Youth and Age

Here is today’s photo, my son and my aunt, the one 85 today, the other 22 since December. I myself am somewhat uneasily perched agewise between those two extremes and I’m not dealing with it very well. I know I’m not as old as 85, yet, and I know (although I resent it in a sulky, brooding way that does credit to my adolescent self) that I’m not as young as 22, but I don’t really feel that much older. Neither does my aunt and my mother, who was 83 when she died five years ago, told me that the bathroom mirror sometimes made her jump and wonder just who the hell that old lady was.

I actually have a lot more to say on this topic – reams, pages, screeds, rants – but I’m too tired. That would probably be because I’m getting a bit old to stand up all day and we oldsters need our rest. Argh.

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