I admit it, I’ve gotten old. Never thought it would happen to me. Certainly not in the ‘60s, when I was in college. Not when my wife and I moved from Chicago to Wrangell in 1976 and thought we’d never run out of energy working seven days a week at the Sentinel. Not even when I broke a leg playing softball in 1999 or shattered a kneecap in 2001.
It’s not that I believe in eternity. Rather, I knew I would age, but never expected I would get cranky about “the way things used to be,” much like how your favorite uncle makes everyone listen to his stories about the old days.
Sadly, it has happened a...
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