt. All the time. Every time I leave the house and come back… I need to lie down. The pain is less a la horizontal. After I play pickleball, hopefully 5 times a week, I’m, for the most part, sedentary. I hardly travel anymore. Me, “Mr. World Traveler”! Who used to globetrot twice a year. Between every university semester. Summer and winter, and sometimes spring too. Where do I globetrot, or even America-trot, to now? To exactly - nowhere!

Shut-up, Trules. Join the human race. Getting old “comes with the territory”.

As Philip Roth, the great post-WW2 American novelist, wrote, as he got closer and closer to his “exit ghost”:

Aging isn’t a battle, it’s a massacre.

Here’s the thing though.

I have a wife who is 31 years younger than I am. And a 17 year-old son. And that… makes a difference, now doesn’t it?

A hellova difference.

It means that… I’m no longer looking at “the end”. My individual single Trulesian “end”. I have two other people in the equation. Two other people to look out for, who, in all predictable likelihood, will far outlive me. My wife and son. And… I’ve known this for a lonnng time.

I became a first-time husband at age 54 and a first-time father at age 68. Meaning… I knew that both these Indonesian, newly-minted “Americans” would first have to learn, and then find, their way, without me, long after my passing. And that it was “my job”, so to speak, to teach them everything I knew - about becoming independent: about thinking for themselves, developing thick skins, about being frugal, knowing how to pay the bills, the car insurance, the mortgage, balance the bank book online, shop for groceries, be compassionate, patient, disciplined, book a trip on Expedia, find the best airfare, hire a plumber, a roofer, change the car’s oil every three thousand miles, where to get the best virus ware for their computers, how frequently to renew their Amazon Prime, know what to do with my ridiculously-deep treasure chest of collectibles from all around the world, how to read a will, how to keep this Substack online after I leave this mortal coil, so on and so forth.

And whereas I was always “the driver of the car” in the family, now as I’ve aged, and will continue doing so, I’ve noticed that I’ve been moving more and more - to “the passenger seat”, and I’ve been allowing myself more and more - “to be driven”. And surprisingly, I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I kind of like it. I can finally look out the window and see the view that I could never see before while I was driving. I can see the red rock New Mexican mountains and the enchanted blue sky, and hell, I can even watch the metaphorical river flow.

How many more years do I have left?

Well as the Fat Man, Mr. Waller, always sang,

One never knows, do one?

Sure, I’d like to see my son graduate high school. That’s less than a year away. We don’t even know if he’ll be going to college. I’d like to see him get married and have kids of his own. But hell, he hasn’t even had a girlfriend yet.

Plans? Who me? “Mr. Improvisation”? “Mr. Live in the Moment”? Those two cats, yours Trulesly, never had any friggin’ plans at all!

But as for this winter, Surya already has plans. For both of us. She wants to take her Indonesian Mom from here - in New Mexico - all the way to - Holland. That’s right. Her mother and oldest sister, Nirma, are coming from Indonesia to America, this September, for the first time ever! After Surya has lived here for 23 years! We finally got them both visas. Not an easy task! From Santa Fe, Surya’s going to take them on a road trip to… the Grand Canyon, to… Las Vegas, all the way to… Holly-wood!

Then, after her sister returns to work in Indonesia after three weeks, and her Mom stays here for 3-4 months (good luck, Trules!), Surya’s going to fly with her Mom to her middle sister’s home in Rotterdam (Netherlands)… after which… she wants to meet her olllld man… me… in some exotic place like… Croatia.

And why not? I’m just in the 77-year-old… passenger seat, baby!

Join Eric Trules’s subscriber chat

Available in the Substack app and on web

In the meantime, this coming Sunday, August 25th at 4 pm, I’ve had the balls, to invite everyone I know in Santa Fe (which isn’t a hellova lot of people) to Paradiso Santa Fe for my 77th Birthday Bash, to read some “Santa Fe Stories”, to be accompanied by my old West Coast friend, Susan Hayden, LA’s “Library Girl, who is going to read from her award-winning memoir, “Now You Are a Missing Person”, and my Santa Fe jazz-playing allstars, Alex Murzyn on sax and Bob Fox on the piano.

Also, hot off the press, August 23, The Santa Fe New New Mexican’s “Pasatiempo”, the City’s prestigious Weekly Magazine of Arts, Entertainment and Culture, featured a Preview on the Event. Look for it in the “OUT THERE” section, or HERE is the link. Scroll down a bit to see the story entitled “Creativity Klatch”. Thanks to Brian Sandford and Michael Abatemarco.

Of course, if you’re in town, or nearby Santa Fe, come on by. Here’s the Invite:

As far as 77? It’s just a Number, right, daddios? And Mommios?

And as far as I know, there’s no way to reverse the Math.

Sooo…. until someone discovers the magic formula, the ultimate and eternal “live-forever” pill,

I guess the key is, to just… live in the moment… and appreciate… the days… I DO have left… no matter… how many they are….

77 plus one, plus two, plus three, plus four…….

Love from the Red Rocks, Blue Sky, and the Ever-Flowing Eternal River,

Birthday Boy,

Trules

77, Daddio!

Meaning.... I'm Officially Olllllld!

Discussion about this post