Into the grave endlessly rocking

I was walking with a colleague yesterday, and we were talking about our work. And he said gleefully that he had only a few years left before he would retire and get away from the storms and strife and slings of outrageous behaviors. Just this past week another dear friend announced that she would be retiring at the end of this year. She is only the latest in a swelling body of retirees—those who have paid their AARP dues and are prepared for elderhosteling.

But here is the point: when I was in my twenties, all we talked about was sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. Then we moved into our thirties, and all we talked about was marriages and babies. Into our forties, mortgages were the central topic of conversation, and into our fifties, investments. Now, the primary topic seems to be retirement. I mean, retirement and its imminence enters every conversation in which I engage of late! And I began to consider as I yesterday walked with my colleague that for us the next major topic would be the acquisition of cemetery plots. Have you purchased one yet? Is it in a good location? a good neighborhood, may be I so bold?