Feeling the vagaries of old age

ROBERT GARDNER

As someone who has done a fair amount of speaking in his time, I have

an appreciation for the well-spoken.

I was in awe of William F. Buckley because his speech was so

meticulous. There were never any “uhs” when he spoke, just one

well-structured sentence after another, and his vocabulary was

immense. I once thought I caught him on a mispronunciation.

He was speaking of the “vagaries” of something, and he pronounced

it vu-GAR-ee, with the accent on the middle symbol. “Ha! Buckley,” I

cried. “Got you at last.” That was a word in my vocabulary, and I

knew it was pronounced VAGUE-a-ree, accent on the first syllable.

I rushed to the dictionary, primed to photocopy the appropriate

page and forward it to him for his edification. Alas, my traitorous

Webster’s supported him. Well, you say vu-GAR-ee, I say VAGUE-a-ree.

Wherever the accent, we at least agree on the definition -- an oddity

or caprice -- and old age is full of them.

For the first time in your life you have time to read all the

books and magazines you want. The problem is, your vision is so bad

that just getting through the morning paper can take half the day.

With no vacation restrictions, you can travel anywhere, any time

-- except you’re too feeble.

Lying in bed in the morning before you’ve attempted to move, your

mind races over the possibilities of the day ahead. It looks like a

sunny day. You’ll spring out of bed, grab your fins and trot down to

the beach where you’ll catch a few waves. Then you turn over and

change your goals to a labored shuffle to the kitchen for some orange

juice and coffee -- and then to the couch for a nap.

Because of certain memory problems, everything has to be written

down. Unfortunately, because you have memory problems, you forget to

look at the list.

However, not all these things are negatives, particularly the

failing memory. Sure, you miss appointments and are totally surprised

when three people show up on your doorstep thinking you have a bridge

game, but that’s the beauty of it.

Every day is a surprise. Sometimes every hour. Yesterday was a bad

day? Tomorrow really is another because yesterday is erased as

cleanly as if it never existed.

I remember my parents aging and how puzzling it was that they

could remember things from their youth, but couldn’t remember last

week. At the time I thought it was a tragedy. Now I realize it is

nature’s gift.

Why would I want to remember last week when I started to walk

downtown but got no farther than the first bench, when instead I

could remember myself as a young man surfing 20-foot waves at the

Balboa pier?

It’s like with my wife. We were married almost 60 years, so common

sense tells me that she was an elderly person when she died, but I

don’t remember that at all. It’s another image that is fixed my mind.

She is 23, the age when I met her, with the greatest pair of legs

I ever saw. She’s never aged, and she never will, so to those of you

looking at approaching-senior status with trepidation, let me tell

you: The vagaries of old age aren’t so bad, no matter how you

pronounce it.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.