If there can be a "state of the union" address, and in Colorado a "state of the state," why should we not have a "state of the person" -- specifically, the state of this person, i.e. me. An annual report. Today seems like a good day for it -- inasmuch as I have just now passed a weighty milestone, my 85th birthday.
On the whole, let me say, without bragging, that this particular person is in a surprisingly good state.
My Brain: it's still working. I believe that I am as competent as ever at analyzing problems and drawing conclusions and planning appropriate actions. Nor have I lost a significant amount of language. There is even an occasional moment in which I wow myself with a well chosen word or a smidgeon of wit. That's the good news. The downside is that my recall system has definitely lost ground. Noun loss, it's called. My memory for names has woefully declined, so much so that it's become a considerable annoyance. I can recognize an acquaintance on the street, or, say, actors in a film, or an athlete, but I cannot bring up a name. I test myself when I watch NBA basketball on the TV. A familiar player appears on my screen: I know where he went to college and who he played for last season and the strengths and weaknesses of his game, but by golly I can't recall his name. I find this to be highly frustrating -- and perhaps a scary harbinger of future debility. Sometimes the moniker bobs to the surface a day later, making me aware that my storage system is still working. No question but that my celebrated, prize-winning instant recall is a thing of the past. Also starting to fail: short-term memory. Nowadays, when I read a long novel, by the time I come to the conclusion I've forgotten details from the first chapters. A couple of times now, when I've read a good new novel or a classic old one, I've turned right around and gone through a second time. Trust me, this was not a characteristic of my younger brain. I also find it difficult to acquire and retain new knowledge. I spent four years studying Italian and made no more than a year's progress. I had to complete the same lessons over and over again just to make it stick -- only to have the expression or the conjugation or whatever evaporate in a month. I can't memorize poetry -- which I once did so effortlessly. So I've mostly given up new areas of information -- although this last month I'm taking a crack at learning Etruscan -- a challenge even though it's an extinct language with only about 250 known words. No struggles with pronunciation, thank goodness!
My mood: generally positive and cheerful, except between 2 am and 4 am, when I lie awake filled with real and imaginary dread. I experience sadness, of course, but not depression. No need for anti-depressants or anti-psychotics, thank goodness.v I'm optimistic, on the whole, still taking pleasure in small things,
My Body: still functioning although some routine tasks have become difficult. Putting on socks and shoes, for example. I'm just not limber -- not even as limber as I was at 75. When things fall to the floor in the morning I tend to let them lie until later in the day when I'm slightly more supple. When I work in the garden, I keep a long stick next to me so I have something to help me arise. Sometimes I feel myself starting to shuffle, the way my father did in his last years -- and then I make a determined effort to lift my feet. I have almost all of my own teeth (a couple of fakes) and with the help of specs and hearing aids my eyes and ears are valiantly continuing to do the job.
Your older body has accumulated some deficits: a touch of cancer, four kinds of heart peculiarities, the threat of another TIA or UTI. But I do as I'm told and take the pills that my various doctors recommend. I asked the fine serious woman who serves as my cardiologist, "what is going to kill me?" She replied that at my age, and given my state of health, the most likely causes were a) a fall, and b) an infection. Consequently I've become mighty careful about where I set my feet. I don't know what to do about infections except to be vigilant. But it would be foolish not to recognize that at this age life is precarious and that anything can happen at any time. I could keel over before I finish the next sentence. One undeniable symptom of deterioration is that my stamina is much diminished. Much more resting between tasks, many more naps.
The hardest part of the day continues to be the nighttime. I've aways been a bad sleeper and I'm no better now. Lying awake can lead to alarmism: is that pain in my knee a bruise or is it a blood clot that will go to my heart, or is it a symptom of a metastatic cancer? But alarmism is not as troubling now as it was in days of yore -- no matter what happens now, they can't take the first 85 years from me. Frankly, I'm more worried about living too long than I am about dying.
I'm always been troubled with nightmares and continue to be so. I envy those who turn out the light at 11 and wake up at 7. It would be blissful to be one of those elect. On most nights, instead of sleeping I roll and twirl like a rotisserie chicken. It's wonderful that the Widder Malkinson is able to ignore my tossing and turning.
Family: I'm most pleased about my family and family relations. Although I was not a perfect father, I was a hard-working and serious one, and I think that my children would acknowledge such. I love all three of my children more than they can know -- or at least, more than they could know until they had children of their own. I like all my kids and grandkids and on the whole they like me. I believe that I grew closer to my kids during the years of A's long decline. I have good conversations, or at least polite ones, with the older grandchildren but the three younger ones treat me with no more interest or respect than if I were an orange cone -- which is probably appropriate for their age; I certainly did not engage with my grandparents or people of their generation when I was 9 or 11. I hope to live until the the young guys are in their twenties when they might find it consequential to talk with their aged GP.
I've made an effort to keep in touch with cousins -- especially cousins on my father's side. After all, I am by far the oldest member of my extended family -- the "patriarch," I like to say.
Love: here's a great success story. My relationship with the Widder has been near-miraculous -- a ten-year honeymoon, although it may seem soppy to says so. Of course in some ways it's easier to form a relationship at this age of little responsibility -- no conflict over children, no careers, no declining parents, no money worries, very few obligations. Both Lynn and I appreciate this much simpler life. Her and my offspring have been generous with us -- a boon that we do not take for granted. Moreover, it's common knowledge that people in a loving situation live longer than singletons -- so we're both, in theory, keeping each other alive.
Friends: very important to me at this stage of life. I work at keeping in touch. But every month, it seems, some 50-year friendship comes to an end. The death and diseases of my friends and family and former colleagues are the most painful feature of this octogenarian life.
Intellectual life: I read a lot and write a bit, but I no longer read books about books. I like writing this blog. At this point in my life, I read at least 9 non-fiction books for every novel. In addition, I've become fascinated by the films of the 40s and 50s and watch as many as two or three a week. There's something reassuring about the black-and-white cinematography, the ubiquitous fedoras, the coast-to-coast trains, and even the ever-present curl of cigarette smoke.
The world: quite a mess. A period of great reaction. There's a real danger of losing our democracy. And losing our planet. But I'm cheered that there are so many people of good will in the world and in my life.
When I was a young fellow peering at the calendar, I thought "the year 2000 is a long way off. If I should live to the new millennium, I'll be 61 years old and I'll have lived a long life." Now I'm a quarter century beyond that marker, still going strong. Who ever would have guessed? My principal emotion at this point: gratitude. Gosh I've been fortunate.