Getting Old

Blog 14

I am old. Eighty, an age which you never imagine you will reach, has passed and I’m now eighty-two. When I was sixty-five, I thought that getting older was a bad idea, so I began to count backwards. Now, I think of myself as only forty-eight. It’s a good strategy, psychologically speaking.

I watched Joe Biden and it was clear that his intelligence, assuming he once had some, is failing. He was querulous in the way that older people adopt, as they find it harder to understand what is going on around them. I realised that he is seven months or so younger than I am, but the opinion of those around me is that I am as sharp as ever. Perhaps they flatter me!

Joe Biden’s refusal to stand aside is, I think, a typical symptom of his mental decline. A refusal to change your mind is often seen in early dementia, probably because of a fear of change.

I am probably echoing the opinions of many when I say, “Anyone other than the present two protagonists in the US election”.

Mind you, the most uncomfortable thing about getting older are the aches and pains from my gradually deteriorating bones and joints. I was asked what I’d like for Christmas two years ago and replied, “A new skeleton!” Hence this poem:

Arthritis

My hands deny a grip

My fingers do not bend

My grasp may often slip

My symptoms do not mend.

My toes are far away

My ankles hurt too much

My limp is here to stay

My knee is sore to touch.

My walking now is slow

My hips dislike to flex

My youth was long ago

My back demands some checks.

My doctor cannot help

My wife says I complain

My aches bring out a yelp

My pains I do not feign.

My hopes are fading fast

My pills all fail to work

My golfing days are past

My future’s full of murk.