Recently, at the pool where I swim every day, I was forcibly reminded of a hazard that sometimes comes with advancing age.
On that Saturday the pool was crowded, requiring swimmers to share lanes. Following protocol, I asked a man swimming in a lane near the wall if he would split it with me. He agreed and I jumped in without incident.
“At age eleven, I became infatuated with music,” says Gunther Schuller. Three weeks ago, at age 83, he took a bow on the Symphony Hall stage, after the Boston Symphony première of his latest composition “Where The Word Ends.”
Between eleven and 83, this prodigious musician has lived seven different careers in one: horn player, composer, conductor, jazz historian, music publisher, record producer, and educator and achieved high distinction in each one.
Taking part in a 50th wedding celebration can sometimes rival the pleasure of being there at the wedding itself. That’s the way it was for me two days after Christmas when Kathy and Charles marked their golden anniversary.
I found it heartwarming to see these two friends still happy being together. And to witness their pleasure in their children and grandchildren added immeasurably to the mix. Toward the end of the evening, each member of these younger generations spoke with warm affection, and not a little humor, about their parents or grandparents.
Bianchi, Eugene, Aging As A Spiritual Journey, New York: Crossroads, 1986 — a stimulating discussion of ways in which contemplation and active involvement in the world can be combined, starting in middle age.
Blythe, Ronald, The View in Winter : Reflections on Old Age, New York: Penguin,1979 — a British classic, full of sharp insights about the place of older people in society, and enlivened by conversation with many of them.
Only once do I remember meeting John Updike. It happened at a party on the North Shore, hosted by another man of letters and featuring a crowd of other folks interested in the literary world.
On that occasion, I was impressed not only by Updike’s finely-shaped and prominent nose, but by his geniality and the pleasure he took in conversation. What his editors and other colleagues are writing about him after his death makes me regret not having been otherwise acquainted.
This column comes to you not from a typewritten copy, but from dictation. I have spoken these words into a microphone attached to a headset. The device takes my spoken words and puts them on my computer screen.
Thanks to Dragon Naturally Speaking, a software program that picks up my speech, I no longer have to typewrite words such as you are now reading. This process continues to amaze me, since it does what I used to think impossible.
It counts as an event worth having lived long for. Barack Obama’s inauguration came as the fulfillment of so many hopes and dreams. This day was a long time coming. For me, it brought deep-down joy.
I watched the events of last week’s Tuesday in a large room mostly filled with college students. They impressed me with the seriousness they showed during the proceedings. They applauded a few times but for the most part they greeted the events with silent attention, while obviously feeling joyful at Obama becoming president.