I turned 76 in mid-December. I was a little apprehensive because, according to statistics, men usually live until 76 and women until 81. Andy Higgins, an elder comedian, jokes that if he transitions now (he’s 74), he can look forward to at least five extra years. Men’s earlier demise is attributed to accidents, heart disease and substance abuse. Every doctor and physical therapist I work with say I’m in pretty good shape.

Oh, yeah…I’m in physical therapy now. Remember that leg problem both Joan and I developed? Well, mine has been improving with PT. I actually went there on the afternoon of my birthday. Just another thing to do as you age, but worth it. I still have a ways to go.

I always love seeing who has a birthday around mine. Famous folks like Keith Richards and Beethoven. Close friends like Bruce Merson.

I’m always delighted by their accomplishments and somewhat thrilled that we share a birth sign. It gives me hope that good things still exist in the world.

It’s been a tough year. We lost Guy Michetti, Cara Liander, Cynthia Mailman, Robert Mosci and Ellen Mitchell. Our state of the nation ain’t so great. We’ve had to deal with the cost of everything going way up, sickness and violence. Still, we persist.

I could go all sage on you and pronounce what I’ve learned at 76. But, instead, let me say this: Remember that each of us carries a burden that no one else is aware of and that, sometimes, that burden becomes too heavy to carry. Let us try to be kind to each other and lighten the load when we can. A smile, a joke, a good song.

I looked in the mirror that week and every line, wrinkle and grey hair were still there, mapping out my life for me. I silently blessed them all. Old age is a gift denied to many.

A couple of days before my birthday, it snowed and I was glad to see it because it meant we had experienced all the seasons in our new home. We moved in April. Summer wasn’t too bad, some real scorchers, but on the whole, livable, thanks to ceiling fans. Fall was a delight as was spring. And now winter is knocking on our doors. Let’s hope it won’t knock too loudly or harshly.

The new place does present some obstacles. The house next door is slowly being rebuilt and sometimes the work starts at 7:30 in the morning. I usually don’t have to be up until 9 a.m., so that’s annoying. The 46 bus comes on a much more reliable basis than the 44 bus. National Grid shows up every so often to look at the hole it dug and cover it back up. And our heating system sounds like the tractor beam used to pull up airplanes in THIS ISLAND EARTH. But, when you weigh these annoyances against feeling safe and secure and living in a house that’s 25 years old instead of 200, they remain small.

My birthday was completely down low. PT followed by an early bird dinner at La Torretta on Castleton, a stop at Problem Bakers for cookies rather than a birthday cake, followed by binging episodes of “Matlock”and “Elsbeth.” Quiet and low key. I was reminded of that expression for the New Year: “Walk in quietly, don’t touch or break anything.” As I age, I long more and more for silences and reflection.

Over the next week, we celebrated two more birthdays at ONCE: David, the man who plays my son and Dani the director. I always feel safer surrounded by people born around the same time of year as me. I feel like they get me in ways other folks don’t.

I take tons of photos, mostly because Melissa Alcock, my print editor, asks for them to accompany my columns. I still have pictures of our former place of Beach Street on my phone. I guess it’s the same way I keep pictures of folks who have passed there. Native Americans were probably right about photos: they capture a bit of your soul. You want to hang onto that with people who have passed.

Looking back over the last 76 years is easy for me because I’m an archivist. I have photos, tapes, diaries and memories of every significant moment of my life. And, I’ve got to say, I’m kind of amazed that a gawky kid from the Bronx has managed to do quite a lot in a relatively short space of time. Most of that time has been spent involved in the arts. It’s time I wouldn’t trade for gold. It has enriched and emboldened me more than anything else. Kurt Vonnegut, author of, among many other books, Slaughterhouse Five once stated:

“Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow…Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem….You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”

In “Finishing The Hat,” Stephen Sondheim writes: “Look, I made a hat…where there never was a hat.” If we have a legacy, it is based on whatever we have created, whether it is, as Ralph Waldo Emerson said,“ a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition.” This is how he measured success.

I want to thank you all for taking this journey with me. I’ve tried to shine a light on what is to come, especially the darker corners, on things unknown and place a “danger sign” where I thought it appropriate. Hopefully, I’ll be able to continue doing that for many years to come.

Hold those magnificent grey heads high!

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