People age cheeses, and they sometimes age wines, but few of us intentionally “age” ourselves. Thus, aging isn’t a process. It’s a discovery. We spend an hour on the tennis court, and find that our knees ache for the next two days.
When did that start?
We return home from the library with a stack of books . . . but not the one we’d gone there to fetch.
On the other hand, we better understand the logic of taste and are no longer so concerned about following recipes to the letter.
We make camp at 11 in the morning, feeling no need to return from the woods with tales of heroic combat against the elements.
And it’s become increasingly clear that to read only the first volume of Remembrance of Things Past will suffice for the duration.
The chipmunks in the drainpipe become more interesting. We attend concerts just to hear sounds we’ve never heard before. It isn’t too late to come to grips with Being and Time, though by now we’re more inclined to tackle Bosh and Flapdoodle.
There is a sheen of richness over everything, and we hope it lasts a long time before the world goes dark.
- John Toren (B.A. ’74), Golden Valley