The average Floridian is now 137 years old. And most of them are still driving.

I recently traveled to Orlando for business. As a chalky faced, sun-starved Michigander, I desperately craved time in “The Sunshine State”, so I tacked on a couple vacation days.

In contrast to Michigan’s 47 seconds of winter sunshine, Florida lived up to its slogan. Being outdoors was like getting a B-12 shot from the sky.

However, to honor the principle of truth in advertising, I submit that Florida needs to add a second slogan: “The Old Timer State”.

Please understand that I love elderly people. In fact, I’m well on my way to becoming one. Or at least I thought I was.

The problem is that people are living incredibly long. The average Floridian is now 137 years old. And most of them are still driving.

OK, that might be a slight exaggeration. But when an 85-year-old is the youngster in the neighborhood, it can’t be long before Florida exiles anyone without an AARP card.

Take my Grandma Siami. In 1970, she and my Grandpa Clayton moved to the retirement community of Rainbow Lakes Estates in the north Florida town of Dunnellon.

My Granddad followed the normal retirement plan pretty well, enjoying nearly two decades of easy living.

But Grandma didn’t get the memo. She’s now 98 years old and has lived in the same “retirement” house for 40 years. She’s survived cancer, angina, high blood pressure, and a host of ailments that would have done me in.

Last year she broke her arm. She fell at 5:30 in the morning while retrieving her morning newspaper from the bottom of the driveway. Unfortunately, this means she’ll probably lose her slot pitching for the church fast-pitch softball league.

My Grandma is among millions of retirees in Florida redefining the actuarial tables. If you consult a financial planner, he’ll tell you to save as though you’ll live to be 100.

Fantastic. I can hardly wait to retire…when I reach 90.

I also learned there is a unique senior subculture in Florida while dining out with my Grandma. As we were deciding what to order, the waitress (let’s call her Marge) sprang into action. Right next to our table, Marge planted a “large print” menu highlighting the specials of the day.

Brilliant. I wish we had those in every restaurant.

When my Grandmother was still unsure, Marge showed her savvy. She started speaking in a voice that was both soothing and clear. After narrowing down the options, Marge said the magic phrase, “And how about a sweet potato?”

Bingo. Grandma got a big smile, said “oh yes” and dinner was served.

As you might have guessed, I’m in awe of her endurance, resiliency and faith. Rock on, Grandma.

Driving to see Grandma, and virtually anywhere in Florida, requires super human patience. The good news is it’s virtually impossible to get a speeding ticket because everyone drives under the speed limit…in every lane.

And you can’t even get mad about it. If you finally do get around slow drivers, you look over and see someone who looks like your Grandma, or some sweet old guy happy as a clam going 20 mph in a 35 mph zone.

You can’t honk at Grandma or the sweet old guy, even when they cut you off. Fortunately, they drift into your lane in slow motion so it’s pretty easy to avoid impact.

By the time I left Florida, I adjusted to a calmer pace. I was driving patiently, walking slowly, and taking time to enjoy the scenery.

I think I will do just fine as an old timer…in just 39 more years.