"I have a medicine that''s able to breathe life unto a stone." (All's Well)

.....On a different note from the ritual of aging, I have a cousin in Sheffield, England with whom, it seems, I am in virtual constant e-mail touch. I am immortalizing her in this blog because she has been my intellectual pen pal for...how long? We don't fool around with our topics...they are almost always meaningful. Cousin Ruth is not really my cousin; she's from my ex's side of the family, I believe. Otherwise I don't know who she is. But I have adopted her cousinwise, and her name is Ruth Grimsley. Sounds like a character right out of a Charles Dicken's novel...although it might be more likely if her name were something like Hester Grimsley. At any rate, she has read my book, she reads this blog, and she has watched numerous of my shows on video tape for which I am elated that someone is doing it.

.....While I was confined to Whitehall (also, coincidentally, sounds like a townhouse in a Dicken's work), Ruth was kind enough to write a poem for me explaining our relationship in--mostly iambic trimeter doggerel couplets, it seems. But that doesn't make her a bad person. At any rate, her poetic effort really lifted me out of my depression--having broken my hip; but I won't keep you in suspense any longer:

Two cousins both sides of th' Atlantic

Engaged in debates most semantic.

'Bout Hebrew they never debated

Though through it they both were related;

'Bout Yiddish they never would chat,

Which is strange, you'd think they would do that!

They never did talk about money--

And that is exceedingly funny.

They sometimes did talk about history,

But that wasn't much of a mystery.

But English was that which united them,

And that was what really excited them.

The English tongue looked so romantic,

About it they really went frantic.

Then one of them damaged his hip,

But he still didn't lose mental grip.

And this wouldn't stop them EVER

And as for stop talking--NEVER!!

"As they say, when the age is in, the wit is out." (Much Ado)

.....The ritual of aging requires that you purchase a "walker" like everyone else in South Florida; the good thing about it is that you remember all the times you bought a new car, and how you eventually were able to deal with the salesman who was surely out to get you to pay his estimate so that he would make more money on the deal and you would have to pay more for the car. So, the first step in purchasing a walker is to try to get one that would be different from all the other walkers and one which would impress the neighbors as you walked home with it like a klutz.

.....You find a medical supply dealership, walk in and then the salesman asks, "Can I do anything for you?" A dumb question; what did he expect to do except to sell you a walker or some other medical equipment, else why would he be working there? You answer anyway, "Yes, I'd like to see your walkers, and I'd like something different."

"What color would you prefer?"

"What colors do you have?" You ask.

"We have only three colors, battleship grey, fire-engine red, and puke green," he replies.

"I think I'd prefer the red. I'd like one with chrome hub caps if possible. What kind of mileage can I get?"

"Depends. If you walk slowly, you'll get very good mileage with any color."

"What's the bottom line price?"

"I see you are a vet and a senior citizen so I'm going to give you a price you can't refuse. I'll even throw in a box of M & M's"

"Thanks, so what's the price?"

"$248 and Medicare picks up $100 of it. You can't do better than that, anywhere."

"Well, I can try unless you come down about a hundred bucks"

"Wait here. Let me talk to my boss."

So, the guy comes back after about twenty suspenseful minutes and with watery eyes gives you the walker for $148 and claims that Medicare will pick up $131 of it, and so this Fire red and black walker, different from all the other walkers in town, costs you $18. Life is good.

"In me thou seest that time of day when yellow leaves, or none or few to hang about the boughs..." (WS)

.....I am convinced that aging is a ritual that elderly people, such as myself, are trapped into participating by the laws of geriatrics and gravity. First come the medications; when I was 56 I just took an aspirin in the afternoon and then went out and ran ten miles. Now that my 86th birthday is arriving just as it generally; no, usually, does on the 27th I take 19 medications not including the Tylenol and the Xanax I imbibe once in a while--when the spirit (or the laws) move me.

.....Then the aging phenomenon continues, One day You feel an uncomfortable flutter in your chest or like your heart is going to jump out of your ribs or that your heart is "flip-flopping around." Your pulse is irregular and/or more rapid than normal. like a motor idling too fast in your chest.You may feel lightheaded, very tired, have shortness of breath, sweating and chest pain, and sometimes a distressing need for frequent urination. You decide to get a check-up and the doctor tells you that you have Atrial Fibrillation or as they say, A-fib. (it isn't clear how A-Fib and frequent urination are related). So, now is the time to get a pacemaker in your chest. Reluctantly, or like the schoolboy "with satchel on back crawling unwillingly to school," you agree to the procedure. Of course, now you have to take the medication involved to keep your heart quiet.

.....Now that you have entered into the aging phase of your life you find that when you walk more than a few steps, your left leg bursts into pain. You discover that you have "intermiitent claudication" and so your son buys you a cane which doesn't do a hellova lot of good. But the doc gives you medication for your condition. Now the meds are creeping slowly into your life. As the aging continues, you realize that once you were 5'7" and now you are 5'6"! Gravity is doing its job. Of course, you are now a senior citizen and a member of AARP, and as such it behooves you to fall and break your hip--just like everyone else. So a hip replacement is in order, and afterwards you must purchase a walker. Now you have joined the Walkers Club. This event involves pain--and more meds--pain killers.

.....Reading a newspaper, you learn that the next Super Bowl in Florida will not arrive until 2015, a fateful and scary date because if you want to go, you'll be 91--if you ever get to be 91. By now you are thoroughly depressed and so you seek a visit with a psychiatrist. You discuss your situation with him--or her, and he--or she prescribes more meds. And now you remember Dylan Thomas's poem, "Do not go gentle into that good night" and the first lines, "Old age should burn and rave at close of day...", and the lines that burn your brain, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." OK! OK! i GET IT!