Reminders present themselves to me with stunning regularity … and they all say the same thing, which is that time is not my friend, that it marches on without mercy.

åHow do I know that? For starters, I know when I was born and that date tells me I am 75 years of age. I am actually still upright a touch longer than your average American male. I also know when the reminders knock when I see obituaries of friends. I heard this past week about the passing of a friend my bride and I knew in Amarillo. Kathy Anne is gone now, but I am going back up yonder at the end of the month to celebrate Caroline Woodburn’s life.

I am acutely aware that I am not providing a flash for those who are older than I am. They’ve known the obvious longer than I have. However, it is worth mentioning only because I am enough of a realist to understand what we all know to be true … that death is a part of life.

I have lost several longtime friends over the past calendar year. The rate of demise is accelerating. I am not a Pollyanna about this fact of life. Indeed, when I don’t hear from peers of the same age for any length of time, I begin to presume the worst. For instance, a high school classmate of mine — a fellow to whom I’ve grown close since we graduated from high school in 1967 — went quiet on social media for longer than usual. I called him to see if he is still alive. He is! I told the reason for my call and he assured me he is in good shape except for the usual old timers’ issues that plague all of us. We both laughed out loud.

The reminders keep arriving. I am an old man. I don’t expect to check outta here any day soon. However, as we all should understand, all of that can change — snap! — just like that.