If the calendar says you're 74, does it mean that your really have to BE 74?
I was in Paris most of the day yesterday. Typical Paris stuff, nothing out of the ordinary. In the evening, I took a train up to Sprout City, as I had several things to do there. I could have taken the train all the way home so as to be here all day, but then I would have had to get up at 5 AM on Friday to do the Brussels round trip. Instead, I opted to stay in my usual hotel last night in Brussels, get up at a civilized hour (6:30), get my Sprout stuff done, get back to Germany by 8, even though I knew my wife had stuff of her own planned (concert with a couple of girlfriends).
But already when I got to the hotel last night, in the room, there was a big slice of cheesecake with a candied cherry on top, and a birthday card from the hotel management. Just a small gesture, but to me THAT is class. This morning, I got up, went down to breakfast, was greeted by two of the hotel's Fabulous Filipino women who always greet me by name in Tagalog and kiss me on both cheeks. I promise you, they do NOT do that with any other guests!! At breakfast, the Algerian omelet chef saw me, and immediately asked, in Italian, if I wanted "the usual," which is an omelet with mushrooms, tomatoes, scallions and two kinds of cheese. He spent ten years at a hotel in Rome, and just likes having someone to occasionally speak Italian with. Far be it from me to deny him that.
The concierge, who I think is the only actual Belgian (born in Zaïre, but of Belgian nationality) in the whole hotel, is THE best of any hotel I know of, and he will do anything for me or any other hotel guest. He should have been in Sydney picking up an award for best hotel concierge, but his flight was scheduled to go from Brussels to Abu Dhabi to Sydney. Oops. The air space over Abu Dhabi, and just about a thousand mile radius in all directions, was closed due to a certain small group of American and Israeli whack jobs who like playing war games with other people's lives.
In Sprout City, at the last stop before running to get my train back to Germany, the people there gave me a plate with two big Belgian cookies with a candle stuck in one of them. In the meantime, the phone was ringing with HB wishes from Switzerland to Washington and many points in between (even Brussels itself!).
When I got home, my wife was (is) still at her concert, probably finishing up by now. There was a big pot of what I assume must be Irish stew, which she had told me on the phone earlier in the day to just heat up and eat. Meat, potatoes, dark, thick flavorful broth. I ate myself silly (her instructions, and it is the far more daring man than I who dares to ignore instructions such as those). I think the meat was beef, which I am not supposed to eat, but I broke the rules this once. It smelled and tasted divine, and I was starving. If none of you rat me out to my cardiologist, I'd appreciate it.
Just a day in the life. Tomorrow will be one, too. But I'm still hanging in there, where friends like our Peggy have far bigger challenges to face.
Retirement? I still don't know what the word means. If I'm still alive, ask me next year. I'm not ready now, but 75 does sound like a nice round number........
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wonderful birthday. May your 75th be even better. 
I always dreamed of having, traveling throughout Europe and having several languages in my grasp. The sights, the food... sigh.
Glad you had a very pleasant time for your birthday! I'll be 70 later this year and I am not even close to being able to act my age, whatever that's supposed to mean. I feel like I'm somewhere in my fifties and feeling okay. It's a good thing that you still feel like you're not there yet.
I expect it to go for me too!
Keep telling my doctor that I want to be healthy when I die. 
And many happy, healthy returns!
I'm not going to rat you out to your cardiologist.
Glad you got the special treatment from the Hotel Staff.
