So, I am now 48 years old.
Based on Boutwell longevity, I'm still not middle aged. Dad died young at 88. The average lifespan for a Boutwell is 96. Dad had a cousin who made it to 107, and the way I feel, I'll beat that. If it's true that you are as young as you feel, then I'm still 30. At any rate, I'm old enough to know better, but still too young to care!
The only place where I no longer feel 30 is my right knee. I twisted it six months ago and it's still spongy when I walk down stairs. Eh, there are things I can do for that: strengthen the muscles around the knee, take joint support supplements, and just in case Arthur Itis has decided to take up residence in my knee, drink potato juice for six months.
For the numerologists out there ... here's one for you. I'm 48. I was born on the 22nd. Tomorrow, on the 24th, Trish and I will have been married for 24 years. 2 ... 2 ... 2 ... looking out my back door! Numerology isn't my bag ... too much math! If it means something to you, let me know.
Okay. Off to read Chekhov. I have nine short stories to read between now and Thursday. See you around the 'Verse.