For Orwell it was a boot in the face forever. For Huxley it was drugged bliss. For H.G. Welles it was science and reason. For someone like me, retired and in my mid-70’s, it’s Groundhog Day. Today was like yesterday and tomorrow will be like today.
There’s no chance of a woman winking back, no more goals or homeruns in the offing, no exciting career challenges. On the other hand no chance of a DUI, a hangover, oversleeping, being late for work, being fired.
Graham Greene said the main consolations of old age were a fine aged cheese and a nice glass of Port. Don’t sneer. It could just be television and the supermarket.
Dean Martin despaired about getting old. In Nick Toches biography of him he said,
“I get up and have a bowel movement. I have breakfast and go to the Club and play a round of golf. I have lunch and gossip. I come home and have dinner, watch television, have another bowel movement, and go to bed. That’s my day, everyday.”
My consolation is reading all the books I should have read in high school and college. The other is writing this blog and emails. Thought is action, too.
Of course we’re not dealing with eternity. In one of John Updike’s final poems he wrote:
“You don’t want it to end, but it does…You don’t want to die, but you will”
So heed the advice on a sign hanging over the bar of The Arches in Newport Beach:
“The joy of life is living it”. It sure is.
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