There are always things that you can do to fool
yourself into forgetting how old you are, like drinking Kool Aid or reading a
comic book or eating Fruit Loops.  But
despite these pathetic maneuvers, the reminders always outnumber the
ruses.  This occurred to me this morning
when I realized that a telltale sign of what kind of day I was in for was
whether or not I had to hold onto the bureau when I put on my underwear.  Then of course there’s that sure mark of the
aging process:  the pills you have to
chug down every morning with breakfast. 

Another sure indication of how you are getting on in
years is when you realize that everyone you meet reminds you of someone
else.  Henri Bergson once defined duration as “the continuous progress of
the past which gnaws into the future and which swells as it advances.”  That sort of describes our lives and our memories
of it, not to mention our waistlines.  But then again, for us senior citizens especially, the future isn’t what
it used to be.    

Getting out my copy of Bergson’s Creative Evolution, which I’ve had
forever, I discover yet another sign of how old I’ve become.  It is a hardbound book, published by Modern
Library, and the cost listed on the inside front flap of the cover reveals its
age: a mere $2.45.  You can’t even buy a gallon
of gas for that these days.  Within reach
is my paperback copy of Great Short Works
of Joseph Conrad.  Its cover
price:  75 cents.

These reminders that we are vintage humans are
inescapable.  My advice is to grovel in
it, embrace it with sufficient gusto to enjoy it but without breaking any
bones.  And don’t forget that nap after
lunch.