Growing old resentfully

HAVE you ever been in a public place with a large gathering of people and thought for a minute: “If every person here under a certain age (choose your cut-off age) were to be suddently made to disappear, I could be the only one left!”? Well it's happened to me and it's tending to happen more and more frequently now. Indeed, you know you're getting on (not to say 'old') when you can say this quite often and you know you may be over the hill (not to say 'past it') when it becomes commonplace! Admittedly, using a cut-off age of 30, as I'm doing, is perhaps a bit on the low side, but I can't help being a young buck! Hehhe...

THEY say that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder”. And this is, I suppose, true, up to a limit (everything has a limit), and similarly that age is a question of mentality, that is to if you think young you ARE young. Well, that too may be true... up to a limit, and a much more uncompromising limit than the former, because age catches up with us sooner or later no matter how young-thinking we are or how young we believe ourselves to be.

Two well-known old fogies

HOWEVER, whether we think young or think ourselves to be younger than our years, as most of us tend to do nowadays - in keeping with the notion of never really growing up or maturing – we can never turn back the clock or the march of the years except perhaps in a very superficial way with something like cosmetic surgery, currently very much in vogue. Yet even disguising our age by such surgical means, we ourselves know how old we are and we know that our internal biological clock is still ticking away and has not slowed down by one iota because of the surgeon's knife.

BUT there's nothing like being in a roomful of people and noting that you're probably the oldest person there, and I’m not just talking about being at a kids' party! I’m talking about grown-ups' places. You're at work, at the cinema, in a restaurant, bar, party, family gathering, even in church, or in any other number of places with other people and they all look disconcertingly young and fresh-faced.

I SUPPOSE the ultimate recognition of one's advancing years is when the sort of people who were always older than you (and so they should be!) are now YOUNGER than you. People such as teachers in general and the head teacher in particular, high-ranking police officers, your family doctor, your local MP, hospital consultants and registrars, and the worst and scariest one of all: the Prime Minister himself (and the President of the United States!), not to mention the Dalai Lama! When all these types of people are younger than you, you know you're old, however young in spirit you might be or however immaturely you might behave. There's just no getting away from it. Once all these people were figures of professional, legal or religious authority who were ALWAYS older than you, now many of them appear to be fresh rosy-cheeked youths and here you are a dried-up old codger or matron visibly withering away!

Age piggy-back!

THE simple fact is that because old age or senility represents a state of being close to the end of life, few if any of us can entertain that thought without a certain amount of trepidation and anxiety, so we prefer not to acknowledge such a state. And who can blame us? Except in a few extreme cases, none of us can contemplate their own extinction with equanimity. Self-preservation and a strong desire to cling to life are natural instincts.

SO I suppose when we look around us and see lots of young people, or at least people younger than ourselves, we feel a tinge of envy of their youth and the many years still left to them. We may sometimes even resent their moving in on territory we considered our own, as we gradually get nudged out to a more peripheral role in society. But it is of course all part of the process of renewal which governs all forms of life and dynamic process.

SO I have no choice but to face up to the fact that my GP receiving me in his surgery is younger than me; that my local MP chairing a meeting of residents is younger than me; that the head teacher I may go and see about my child is younger than me; that the police sergeant I speak to at the local police station is younger than me; that the doctor on duty in accident and emergency is younger than me; that my neighbourhood vicar taking the service is younger than me; and finally, indignity of indignities, that the prime minister or president of my country is younger than me... MUCH younger!

There's a video game for everyone!

OF course, none of this applies to the real me, you understand... ahem... I’m still a fresh and feisty fellow of tender years. I’m using myself, 30 years hence, as a hypothetical example to make a point. But maybe it applies to YOU, or, if not to you, to people you know. Maybe it's something that just applies to other people, who seem to grow old before our very eyes while we stay forever youthful.

The Stranger in Red

The tall red-cloaked stranger was suddenly sighted among their number as they gathered on the village green but no-one could say how long he had been there. He moved through them as effortlessly as the wind, and a cold shiver coursed down the spine of every soul there present. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere and his proximity froze the blood of those he brushed past. His coming was unheralded and its motive unknown, but all knew that it was because of him that they now found themselves there.

A growing whisper rose among the assembled folk as heads turned to see where the cloaked figure passed, and somehow each of them knew that he or she must win his favour if they were to escape the dreadful end that was now impressed in their mind though they knew not the when or the how. The crowd suddenly began to move as one body, a wave of persons united by a common purpose.

The eerie hooded figure moved slowly over the ground, more floating than walking, its long red cloak billowing as it went, and there was no halting its motion though many instinctively tried as its presence was sensed close to them. They could see the red cloaked figure, but not the man; they felt its proximity, but could not lay hold of it; they looked upon its face but saw nothing save a dark void.

A cry went out that the mysterious apparition had halted in their midst for some purpose and they pointed to the spot. Heads whirled round to fix the stranger and a hush descended as the crowd held its breath as one. The red-cloaked figure appeared to shimmer and glow and then, just as suddenly, they all instinctively surged towards it, sensing this might be their last chance. Eyes strained to make out the stranger's face and hands stretched out to feel its emanations.

As day turned to night, the strange aura about the figure grew visibly more intense and seemed to radiate out. Those closest to the stranger moved nearer to enter his energy field while others pushed forward to join them. Those behind struggled to get closer even while the shimmering glow emanating from the stranger fanned out to take in more and more of the crowd. Commotion ensued as the people further back vied with each other to share the presence among them.

Even as the crowd pressed in around the shimmering presence, appearing to brush its red cloak and hem it in on all sides, their hands met in the middle and their bodies clashed in the space that barely a moment ago had been occupied by the cloaked and hooded stranger. Terrified voices rent the air and the crowd surged back, attempting to disentagle itself and re-group. Somehow they knew they must not lose sight of the red-clad apparition that had come amongst them this day, though none of them knew the reason.

Suddenly a cry went up as the unknown stranger was sighted moving among their number again, freely and untrammelled, just moments after he seemed to be inescapably pinned down by the jostling crowd. Once again they turned and surged in its direction, determined to keep the stranger within their midst until they had secured safe passage from the darkness that now enveloped them and would, they now knew, draw their last breath from them before the night was out.

As the circle began to close in on the spectral figure which made no move to escape, one person advanced from the crowd and stood before it and, with tremulous voice, addressed it for the first time since its fateful appearance: "Your Excellency, we beseech you to intercede for us." For a moment there was unbroken silence, and then the hooded figure turned to the speaker, saying: "Why do you call me 'Your Excellency'? I have no title." At this, the man suddenly lunged forward in an act of brazen impetuosity, pulling the hood off the stranger's head.

A strangled gasp of horror escaped from the man's lips and echoed around the crowd as more of them now beheld the countenance of the shadowy red figure. For the face they saw there was none other than... their own! Each man and woman saw their own face staring back at them. But with one difference. Blood oozed out of every pore of that face, swollen fat with disease.

As the onlookers remained frozen to the spot, another voice from the crowd was heard to ask in a faltering manner: "Who are you, Sir, if not our Saviour? Why do we see our very own face in yours? What can this mean?" In a slow and deliberate rasp of a voice, the faceless figure answered back, saying: "When you look into the face of Death, you see yourself. For each man makes his own heaven and his own hell." In a final effort to ward off a grim fate, many cried out pleading for mercy. But the reply that met their pleas chilled their very blood: "Why should you people be afraid to die? Your souls have been dead for a long time."

At this the onlookers were immediately struck down by a malignant plague that cracked their skin and caused blood to ooze from every pore of their swollen bodies. They fell to the ground, writhing in agony, and their wails were heard in the surrounding countryside. Those who heard them barred their doors and blocked their ears, trembling with fear at what they heard on this death-ridden night.

Of the gaunt red-cloaked figure there was no trace save the evidence of his deadly work to show that he had passed that way.

P.S.  I am of course indebted to Edgar Allan Poe's short story "The Mask of the Red Death: A Fantasy" (1842) which was later turned into the film "The Masque of the Red Death" (1964). and from which I have here drawn inspiration.

Let's have a moan!

The most challenging thing about this blogging lark is to come up with a new topic each time that's worth writing about and, more to the point, that's worth reading. This is of course a subjective issue, as what is of interest to one person may be grindingly boring to another. As an example, you may have already decided this post is going to be mind-numbingly tedious and are exiting as you read this sentence!

Once, when many of us kept a paper diary, it was more of a spontaneous act and we did not much care what we wrote in it or even how we wrote. We scribbled away secure in the almost certain knowledge that it would end up in some dusty attic corner to be consumed by moths long after we had turned to dust ourselves! We never showed it to anyone, didn't think it would be of interest to anybody, and it was often so untidily written that it was doubtful if it could be deciphered by anyone who came by it even if they could be bothered to make the effort.

Well, all that changed with the advent of online blogging. Now when we keep a blog, which is I suppose a sort of electronic journal or diary, one's posts are likely to be read within minutes or hours of having been published, and many of those reading them are likely to be complete and utter strangers. And some of them will want, and will normally be able, to comment on our posts.  (In this respect, I count myself lucky as there is no danger of this happening to my blog which seems to be the best-kept secret on the Internet ... hehhe... so no-one will read this post either! But never mind, I will pretend I'm only doing it for myself.).

One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how may bloggers out there find the time to do what they do. They not only post every week and often more than once, they also tweet every day, they respond to comments from their many followers, they're on Facebook and other social networking websites, and they're into God knows how many other Internet activities! And some of these bloggers have hundreds or thousands of followers! Just as on FB where there are individuals with thousands of 'friends'! How do they do it? How do they manage to keep all these online sites of theirs updated, interact with visitors and still have some sort of a 'real' life? Beats me. Many bloggers are debating the issue of whether they should continue with an open-to-all blog or restrict it to just a few. To my mind, 'privatising' a blog in this way doesn't make much sense. The whole point of writing a journal online instead of keeping a paper diary, I venture to suggest, is to reach a wide audience, and not just in our own country, and to communicate one's ideas, opinions and convictions to such an audience. If our blog is only made accessible to a select few, it rather defeats the empowering and liberating purpose of the blogging ethos, I would have thought.

When you think about it, one could quite easily get involved in so many online pursuits, Blogger and Facebook being just two of the best-known ones, that there are not enough hours in a day or a week to keep them going and to see to everything else that makes up one's life. It helps of course if one does not have a job and can while away the daylight hours (in addition to the night-time ones!) in all these online activities. And, judging by many people who are continually posting things on Facebook throughout the day (often announcing their progress or achivement in some FB application), there are many idle souls about.

But it's not just online applications that are taking up so much of people's time, it's also all the weird and wonderful hand-held electronic gadgets that are must-haves for everyone today, especially the young. In my case, I’m still getting the hang of the mobile phone! Yet the youth of today take to all this gadgetry so easily and so seamlessly. They have their MP4 player (or whatever version it is now) and their i-phone, and i-pad, and i-tunes, and the rest of it. Somehow it all gels together and makes sense to them, whereas to us 'older folk' it just adds to the confusion in our lives. Thus, when you're out and about and unable to use your computer, the cellphone doubles up as one! Never mind about taking photos, that's old hat now. Today's mobile phone can take you onto the Internet and you can browse around, send and receive e-mails, network, and do many other things that you would do on your desktop or laptop.

Coming back, however, to the 'original' function of the phone, it's become such a common sight nowadays to see people speaking on their mobile phone in the street, in shops, banks, on the bus and the train, and in the park, to name but a few places. Have you noticed how loudly people seem to talk when on the phone in any queue? When I’m in a bank or post office queue (which I try and avoid like the plague), anyone speaking on their mobile seems to feel the need to talk at the top of their voice, much more loudly than they would in a face-to-face conversation. Now why is that, I wonder? They don't appear to care that everyone can hear them or that they might be inconveniencing others around them and so they witter on and on about nothing in particular. You find yourself fighting off the urge to grab hold of the confounded device and throw it as far as you can until it shatters into a thousand pieces.

Still on the subject of the cellphone, the other day I was strolling in a small park near my house and saw a woman doing one of these fast walks around the park. When I spotted her she was already on the phone. She did one lap round the park and continued talking on the phone. She did another and was still yapping on her mobile. And, as I left the park, she was still with her hand raised holding the phone to her ear, prattling on as she continued fast-walking round the park. What on earth did she have to say that needed such a long phone conversation and in the middle of what was supposed to be a serious exercise session? She was seriously addicted to the damn thing!

How about when you get on the bus or in the tube and someone has earphones on as they listen to invariably ear-splittingly loud music. And of course you can hear it even though it's usually quite muted. Nevertheless it's annoying, to say the least, but you put up with it. To object would doubtless make things worse, as the culprit, almost certainly a 'yoof', will give you a mouthful and then carry on regardless. So you either put up or shut up, or ship out! That is you move to another seat. There's really no other sensible way.

I think that as a society we have become coarser in our manners, boorish and churlish in our ways. We are too ready to be rude to strangers, to use bad language in public, and to be a nuisance to others around us. We are more confrontational now, more vociferous, and more demanding. The inconsiderate way we use our mobile phone in public is just one example (but a good one) of the couldn't-care-less attitude we have adopted towards others. “I will talk loudly and endlessly on the phone even if I'm in a queue in a public place, because that's what I want to do!”  "I will wear headphones in crowded places and live in my own little world of blaring pop music as if no-one else exists, because that's what i want to do!"

For my final moan to round things off... I often see in my local park (yes, we're back in the park) an elderly person with a young person by their side (who looks to be in their late teens or early twenties).  The youth is obviously a sort of minder charged (probably by Social Services) with taking the elderly person out for a walk and looking after them in general. But what do I often see? I see the young minder with a mobile phone glued to their ear, busy nattering away. Just the other day I saw a flagrant example of this. Whilst I was doing several rounds of the park, the minder spent the whole time chatting on his mobile, totally oblivious to his charge who, poor old dear, just sat there looking around and looking lost. There was no attempt by the minder to engage her in conversation or to give her the slightest bit of attention. He was much too absorbed in his phone call. And this is not an isolated instance, as I have witnessed this sort of thing on a number of occasions - a clear example of where a praiseworthy act is done but in a half-hearted manner.

Well, that's enough griping from me - for the time-being. It seems I’m getting to be a right moaning minnie, or, in my case (for reasons of gender), a moaning manny! But what can I do? It's an age thing... I think.