by Freida Marie Crump
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Greetings from the Ridge.
I heard it for a fact. Many of today’s youngsters can expect to live for 150 years. And I’m not talking about some unreliable fly-by-night government funded survey or an in-depth liberally-slanted study by an Ivy League college. I’m quoting the font of all knowledge here, honey.
Barbara Walters herself.
I realize that for those of you who still don’t know how to kill time on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the prospect of an additional 30 or 40 or 60 years might seem problematic. I mean, just what do you do with the leftover decades?
Science is on the verge of crossing out old age as a cause of death.
Not only are new longevity drugs on the horizon, but science can theoretically now drag you out of an auto accident, take a stem cell from your finger and grow you a new kidney. There’s a new movement now among some aged who’ve found that consuming less calories extends their lifespan big time. Well duh.
Bottom line: the next generation’s going to outlive this one and the following age group will top everything that’s come before. But the question remains, what do we do with the extra time?
I’ve considered starting a security service to begin with. I can get myself a gun permit, a bullet-proof vest and go into the business of protecting the elderly. Once word gets out that rich Uncle Herman is going to live until he’s 150, he’ll need protection from his heirs.
Investing in support hose and plastic surgeons would be a good move.
Medical science has concentrated its efforts on the heart, lungs, and other internal organs to keep our body clicking for a century and a half. To my knowledge, there’s little being done to keep it from sagging to the point where it’s dragging the ground. I look at the toll that gravity has taken on every inch of my available skin over the years and can only guess how low my bumper guards and hood ornaments will have dropped if I double my chassis’s lifespan.
Croquet mallets would be a good buy. With a world full of centenarians, we’re way short of mallets.
Or I might start a road construction business. If the older folks around Coonridge drive this slowly when they’re 80, we’re going to need a whole new traffic lane once we add another sixty years to Aunt Ella’s age.
For the sake of good taste I won’t go into details, but a prune farm would be a sound investment. When we bought this house the plumbing system was already antique. After we’d lived here for twenty years we began to discover that a clogged system is worse than no system at all.
Sell your stock in fast food restaurants. If you’ve got another sixty years tacked onto your ticket, do you really need to eat that quickly?
They can start making movies longer and return to the days of the weekly serial down at the Bijou.
You know those little tags that say, "Lifetime Guarantee!?" Start keeping them.
Half your life on social security doesn’t sound that bad. And the next time some youngster complains about paying for the last half of your life, remind them that means another sixty years of taxes that you’ll be paying.
For my husband Herb, living for 150 years will bring on an additional expense. He’ll need two pair of shoes.
Eighty-year-olds shuffling around the mall in the mornings won’t look nearly as old when surrounded by walkers of 120 and 130.
Avoid the heartbreak of losing dog after dog and start raising tortoises from the Galapagos Islands. They’re the only pet I know that will last you a lifetime. While you’re at it, you might consider starting a small business manufacturing tortoise houses. A 200-year-old turtle weighs about 600 pounds. The good news is that you’ll have something in the house that’s more wrinkled than you.
Barbara’s TV special pointed to rest and napping as an important ingredient in prolonging your age. Consider just sleeping between the ages of 120 and oh, say, 132.. there’s nothing like being rested up for the big finish.
Frankly, I don’t think much about living until I’m 150. It’d be just my luck that Herb’d live that long too and there I’d be. . .Him still complaining and me continuing to sag.
You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.