Cicero, who wrote his advice on retirement in 44 B.C. while in his early 60s, didn’t recommend ways to stay busy or “give back” to society. Instead, he saw intrinsic value in aging. “How wonderful it is for the “soul” when—after so many struggles with lust, ambition, strife, quarreling and other passions—these battles are at last ended and it can return . . . to live within itself,” Cicero wrote in “Cato Maior de Senectute.

When I’m not keeping tabs on Pud Rutledge or trying some new recipe that will disappoint my children, or failing at an ill informed gardening project or standing in front of the Asian women at Crispy Donut at 5 a.m.and wondering why they are wearing bustiers in a donut shop, or writing new songs on my electric bass that nobody wants to hear, or writing such ridiculousness as this——I’m definitely in the category of “not giving back.” I gave for sixty years. Done!

My funeral has already begun. No, I’m not dying. Not as far as I know. But my children and grandchildren have already started dividing up my stuff. I must be looking pretty rough. Oh, don’t worry. It will happen to you too someday. Some of them are up front about it. “I want that wooden Indian.” Sometimes I find out from third parties where my stuff will likely be going.

Does this upset me? Not really. I’m proud to own a few desirable things. “They” say you can’t take it with you. “They” of course are the ones inheriting the loot. Power to them. I won’t be around to witness the scuffles. I’ll be watching from above—-or below (if that Catholic things doesn’t work out.)

Yoga pants are evolving. I see them at Walmart, at the doctors offices, at convenience stores, at the gym. Even at Home Depot. Those are the places I go. Some appear to be painted on. I wonder. Was actual yoga ever in the plans for these garments? Most of the ones that come into my path say “yoga”, but their butts are screaming, “Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese!”

I have been surprised and yet somehow pleased to discover that as I have aged and then faded into retirement (key word, faded) I’ve become less and less visible. That’s right. People actually don’t realize I’m present. It’s like being furniture. There’s no need to speak to furniture. Unless you stump your toe on it. These days I’m getting about as much attention as Maxine Waters on Valentine’s Day. My family members will begin a conversation with another person while I’m talking directly to them and in mid sentence. This deviates into the “highly insulting” category and is the one thing that has dis-inheritance potential. No humor in this.

However, plenty of attention arrives when money is needed. Suddenly I’m back on the team! They talk to me for at least the time it takes to secure the moolah. Then, back to curio cabinet. How do I feel about relative invisibility? Pretty good actually. It has its perks. I no longer need to get away to get away, if you know what I mean. Alone in a crowd so to speak. I don’t hate people, but I seem to feel better when they’re not around. Do I think I’m better, smarter, wiser than those around me. Don’t make me say it.