Hooray for the spirited role models who walk among us - for a time

Caroll Spinney is retiring — which is like Santa Claus kissing off Christmas Eve or Batman taking a buyout.

In case the name doesn’t ring a bell, Spinney, 84, is the voice of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch on “Sesame Street.” He’s been singing and squawking since the beloved PBS kiddie program began in 1969. Now, someone else will take over.

Who can replace a talent like Spinney?

This was a guy who kept even the most rambunctious tykes glued to the TV on bleary-eyed Monday mornings and, later in the parental life cycle, held grandchildren at bay while you did crosswords in the next room.

He belonged in the Babysitter Hall of Fame along with that high school junior who showed up on time, knew card tricks, taught the kids Spanish, baked chocolate chip cookies and always said “sure,” if you were going to be an hour late.

Announcing his departure, Spinney said bringing Big Bird and Oscar alive allowed him to “find my purpose” and “nurtured my soul.”

And Spinney isn’t the only one suddenly moved to acknowledge the inevitable.

Elton John is on a farewell tour.

So is Joan Baez.

Likewise, Paul Simon.

To make matters worse, Simon calls his s’long swing “Homeward Bound.” The only thing left would be to dress the backup musicians like St. Peter and hand out brochures for headstones.

OK, already. To everything there is a season, I get it, but this is like rushing from summer to midwinter overnight.

We must remain calm, right?

The idea is keep your balance. Stay in the game.

That was the style of our friend Georgian Treichel — "Dana," as she was known to her adoring fan base.

She died a few days ago, I am obligated to report, but not before logging 100 — yup, 100 — top-notch years.

For those interested in living a century, here is your role model.

Dana cooked for herself and managed an oversized house in Huntington with so many nooks and crannies that disoriented visitors sometimes yelled, “How do I get outta’ here?”

Twice a week, she played bridge with friends — large-print playing cards because her eyesight wasn’t so hot — and kept up a regular social schedule. Dana ordered baguettes from a fancy bake shop downtown, but her favorite restaurant was a burger joint with the ballgame on TV and a dining room just past the bar.

No. 1 snack: Cheese puffs, bright orange.

Up to date? To the minute.

Dana never missed the nightly news and did not hesitate to offer political analysis. She voted in every election — presidential to school board. For light diversion, Dana watched “Poldark,” the period drama series on Channel 13.

She was one determined lady.

A little while ago, Dana bought a used electric fry pan at the thrift shop. It had the usual stubborn oily stains — the thing looked honey-baked — but still worked. For days, Dana scrubbed. Finally, the pan shined. Like Dana, it remained on duty.

To mark Dana’s 100th, there was a party in a cozy, wood-paneled restaurant. Dana wore an elegant dress and fur stole. As usual, her makeup (self-applied) was perfect.

Dana’s husband died years ago, but everyone else was there: her daughter and son-in-law, who live overseas; grandkids, great grandkids, neighbors, bridge pals, friends and relatives. A niece offered a toast, recalling trips to Dana’s house as a kid. “Once she fed us ice cream for breakfast,” said the niece. “Here’s to a special person.”

At the head table, Dana nodded, smiled and went to work on a slab of steak. When it was time for cake, she blew out the candles — one try — and guests shouted hooray.

Hooray, for sure, you betcha’.

Let’s applaud every spunky soul like Dana — troupers who, in sickness and health, good times and bad, joy and sorrow, soak up life to the last drop.

Retirement from the stage is one thing. The famous folks who recently announced their departure are entitled to a break. Caroll Spinney couldn’t sing “ABC-DEF-GHI” forever. Elton John, Joan Baez, Paul Simon — thanks, gang, for the memories.

Here’s hoping that when they settle down, the celebrities fare as well as Dana.

“How you doing?” I would say when Dana called.

Her answer never varied. “Well, I’m alive,” Dana said.

“Beats the alternative,” I said, following the script.

Dana said it sure does, even at 100.

Here’s to dear Dana, then. Forget the tears. Pass the cheese puffs.