77 ...

Speaking of John Murtha's death, when I was home at Christmas and Mom and I were talking about my Dad and how good he's doing, she mentioned how much they were noticing people's death ages last year.

77, same as him for another month.

A lot of those who died lived faster and harder lives than my Dad (we think it was the benzene exposure at work, not lifestyle, that contributed to his leukemia. His shop in the building was down the hall from the loading docks on lower Wacker, where the trucks idled). Plus, he's got a good temperament which helps you tolerate aging, and illness, I think.

I'll just be glad when he turns 78.*

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* and that makes sense enough to me, even if it doesn't to you. This type, hoping it's mild enough that he pushes into the 80s, this year being their first not being snowbirds and all.