Yesterday was my husband's birth date. He would have been 87 years old, but he would never have lived that long. He died too early, at 45, but if he hadn't he wouldn't have lived for another 40 years. Twenty, tops. The men in his family were not long-lived. The men in most families are not long-lived. If they can get through the lethal corridor, the years between 40 and 60, Heart-Attack Alley, they can usually go on into their late 80s. I hope so.

The Twilight Years are pretty good if husband and wife are spared to each other. There is a lovely short novel, Age (1987), by Hortense Calisher (1921-2009 - age 97!), that I have re-read several times. Insightful and touching, the book keeps resonating with me. An aging husband and wife agree to keep a diary of their last years, without showing it to each other. Gradually one or both of them realize that only the survivor will get to read the other side of the last chapter they are living through.

"But isn't that what always happens? One half a couple has to go on, unread from then on." Earlier, she has asked, "Can we go on, in this state of going on?"

Here's an odd thing: I wrote the title to my blog (see above) before I thought of Calisher's book. Then when I pulled it from my book shelves, I found those lines I quote above, underlined. I also found a long note I wrote in response to the book when I first read it (August 30, 1998). I'll quote part of it:

"it's beautiful and terrifying and comforting - and oh, how, how it makes me miss Bill! Could we have borne it, each other's aging? Oh, my love."

But where we would all be without computers? Years ago, before the present overwhelming proliferation of technology in the home, I read an article that pointed out the number of computers, simple or not, that we were already relying on, from oven and fridge thermostats to our watches and alarm clocks, record players (before CDs and DVDs), on and on. Now, instead of clones we have a myriad of household and office helpers that enable us to do all the work we do, and force us to do more. Good news and bad news: if you didn't have so much help you wouldn't be nearly as busy or stressed.

Ralph Waldo Emerson commented on travel that wherever he went he took himself with him, not his exact words but you get the idea. You never leave you behind, you never really leave. Your cell phone and iPad or laptop go with you wherever you go. Therapists and medical advisors are telling stressed-out workers now to leave their techie servants behind.

"Oh, for a holiday in a complete vacuum!" cried the mother in Christopher Fry's play, The Lady's Not For Burning. That's even harder to achieve these days. I suppose that's one of the reasons people settle for a day at the spa. An hour in a mud bath is worth two in the bar.

Actually, that's not true. I had a mud bath once and it was only because I was with a friend that I consented to immerse my body in warm, brown glue. We encouraged each other: "I'll go if you'll go." But the idea of leaving the pressures of the world behind is a good one even though no one can afford to leave them for long.

Did I mention that spring is here, finally? The magnolia trees are enjoying their brief moment of triumph. So a friend and I are going to take a Magnolia Walk, untouched by Computer Blight. That's as close as I can get to leaving the world behind this week.