In the dark hours before sunrise, when the snakes in my head begin to come out of hibernation, I get up. I sit in the dark and ruminate all that I have to be thankful for—and the light to follow. My snakes stay in my bed.
One of the topics of my contemplation is: My friends are dying faster than I am making new friends—and Agism is alive and … well. So it goes.
In his masterpiece novel "1984" George Orwell's protagonist Winston Smith approaches a mirror and describes the self that he sees: "… The cheeks were seamed, the mouth had a drawn in look. Certainly it was his own face, but it seemed to him that it had changed more than he had changed inside. The emotions it registered would be different from the ones he felt."
He is saying that others will not see, and feel toward him, the way he feels inside.
I wish that age was "counted" as quality… not quantity. I wish that elders were considered more to be a knowledge resource to the community. But I am disappointed. I now believe that if one's chronological age is generally known to the community, and one is viewed as a village elder as a result, then one should consider a move to a new village.
I wish that during the last 10 years when folks asked my age — that I had deflected the question with the statement "… I am as old as I seem, as old as I act and feel."
It would be nice to be treated as 15 years younger than I am—but it is awful to be treated as 15 years older than I seem.
But…! Stop it! I am complaining like a stereotypical Old One.
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If you would like to see my collection of Carolina Lowcountry memories—"Magnolia Elegy: Place In the Edisto Fork," you can view the book trailer here, and see the book page here on the publisher's website. The book is also available from Amazon, B&N, and your independent local bookseller.
