But this time I’ve even gone to the lengths of inviting 75 family and friends to a dinner at the Chateau with a few activities over the following two days, partly to thank a lot of them for their own hospitality, support and love over the years but also because of the uncertainty of making any other significant age events.
This fatalistic view is because of the funerals I’ve sadly started going to of close friends in recent years.
Glen Clark, my good mate and brother-in-law, hosted us to his own 60th a couple of years ago and four weeks later dropped dead of a brain aneurysm.
Alan Barr, my first farm adviser and long-time friend, died five years ago after a tough battle with leukemia and didn’t even make it to 60.
My own mother, Trish, did just get into her 60s but succumbed to lung cancer. Never smoked a cigarette in her life.
And there have been others of course.
I guess it’s the bell-shaped curve and we are all going to be on that curve somewhere.
Staying with us tonight on the way to the party is Jane’s sister’s son Nick Paulin with Roz and their 10-month-old daughter Claudia. I call her Wilma because Nick’s brother’s infant son is named Fred.
I can easily remember Jane and I babysitting Nick 35 years ago and me delighting in spooning yoghurt into him in his highchair. Tonight, I was watching him do the same to his own daughter.
Fairport Convention sang that wonderful song Who knows where the time goes? It was beautifully sung by Sandy Denny who, sadly, died after a fall down some stairs at just 31.
It’s a good question.
I still feel like a 25-year-old in my head and still do the odd stupid thing befitting a much younger man, much to the annoyance of my family.
Last year a fellow golfer hit a ball into a tree we call the Gobbler at Waipukurau Golf Club. I could see it and pulled myself up and climbed several metres to retrieve it as well as a bounty of other balls.
After I swung down and dropped to the ground I remembered I was now 59 and it was ridiculous still doing things I did as a 20-year-old.
Mind you, I’ve just finished dagging 1450 ewes in front of the shearers. Because it hurt last year I decided to finally pay the gang or someone to do it and no sooner had I formulated that new policy than the rate was doubled to more than $1 a head so I decided I could do it for another year or two.
But the body does protest now after a big physical day. I am learning to pace myself a bit more.
However, there are benefits of aging.
I’m enjoying life as much as ever. I’m as comfortable in my own skin as I’ve ever been. I’ve mellowed. And yes, I’ve gained some wisdom but still have a way to go.
At the golf club I’ve found myself watching the older guys. It’s like looking into my own future if I’m lucky enough to get to their age.
They still delight in playing golf, having a haggle, some banter and a beer in the clubhouse.
Dennis, who is 85, recently bought himself a new set of clubs. When he saw the account it must have given him a turn because he ended up in the cardio ward in Wellington for a bit.
But he was back practising, playing a few holes and then 18 again.
I’m the club captain and one Saturday he had a rough round and earned the free golf lesson, which I assumed he would let me give to the next worst round. But no, he grabbed it with both hands.
A few weeks later his wife rang me to say he’d had another turn and could I get the pro at the Hawke’s Bay Golf Centre to extend the expiry date.
Another golfer is Ira who last year, on his 90th birthday, played and walked 18 holes and scored in the 90s.
So, if I’m lucky and look after myself, I could go on for a while yet.
In the meantime, the trick is to keep enjoying the company of others and embrace and make the most of that precious thing we call life.
