Jim, ya canna' change the laws of aging!
Actually, that's just a horribly tasteless headline to note the sad news that James Doohan, Mr. Scott, of Star Trek fame has been diagnosed with alzheimers. Why do I even post this? Because getting old scares the living hell out of me. I live in my mind and dread above all else the possibility that my memories and creativity may one day be stolen from me without my even knowing. I don't care for things, for stuff, which is good because at this rate I'm never going to have any stuff anyway, but I DO care about the life of the mind. That's why my wife looks at me funny when she finds out that one of the boxes we schlepped all the way to Massachusetts contains nothing but my notebooks from high school-- chem notes, Spanish, doodles, unfinished stories, all useless crap that I'll never need again. But that box and the others like it are my brain's offsite storage, making room in the active brain space for useful things: the rules to Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 1st Edition. All the words to Monty Python's "Philosophers' Song." The causes and outcomes of The Whiskey Rebellion. The recipe for Godzilla Punch. What am I without these things?
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Hey Johno,
Hey Johno,
Gettin' old ain't so bad if you consider the alternative! Having survived for the requisit "three score years and ten" I can tell you that your boxes of memorabilia will seem incredibly infantile whenever you get around to reviewing them. Take heart, but remember: Gettin' old ain't for sissies!
John F.
John F. Thanks for the good
John F. Thanks for the good word. I will confess that my boxes of memorabilia seem infantile now, which is part of their great appeal.
As I hurtle closer to the iconic "one score years and ten" (30 days n countin), as my still young body betrays me in new ways (my hair! ow! my back!) I do begin to see that getting old will mean having to kick the ass of Father Time.
Johno - Oh you have no idea.
Johno - Oh you have no idea. I hit the big 3-0 earlier this year, and well, I can't remember a damned thing. It's not that I drank to much to celebrate my XXX birthday. (Roman numerals! get your mind out of the gutter!) It's that my youthful mind has slipped away and I just plain old forget things.
It's only bad because it's embarrassingly obvious that I no longer have a clue about anything. I can't make complete sentences and I stop mid sentence and forget where I was.
Memory is the first thing to go. - They