The gentleman up the road has been scolding me for referring to him in a previous column as ‘elderly.’ He’s 81.

This neighbour is a dapper fellow with a quick wit and rounded vowels. He walks slowly and deliberately. I know his measured steps are not from lack of spunk – he’s wary of the calamity that a fall would wreak on his bones.

I understand his caution. In the past few years I have stopped galloping down stairs three at a time. I no longer leap off the high walkway at the beach to shortcut my route to soft sand. I don’t need to test my physical prowess as I once did. I know I am not invincible.