Every man desires to live long, but no man would be old. ~Jonathan Swift
The Aged Uncle, who some of you may remember me posting about, died last summer. He was 93, so it wasn't exactly a surprise but I still find myself remembering things I need to talk to him about later. Later's just moved a little further ahead...
The Child Bride, however, is still with us and is living in a local nursing home. I visit her Wednesday mornings. She has Alzheimers now so I don't stay long, but mornings are usually pretty good. Today, she was playing percussion at a music workshop. She still has a better sense of rhythm than I do.
Leaving this morning, I thought to myself that visiting a nursing home is a little like being temporarily and specifically precognitive. This is the future. In time, unless we check out early, we all come to this. Loss of strength, loss of sight, loss of hearing, if you're really unlucky, loss of self. All flesh is grass. Although around here, given the way quack grass takes over a garden if you look away for ten minutes, that means it's tougher than it seems and is damned near impossible to kill. Which isn't so much a bad thing...
Anyway, being precognitive is kind of a mental time travel and that made me think of Dicken's A Christmas Carol. If the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come had really wanted to scare the crap out of Scrooge, he wouldn't have shown him a gravestone. Dude, we all die, that's inevitable. You want him wailing? Show him his body turned into a tiny birdlike creature curled into a padded chair, smelling of stale urine, trapped in a world he can't see or hear, dependent on the underpaid and overworked.
Me, I'm taking vitamin D and eating more fibre and getting more excercise. And maybe learning to play percussion. Can't hurt...
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,' said Scrooge. 'But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me."
The Child Bride, however, is still with us and is living in a local nursing home. I visit her Wednesday mornings. She has Alzheimers now so I don't stay long, but mornings are usually pretty good. Today, she was playing percussion at a music workshop. She still has a better sense of rhythm than I do.
Leaving this morning, I thought to myself that visiting a nursing home is a little like being temporarily and specifically precognitive. This is the future. In time, unless we check out early, we all come to this. Loss of strength, loss of sight, loss of hearing, if you're really unlucky, loss of self. All flesh is grass. Although around here, given the way quack grass takes over a garden if you look away for ten minutes, that means it's tougher than it seems and is damned near impossible to kill. Which isn't so much a bad thing...
Anyway, being precognitive is kind of a mental time travel and that made me think of Dicken's A Christmas Carol. If the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come had really wanted to scare the crap out of Scrooge, he wouldn't have shown him a gravestone. Dude, we all die, that's inevitable. You want him wailing? Show him his body turned into a tiny birdlike creature curled into a padded chair, smelling of stale urine, trapped in a world he can't see or hear, dependent on the underpaid and overworked.
Me, I'm taking vitamin D and eating more fibre and getting more excercise. And maybe learning to play percussion. Can't hurt...
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,' said Scrooge. 'But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me."