Now that we have become acclimatized to growing old, I think it is important not to dwell on the daily inconveniences on the path into our personal sunsets.
Perhaps upon reading that last sentence, you are putting down your cup of tea, turning to your closest wardmate in the crowded seniors' home and exclaiming "Bull frogs!"
I know this seems unholy, but follow me closely as I fingerpaint a more pleasant picture of my day.
I awoke this morning at the usual 6 bells with one of my wife's fearful cats (Pericles) sitting on my pigeon chest. After fighting the cat to a standstill, I threw open the curtains, which revealed a sunrise that fairly shouted "eggs and bacon."
After downing same, I did my four sit-ups and 10 push-ups (and would have done more but for Pericles hitching a free ride) and was ready to attack the day.
With a healthy glow, I strode from the family pile in Rockland for the home of homes to lose myself amongst the just-ironed papers of the world, starting with the very sound sa国际传媒.
At this moment, when tea is brought to me by the one intelligent waiter, I ponder my failing eyesight and the positive side of it all, for as some prophet once pointed out, just before he went mad, there is joy in almost everything.
At a certain age the eyes dim, making us more attractive to each other. To the younger set we must look not unlike down-on-our-luck badgers, but amongst ourselves we comment on our porcelain-like skin.
This was brought home in a sharp fashion by Mrs. ffrangington-Davis, who, upon discovering that the new magnifying mirror in the women's WC made her look like a worried Aesop, tore the offending appliance from the washroom wall and hurled it from the small window.
It landed on the club's front lawn and, because it was one of the four days of sun a year, it lit two nasturtium plants on fire, causing a passing evangelical church group from Seattle to fall onto their knees in rapture.
We who do not see as clearly as before now feel many of our group are still handsome, and as the cool martinis sail through the system, we revel in our friendship.
When a group of us come in through the lower entrance by the car park, we gather quietly at the bottom of the memorial staircase for the final climb to our beloved bar.
We try to avoid the smirking chaps in their sleek electric carts as they shoot past us for the ele-vator with its caged door already standing ajar, for we are the stuff of Tenzing Norgay goggling at Mother Everest just before the ascent.
To accomplish this we grab one another's belts, bracers and ties with the button-fly school of thought in some evidence, and form a sort of tweedy tortoise about to drag each other as one.
Breathing heavily we attack the first step, which, until we get in sync, is always the most formidable as not a few mems stumble and must be retrieved, but once on our way we surge slowly to the first landing.
There, refreshments are waiting, consisting of small amounts of sherry, gin and Scotch to keep our muscles from stiffening before the last push. The crowd gathered at the top makes our last faltering footfalls that much easier because of their ready applause.
We work together and enjoy each other's company, as who could not after that? I so love my club.
