Seventy

February 9th, 2026

Birthdays. They seem to come faster now. I retired in 2022 and now here I am at 70. I feel officially old. I am fortunate, as I don’t have any physical ailments that make me feel that old. There are things I can no longer do, but they aren’t that noticeable, as I don’t try to do them much now anyway.

There are lots of published averages and statistics for one to think about when you are in your seventies. The average life span of males in America is 76. That is not very far in the future. But, there are guys I knew in high school that did not make it to 70, so there is that. I have a Cardiologist that I like a lot. He never rushes through my appointments. He often talks with me for quite a while. The first appointment back in 2023, he seemed to size me up pretty quickly. He said he could tell by how I moved that I was in pretty good shape for my age. He asked what I was doing. I told him I was traveling around the mountain west, camping in a trailer and doing a lot of fishing and hiking. He asked “camping where?” I told him I was usually in the back country, remote areas. He seemed to understand what that meant. He said he was also a hiker. He had already seen that I had Atrial Fibrillation. I had the “permanent” kind, meaning my erratic heartbeat was constant. He told me that sometimes, with medication, you could just live with it. But for me he said that a Heart Ablation procedure would make more sense. He looked at me kind of sadly and asked, “you aren’t going to stop camping in the middle of nowhere, and you aren’t going to stop hiking at high elevations?” And I said “no, should I stop hiking?” He said “don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” But he also said, “you will most likely suffer from a stroke at some point. And since you are in remote areas, you may not be able to get to a hospital fast enough. You are a ticking time bomb. The ablation procedure may reduce the risk.” I asked “when do we do it?’ He replied “as soon as possible”. So, I asked if I could visit the Tetons and Yellowstone for a few weeks first. He said he could schedule me for the week I got back.

I returned at the end of June. They put me under for the procedure, which then never happened. They discovered a blot clot bouncing around in my heart, so they stopped. I would wait for 2 months to see if it would dissolve before trying again. So now “a time bomb with a lit fuse”. Fortunately, by September, the clot had dissolved. I had the ablation, which resulted in a normal sinus rhythm.

Two years have gone by and now, in February of 2026, I am 70. I am a worrier by nature, so I find myself often doing calculations: 76 – 70 = 6. Six more birthdays, six more Christmas’s, six more summers of camping and hiking, maybe. I should be optimistic? Ok 12. I feel much better now.

Sorry, like I said before, I don’t really write this stuff for readers. I write for me. Sometimes I just feel sad. My dad used to say I “was just too sensitive”. You should have skipped this post and waited for the one coming up where I travel back to Colorado, pick up my trailer, and head up to Taylor Park west of Salida. Should be more fun.

So anyway the big 70. What is interesting about a guy born in 1956 and is still alive in 2026? The other day, I ran across this entry on Facebook. It says a little about who I am.

If you were born in the 50s, 60s, or 70s, you carry inside you a lifetime of memories from a world that feels both far away and yet as close as yesterday. You lived through a time when life was slower, but somehow fuller. You’ve seen black and white TVs turn into flat screens, typewriters become laptops, and handwritten letters replaced by instant messages. You’ve  lived history – not just read about it.

You remember when children played outside from sunrise to sunset, coming home only when the streetlights flickered on. You drank water from the garden hose, rode bicycles without helmets, and piled into the back of a pickup truck without a seatbelt in sight. Summer days were filled with the sound of kids’ laughter, not the glow of a phone screen.

You remember waiting by the radio for your favorite song, carefully recording it onto cassette tape. You remember the smell of freshly printed newspapers in the morning, the excitement of going to the cinemas and the pride of saving up for something you truly wanted. Stores were closed on Sundays, and families gathered around the table – not the TV – at dinner time.

You knew your neighbors by name. You borrowed sugar from the family next door, trusted the mailman, and waved to strangers just because it was polite. Respect for elders wasn’t just taught – it was lived. A handshake was as good as a signed contract, and someone’s word truly meant something. 

If you were born in this era, you learned how to fix things instead of throwing them away. You made do with what you had. You wrote letters and postcards, and the excitement of receiving one was unmatched. You lived in a time when photographs were developed on film,and each one was cherished, not deleted.

You’ve lived through wars, recessions, triumphs, and milestones. You’ve watched the world change in ways no one could have imagined. And you’ve adapted – again and again – proving your resilience, your wisdom, and your strength.

If you were born then, your story matters. The world your children and grandchildren live in today was built on the values you carried: hard work, respect, patience, and community.

So tell your stories. Share your lessons. Pass on your traditions. Because you are the living bridge between the past and the present – and without your voice, an entire chapter of history could be forgotten.

You are proof that even in a fast, ever-changing world, the best things in life remain the same: love, family, friendship, and the memories that time can never erase.

Facebook ID “Teach Me Life”.