It has been 630 days (122 posts) since that first Methuselah Report in 2019; now as I gear up for a continuing run in 2021, I reflect on the Big Bang that got these tales spinning into orbit. I've been old for quite a while and I still haven't adjusted to it very well. The title of that first posting, "Old Is Just Another Word For Screwed" set the tone. Since that time I have made a remarkable discovery. I've found the one thing that is wonderful about being ancient: Everything is about me.
Teams of doctors keep me on their speed dials. If a nurse comes in while a doctor is examining me I let the nurse know not to interrupt us. The doctor is committed to finding out everything about me and I'm a willing responder.
People on the train insist that I sit down where they are sitting.
Russellville Park where I live now is obsessed with keeping me safe from anything that would endanger my health. They want me to be happy and they are constantly seeking programs that I will find interesting; that will jazz up the hours between meals and bedtime.
My children seem to devote their lives to making certain they've answered my every possible human need for physical well being and mental tranquility. So what have I got to whine about? Nothing. Scrub all that negative stuff from past postings. Pack up all my cares and woes, here I go, singing low, bye,bye blackbird...
In the beginning, Methuselah seemed the logical guy to carry my thoughts. Born in 3317 in the Near East, he is the oldest Biblical patriarch while also figuring in Judaism and Islam, thereby bringing most of the religious material inside the tent. Having lived for 969 years you know the guy had to gain knowledge of a lot of stuff, so choosing him as my guide gave me an enormous warehouse of material to plunder. Meth still has a few years on me but I will continue to channel him as we go skipping down the yellow brick road. Que the rose pedals.
