Boomerland is a theme park designed for older readers.

In the monthly column debuting today, readers will visit the “good old days” — think Dick Clark’s “American Bandstand,” Dodge Charger RT muscle cars and Schwinn Sting-ray bicycles with banana seat and sissy bar.

Or, as some argue, “fair to middling days” (think drinking from the hose, lead paint and secondhand smoke).

Boomerland is for anyone who is aging — that would be all of us, right? It’s especially for those 55 and older who miss the days when weighty newspapers plopped on our front porch delivered by boys and girls herniated by age 13.

We miss ink-stained hands from a newspaper printed from trees even if we want to save the planet.

Some days, now, the paper is delivered online. Other days it is delivered by mail carriers who probably can’t whistle the “Bonanza” theme song and don’t recall watching Saturday morning cartoons on a black-and-white TV with fuzzy picture despite the latest rabbit ears.

Boomerland is for folks who love nostalgia — and technology. Some of us got on the Internet train when it was just pulling out of the station.

Most of us today know how to lose a smartphone between the couch cushions faster than the Lone Ranger dropped his gun and threw punches.

Still we persist.

Now most of us are capable of unfriending high school classmates on Facebook faster than Archie Bunker on “All in the Family” could give the business to son-in-law Meathead.

Most of us can find the newspaper on our smartphones, on non-print days, and enjoy keeping current on the latest fires, crimes, accidents and stories on celebrities running for public office despite having the civics skills of Howdy Doody.

Boomerland is for Boomers born 1946 to 1964. It’s also for the Silent Generation (1928-1945) and for Generation X (1965-1980).

It’s for people who get irate when they hear the term “OK, Boomer.”

Born in 1957, I got book-learning at Blue Mountain Community College back in the late 1970s when it was called “Harvard on the Hill.” I went on to the University of Oregon with dreams of writing for the New York Times or Washington Post, now known as “enemies of the people.”

Instead, I ended up at places like Pollock, South Dakota, Carrington, North Dakota, Cody, Wyoming, and Sandpoint, Idaho, where there was no “fake news.” I covered wild horse roundups, sled dog races and cats who adopted skunk babies, and every four years held my nose and voted for presidents.

This year will be the same. We have a race between one of the oldest Baby Boomers who seems about as acquainted with the rule of law as a Davy Crockett lunchbox and a member of the Silent Generation who is anything but silent. Choices.

Now I am recently retired to Milton-Freewater — motto, “Better View than the Tri-Cities.” It’s the banana belt compared to Cove, from which for about 20 years I commuted to The Observer in La Grande and wrote a column “On Second Thought” that occasionally made more sense than the Oscar Meyer weiner song and the Hula Hoop craze.

Boomerland is about getting ready to retire, retiring and what to do when you finally get a chance to catch up on your sleep. Most of us spent more than 40 years in the full-time workforce, working our fingers to the bone, and what did we get — sleep deprived.

We’ve come this far. We survived playground equipment set on concrete, secondhand smoke, spankings and toy guns. We made it through the Cuban Missile Crisis, the moon landing and the Vietnam War. We watched TV when it signed off at night with the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

We listened to the best music ever — now called “classic rock” — on hi-fi, shot pictures using film and used rotary phones to place long-distance calls that cost almost as much as a hamburger does today.

Some of us were lucky enough to buy homes. Then, if you worked hard, saved and had an ordinary job, you could get 1,500 square feet for a reasonable price. Now an outhouse costs $300,000.

We head into a future where a box of Frosted Flakes costs the equivalent of three hours of work at our first job out of college. Tony the Tiger would be appalled.

Times are interesting. If we don’t laugh at the craziness, we’ll cry. So hang on as I put this funky theme park in motion. It’s going to be a wild ride.