Here at Mission, one of my fellow residents is quite old — 99.

I thought about that a little bit. So he was born in 1922. That’s not right. Surely a 99-year-old was born in the 1800s. Horse-drawn carriages, not Duesenbergs and gin.

I think that way because for so much of life, it was true. But time advances, and now 99 years reaches back only to the Jazz Age, instead of the McKinley administration.

Jason Kottke has something he calls “The Great Span”: “(T)he link across large periods of history by individual humans.” The last surviving child of a Civil War veteran (and thus drawing an Army pension) died in 2020. Units of 99 years (sometimes called “Bettys,” after Betty White) definitely qualify, but it’s stunning how quickly that event horizon moves on.

At least to this 60-year-old.