This is the latest in an occasional series of blog posts commenting on upcoming retirement.

A possible rite of passage associated with, um, growing older has just arrived in my e-mail inbox.

It involves a high school reunion advisory. No. 50 is on the horizon. Planning is underway, the message said; they want to update the information they — whoever they are — have on me.

Here’s the quandary: Do I go or do I stay away?

Why the conflict? I’ve attended two reunions of the Parkrose (Ore.) High School Class of 1967. One was the 10-year reunion in 1977; the other was the 30-year gathering in 1997.

The 30-year reunion was such a downer for me I made a pact upon departing Portland for Amarillo that I’d never return for another one. Why? Well, I made an unpleasant discovery at the 30-year reunion, which was that I didn’t have as many “friends” as I thought I did.

I had moved away from Portland in 1984 after starting my career in journalism. I had been married for more than dozen years at that point; my wife and I produced two sons, who at the time of the move were coming of age. We embarked on a new journey in Texas and more than three decades later, we look back on that journey and marvel at the things we’ve seen, done and experienced.

I got word of the 40-year reunion sometime in 2007, but opted to stay away for the reason I mentioned a moment ago. I didn’t care to go back to find something that I knew wasn’t there: a kinship, a reason to renew old relationships … because there was precious little on which to build such a renewal.

Twenty years have passed since that 30-year reunion. I am now in a totally different place. I am retired from that career. My wife and I have much more “free” time on our hands.

I mentioned to her this morning that I had gotten the e-mail advising me of the planning that was underway for the 50-year reunion. Her response? “We could take our fifth wheel back to Portland and we could attend your reunion — if that’s what you want to do.”

Great idea! We could plan a cross-continent excursion around such an event, see the sights we want to see, relax and enjoy the fellowship we would have with each other and with Toby the Puppy. Then we could show up at wherever they are having this reunion and I could shake a few hands, slap a few backs, perhaps get a hug or three from classmates and then we’d be on our way.

I’m going to ponder this some more. Even though we aren’t yet quite fully retired, the notion of adding this event to a busy travel schedule doesn’t sound quite as, oh, onerous as it did two decades ago after Reunion No. 30 had concluded.

Time has this way … you know?