here i am there u are

So, as they say, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life, what's left of it. It could be longer than I thought. It already is.  I read an article on ageing in the Manchester Guardian this morning, or maybe it was the NYT. We're living longer. We all know that.  I quoted  someone the other day, that there are more people over the age of 65 living today than existed in all the years previously on record. 

That's old news. Boring.  Now we're after the supercentenarians. In the whole world, that is, the world that can be recorded, it is estimated that there are about 50 people 110 years of age or older, more women than men, incidentally.  This fascinating age has recently been lowered to 106 to qualify as a supercentenarian, I suppose in the hope that scientists can get to them in time, as they are trying to do now, with inadequate funding, to gather DNA samples, to find out the secret code of their longevity, beyond good health habits and luck.

I read that there are three recognised stages to age, roughly measured.  Say, 55 t0 65, that's young old. age.  Then 65 to 75, that's middle old age. After that, 75 to 85, you've reached old age. We're into uncharted territory. In 1906 life expectancy was about 48 years- for men usually; women died younger then, in childbirth. Now life expectancy is about 80, longer for women ever since doctors learned to wash their hands before delivering babies.  God bless Louis Pasteur!

Old old age is anything after 86, I guess. I was at a meeting today, of retired, older people, and one woman said she didn't like that she has run out of a box.  She meant the box you have to check off in a questionnaire: Are you: 45 to 50; 50 to 65; over 65 (or 70)? Me too. And yet it's interesting.

I kind of want to see what happens next. 

 

not up exactly

The day after: life goes on. Another day to push my body through time and space, going home. I have packed my bag. Now I have to unpack my mind.

Well, the reading: it went. I have nothing but admiration and gratitude for actors who can pull something or other out of a hat, not necessarily a rabbit, but a living creature of some sort.  My play wasn't up on its feet. 'That was never the intention.  But the actors gave my words  - not wings, exactly - but they made nice noises, appropriate ones, for an audience of three, maybe four.

My daughter and granddaughter came, bless them, from Boston and Astoria (Brooklyn), respectively.  That's two.  A friend of the co-producer came. That's three.  The photographer came, and took pictures.  Does he count? There were a couple of staff people, I  think one the co-producer called an assistant schlepper, though I didn't see him schlep anything.  After the read, there was a talk-back. The co-produceer asked me a question and I answered, quite a long answer. We had a little champagne. 

Now I wait probably six or seven months to see if my play gets a full production. I doubt it will.  Several people commented on how beautiful my writing is. That's nice but it's not the same as enjoying the play, is it?

And that's all I have to say about that.  

Oh - thank you to my two commentators, two loyal, loving people who are biased in my favour.