Me And Those September Years

Several years ago I took the step that landed me in what the song says are the September years of my life. I had happily traversed some four score of years without feeling a bit aged, enjoying the work with students, but with the day of departure from my work at the College the number of my years became suddenly an item of great interest to a bunch of people. They looked at me with questioning eyes, a look that found its way to their tongues, "Well I never".

True, I nevered either. Blood pressure a little on the high side. Pop a pill at breakfast and that was that. Never gave it another thought. But then I landed in the hospital. Flat on my back. My colon was the cause. It had grown a polyp that was too large for the doctor to remove in hbis office. Suddenly the blood pressure was of intense interest to doctors and nurses and to young ladies in uniforms learning how to wake a sound sleeper every two hours during the night to take a look at the numbers.

There came the 5 o'clock in the morning visit of the resident doctor in training. "How do you feel?" I felt fine but a good cup of black coffee would have made me feel finer yet. "You sure you're okay?" Yes, I felt fine. Just let me go home in time for lunch so I can cook a three-egg Western omelet.

At home and at work all went well until the news leaked out that my age was in the low eighties. Remarkable was the word of the adults. Cool said the young adults. Good genes said my doctor.

How do you feel, people ask, and I answer "Fine". That is true. I feel fine but yet there is a slowing down. We're getting closer to the October days. The old enthusiasm for the work at the College and at home is slightly diminished which is caused by the muscles. Not by the brain. The brain is still hard at work analyzing pieces of music I had not heard before. The brain is hard at work helping me to learn new skills as a retiree such as cooking a decent three-course meal for supper that goes beyond slapping a hamburger patty on the stove to be eaten topgether with the contents of a bag of chips.

The September of my years is sliding into the October of my years. It is a process that goes softly and much of the time unnoticeably because available amounts of time have a habit of filling up with things that need to be done. Some of those things I know from way back like running a vacuum cleaner. And some other things are of more recent vintage like cooking meals or straightening out the computer that went berserk when I, mistakenly, hit a wrong key.

The October days are a time for slowing down. Smell the roses. What is the hurry? It is amazing the things I see by the side of the road when I am walking, things that I missed entirely when I zipped by in my car. There is that row of crepe myrtles in full bloom. A few houses down from there are this neighbor's colorful patches of flowers that give life to his house. I hear the barking of dogs a few blocks away. The birds have lengthy discussions as they perch on tree branches. And I look at my bush with the snowball-like blooms that I planted some thirtyfive years ago.

This is a time of enrichment for the retiree, a time for me to enjoy the smells of summer changing into the smells of fall, followed by the sights and smells of winter. It is also the time for the grandparent to pay attention to and to enjoy his spouse, his children, the grandchildren, and the six great-grandchildren.

I am getting used to living the slower life of the October days.The poet Browning said "Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be....". I am beginning to understand more fully what this poet is talking about.

Alex H