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Paul Simon was 26 in 1968 when he wrote about two 70-year-olds sitting on a park bench. I was 19 when I first heard Old Friends and these words.

How terribly strange to be 70.

I’m soon to be 74, and my partner Rebecca is 72. That’s us in the photo taken a few days ago by Rebecca’s daughter, Emily.

These two seventy-year-olds were sitting on a park bench after walking three miles. Not in the round-toed high shoes of Simon’s song, but sleek, well-buttressed walking shoes.

70 isn’t strange. It’s also different from what it looked to Simon in his twenties.

On our park bench in Marblehead, Massachusetts, Rebecca and I were reminiscing about our week-long visit with Emily, Aviv, Ilan, Sivan, and cats Orville and Wilbur. You are right, the Wright Brothers, as Emily’s spouse Aviv is a pilot.

Don’t worry, I will show you only a few photographs illustrating some highlights of our trip. But before I begin, please listen to Old Friends and read the lyrics to get the full effect of contrasting Simon’s vision of 70 with our reality. I’ve placed each below.

Minneapolis

Because our flight to Boston was scheduled to depart at 6:30 a.m., we decided to spend the night in a hotel close to the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. We live three hours away in northeast Iowa. And we also wanted to visit the Minneapolis Institute of Art.

Peter Blume’s 1926 Maine Coast was my favorite painting. There are so many questions.

Rebecca’s favorite was Peeling by John Wilde: “I liked this painting because I have been working on drawing hands. Also, it is quite sexy.”

We’re not quite ready for Simon’s sunset yet.

Boston

Up at 4:30 a.m. for the flight to Boston that would arrive around noon. We purchased tickets for a 4 p.m. Boston Red Sox — Houston Astros game earlier in the summer. Emily, Aviv, and the kids picked us up, and we hung around Fenway Park until the game started.

Let me introduce you to the Hods: Aviv, Sivan, Ilan, and Emily.

And the most famous outfield wall in American baseball history.

As the Hall of Fame announcer Harry Caray used to say, “You can’t beat fun at the ballpark.” We stayed to the last out and were not too disappointed that Houston beat Boston 7–4. Rebecca’s son Jonathan lives in Houston, and we will visit him and his family in December on our way to spend January in San Miguel, Mexico.

Boston traffic after the game was heavy, so it took Aviv about 40 minutes to drive us to their home in Marblehead, along the coast, northeast of Boston. It was about 9:30 when Rebecca and I settled into their comfortable guest room, 16 hours after our day had started.

Marblehead

Emily and two friends with their kids had planned an outing to the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary for Friday. Rebecca and I decided to tag along on this hiking and bird-watching adventure. In the photo below, part of our group prepared bird seeds for Chickadees.

With this result, for Rebecca.

OK, I know, I’m wearing out my welcome. You’ve been very patient sitting through photos of our trip. We did some other stuff, and I’ve got more pictures. But enough is enough.

I’ve made my point. For many of us, twilight years, or whatever term you prefer, are not what we thought they might be like when we were young. Most of our friends are over 70, and they live active lives.

They do so because the sunset IS CLOSER. Simon’s shared fears do include death. That’s why two colleagues (each is 78) and I will be teaching a Life Long Learning Seminar this fall on death, dying, and living.

As death comes closer, life becomes more precious.

Postscript

Paul Simon is 80, and Art Garfunkel is 81. What would they talk about if they were sitting on a bench today?

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You can listen to Old Friends here.

And read the lyrics:

Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be 70

Old friends, memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears