Another Year Older And Deeper In Smut

It was my birthday yesterday. I’m now 37. This is a prospect that is not very promising. I’m rapidly heading for 40 and the wrinkles are getting deeper. Before I was in my mid-thirties which is perfectly respectable but I think 37 is a bit of a tipping point. Like most people, I still think I’m really only about 21 inside and I don’t think anyone really accepts the age they are. It’s kinda scary the way the years creep by.

Still, I had a great time going out to a restaurant and going on a river cruise complete with Dixieland jazz. Today was the inevitable big hangover.

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Every year I quote T.S. Eliot:

I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

But this year I should add a spot of Yeats:

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

And maybe a bit of Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.