It feels like I have been writing about age a lot lately. It may be topical, or perhaps I have reached the age when I can’t help repeating myself.

Either way, we saw “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” in Hanover last weekend and I popped online later to see how old the character is supposed to be. One source said 70, the same as me — and what seems to be the median age of people in the Upper Valley.

The national median is 38.9 according to the U.S. Census Bureau, which ought to know. It’s been creeping steadily older.

New Hampshire and Vermont are both over 43, which is why there’s a serious proposal afoot to change the Granite State’s license plate motto to “Live Free and Wear Relaxed Fit Jeans.” Vermont’s biggest contribution to hip culture in recent years has been Bernie’s Mittens. Need I say more?

Anyway, I sort of liked the movie, although it was jarring to see a film with a mature leading man who wasn’t Tom Hanks, the everyman in every movie.

Harrison Ford, our own Indiana Jones, is 80 in real life, but movie magic makes him seem awfully spry. I’m younger, so why don’t I have cinematic adventures like Professor Jones? I should be battling Nazis on top of speeding trains or, if shot locally, on Advance Transit buses.

That would be a sight, me donning a leather jacket and fedora, slashing Nazis with a whip as we ran on schedule on the Red Line, with stops at Kilton Library and Quail Hollow in West Lebanon and the Hopkins Center in Hanover. From there I would leap from the bus top onto an e-bike. (Can I have a stunt double in this fantasy?) The enemies would chase me on scooters to the Connecticut River while dodging students staring at their phones. I would hijack a racing shell and row to Thetford, followed by Nazis in motorboats.

In Thetford, I’d commandeer a cow (comic relief), on which I would proceed to Post Mills. Then it would be up, up and away in a hot air balloon, while eluding bullets from biplanes.

I’m not sure how, but we’ll make it up as we go, like Indiana Jones.

Because I am 70, I would then need the nap-of-a-lifetime, but Jones goes from one frantic chase to another, delivering haymaker punches, ejecting eels, clambering through caves, etc. All of which goes to show that retirement can be fun!

There is one realistic scene where Indy complains that his shoulders are shot, which is one area where I have him beat. Mine are OK after years of typing faster than a locomotive, slashing copy with a single keystroke, and crafting pretty good headlines with sweat and tears (no blood except for a rare paper cut). It wasn’t Indiana Jones level stuff, but it made the days go by.

Speaking of time passing, the national media have recently reported that Vanna White of “Wheel of Fortune” is seeking her first pay raise in something like 18 years. She makes $3 million annually, not bad for what she does: wearing fashions that the home audience can judge, smiling warmly and chatting briefly with Pat Sajak, the host of the show. She also turns letters, but frankly, technology does the work.

Vanna — I feel we are on a first-name basis — is 66. If she wasn’t America’s Game Show Sweetheart, a leering TV executive would have replaced her years ago with some sweet young thing.

She is iconic as Barbie, the Statue of Liberty and the Dunkin’ signs that are all over the place. The audience adores her. In return, she looks pleased as punch when contestants win a jackpot. The clever and calculating Sajak seems somewhat removed from it all.

But is niceness rewarded? It turns out that Sajak, who retains a snappy wit at age 76, makes a reported $15 million. He is a good negotiator, apparently. And a man, it could be pointed out.

He recently announced that he will retire after one more season. He will stay on three years after as a consultant of some sort, and his daughter has a social media job on the program.

Although the Valley News pays me somewhat less than $3 million yearly for my freelance column, I’m on Team Vanna. She deserves one last sweetheart deal, a golden parachute, a lifetime pass for any Cracker Barrel restaurant and so much more.

Here is where Dartmouth College figures in my thinking. It’s elite, like Pat Sajak, and likewise somewhat removed from us ordinary people. Which leads us to ... an honorary degree for Vanna White, doctor of warmth, grace and survival.

Vanna and Dartmouth. You know they’ll put a good spin on it.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.