We all have those moments, especially later in life, when we bump into the reality of time’s passing. Such was the case tonight as I watched one of those shows one more listens to than watches as you read or tie or browse. It was a show about Clint Eastwood, one of those biographies. As the show progressed, I started doing the math…like, “…in 1983, at the age of 53, Eastwood…” What now? Let’s see, slow witted calculations took the sum to 80 years. What the hell? Serious? What the hell happened? He is getting old! Hell, I’m getting old.
“He was born eleven pounds and six ounces on May 31, 1930 in San Francisco, to Clint Sr., a steelworker, and Ruth, a factory worker. The family moved around Northern California before settling in Oregon when Clint was a teenager. Despite having athletic and musical talents, he shunned playing on sports teams or in the school band. After graduating high school in 1948, he moved to Seattle and worked as a lifeguard before being drafted into the military in 1950. After completing his service, he moved to Los Angeles where he found work digging swimming pools.” (Clint)
Little by little, pretty much week by week, my life has been bundled to the rear, and friggin’ Rowdy Yates, Dirty Harry, William Munny is 80. More traction on this slippery slope please.
SwittersB & Exploring 