Two friends turned 65 and threw themselves a Medicare birthday party. We drank margaritas, played bocce ball and frolicked long past our bedtimes. It was hard to imagine our friends being 65. Or any of us ageless agile people who all looked gorgeous by candlelight.

But that’s what happens. You look up one day and you’re old enough for Medicare. Which makes being 65 something to shout about. At least loud enough to put your age on a government document and celebrate with sympathetic contemporaries. It means you have made it to the finish line. At least one of them. You can stop worrying about health insurance.

It’s not exactly the same thrill as being old enough to take your driver’s test or vote or order a drink. But it’s a definite rite of passage. Sixty five - the new 21. Bring on the black balloons.

I remember being at a dinner party a few years ago and realizing that our conversation had been dominated by deductibles, COBRA and pre-existing conditions. When did health insurance get to be so sexy, I asked the silver-haired marvel on my right.

Back then we griped about employers switching to health plans that didn’t include our long-time family doctor. We talked about co-pays going up. About sticking with a job just for the benefits. Things weren’t as grim as they are now, but the concern was starting to creep in that something a lot of us had taken for granted all our working lives was eroding.

Sixty five - the new 21. Bring on the black balloons.

Now that health insurance has turned into a huge, slippery pile of lies, threats and insecurity, you can turn 65 and be glad to be over that particular hill. No more worrying that you’ll lose your coverage. And the doctor finds something awful which costs bags of gold to fix. And you have to sell your home and move in with the kids.

Bad economic times color one’s perspective on many things. Suddenly it’s not so bad to be getting older. The worst recession in 80 years can make a person grateful to have lived long enough to climb into one or two life boats. Medicare and Social Security may be leaking but at least you’ve got a seat.

Well, at least for the time being. The relief could be brief, because there are mighty forces trying to torpedo the life boats. Opponents of Social Security and Medicare would like to undo both, leave it to individuals to find their own best deals. Critics, including members of Congress, sneer at these government guarantees like they’re some kind of public assistance. They call them entitlements. But wait a minute. Social Security and Medicare are no more entitlements than members of Congress get with their own socialized health insurance, made in the USA.

For us regular people, they’re a return on our long-time investments. We’ve had money taken from our pay checks for Medicare and Social Security ever since we started working. It’s been our deal with the government, that there’d be this sure thing when we needed it.

Not that it’s enough. You have to buy a supplement if you want more than bare bones Medicare. And Social Security is a nice allowance but you can’t live on it. Most people expect to also rely on their greater savings, investments and pension. But look what’s happened to them. No sure thing there, either. Plenty of retirees turn around and go back to work.

When I asked in a bookstore for books on retirement the clerk, in gray ponytail and Birkenstocks, said, “Who can afford to retire?” I’m starting to worry that he might be right. Maybe we need to change the lyrics in the song from, “I hope I die before I get old,” to “I hope I die before I go broke.”

Susan Swartz is an author and journalist in Sebastopol. You can also read her at www.juicytomatoes.com and hear her Another Voice commentary on KRCB-FM radio on Fridays. Email is susan@juicytomatoes.com

Despite Boomer evidence to the contrary, some people, mostly marketing specialists, still contend that after youth, people become stuck. They cling to the familiar. They don’t change toothpastes or cereal. They avoid anything new. But that is so last century, back before the likes of Facebook, iPhones, Twitter and …let me add, Zumba.

Earlier this year came the report that women age 55 and over make up the fastest growing user population on Facebook which made people like me want to give a high-five for being so “in.” Or did our joining mean Facebook was fading? Oh no. Boomers on board. Trend over. But, Facebook still thrives, as a homey blend of young people and aging groupies, kind of like a Bruce Springsteen audience.

It took me a while to sign up. Posting about your everyday life and aimless thoughts seemed so self-absorbed. But who was I kidding. I’m a columnist and a blogger. I’m already self-absorbed. Okay, but I am holding the line at Tweeting although I just read that Twitter, too, is being taken over by grown-ups.

For me joining Facebook was like going to a high school reunion, hooking up with old friends and getting to see what they look like after all these years. I’ve reconnected now with friends from high school and college days but my big score is finding a grade school friend from Hamden, Conn. who remembers stories about my family and the name of my first dog. She and I have now moved off Facebook into regular email so we can have more privacy. And we’ve even advanced to talking on the telephone.

Facebook is also a way of staying connected to popular culture. Not everyone thinks that is vital. Leave these new devices to the young, they say. But even if you don’t invest time and money in the latest trend or social networking gadget, don’t you want to be aware of them? At least enough to get the references in New Yorker cartoons.

One thing we’ve happily proven in all this is that technology is our world too. You don’t have to have a young brain or know how to type with your thumbs to play. If you can figure out how to reserve a library book online, you can Facebook.

And if you ever did Jazzercise you can Zumba. I know that’s a leap but trying out new moves is another way of keeping up.

We don’t want to be rhythmically challenged anymore than we want to be technically locked out.

Just as with Facebook, I came late to Zumba, the workout craze that combines Latin and African dance steps with good old aerobic moves. But I like the idea of mambo in the morning and the music alone makes you sweat. All body types and ages are welcome, at least at my gym, although there are definite differences in skill level.

The enthusiastic bodies in the front row are so sleek and agile they could be dancing on a table top in Rio with roses in their teeth. The rest of us are happy just to know our shimmy still works.

It’s not whopping big news that having friends is good for your health, but it’s nice to have scientific support for flying off with your girlfriends once a year.

Last week we went to San Diego where the three of us first met, not as surfer girls, but as young married career women, reporters on the same evening newspaper. We are no longer married to those same husbands and our careers have morphed widely, although we all still know how to write a headline and a lead sentence. The newspaper merged with the morning paper. The building itself, which was downtown, is gone. A mall is in its place. The newspaper moved out to the shopping center. Everything’s changed except for our annual need to get together, this time on a beach in San Diego.

Two live in California and one in Indiana, but we prefer meeting at a neutral location like Savannah, Chicago, Key West or Phoenix. When my husband and I moved to Germany, my two friends flew over so we could have our getaway in Strasbourg and Heidelberg.

Our vacation routine is the same. We get up and hit the streets in pajama tops and sweatpants, seeking coffee and newspapers. This time we scored papers at a liquor store up the beach, next door to a coffee house with a patient barista. One of us is known for her complicated espresso orders.

We don’t play tennis or golf. Well, two don’t, but we try to exercise. This time, there were walks on the sand and bicycles on the boardwalk. The fittest of the three brought her exercise bands. For activities, we eat, we shop and search out art museums, sometimes a play. This time we cruised beach towns to hunt up our old addresses in one time funky places showing off new wine bars and garden art stores.

We agree on Kevin Spacey and the need for dogs.

Driving is always amusing. Two prefer to be in the driver’s seat, which leaves the other controlling personality to bark directional changes and the third to sit gratefully in the back.

At night we usually watch movies, lament the state of newspapers, tell other sad stories and have cocktails. One wine, one scotch, one brandy.

We’ve been friends for 40 years, although one still tells people she’s only 48 and that would mean we met in grade school. To be honest, she does have the youngest face, which we can attest is her own.

In many ways we don’t match and if we lived next door to each other we might not have remained as close as we have miles apart. We have vastly different lifestyles, sometimes heatedly different politics and opposite tastes in everything from pre-roasted grocery store chicken to why Meryl Streep did “Mama Mia.” Only one uses “Facebook.” Only one reads with a Kindle. Two wear pepto pink and canary yellow. One prefers black.

We agree on Kevin Spacey and the need for dogs.

A recent health story in the New York Times said that having friends prolongs life, boosts brain health and aids in recovery from illness. Friends make us feel protected. They give us confidence. They keep our stress levels down.

In our case I think we know so much basic history about each other – parents, ex-husbands, kids, health scares and idiosyncrasies, that we cushion each other like family. We have enjoyed different levels of professional, marital and financial success but we’ve never competed. If one said “help,” the other two would be there tomorrow. Oh sure, we’ll tell one that she snores and one that she’s bossy and one that she’s told the same story twice already.

Still, if friends do keep you healthy we’re pretty good insurance for each other.