I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Hmmm, as I stare down the undeniable landmark age, will you humour me as I make a few declarations?
In only a few weeks I will reach the landmark age of 60. This means that I will likely have to change the name of this ongoing post series to Now That I Am Old. But for now I will continue to indulge myself and imagine how I will behave in the latter years of my life.
When I grow old…
I will opt out of the at-the-speed-of-light pace of modern living. Millennials can take my place in the never-ending race. I will watch contently from the sidelines, shake my head with an old man’s hubris and wonder where they all think they are going in such a confounded hurry.
and wear the bottom of my trousers rolled…
I will not be concerned each day with how far down the “To Do” list I make it. In fact, I may not have a “To Do” list at all. I rather like the idea of rising each morning with the knowledge that I can choose to do nothing of significance and still call it a successful day.
When I grow old…
I will ignore impatient drivers when they honk at me for having the audacity to take my time responding to the green light. In fact, I might just slump over in the seat and pretend I am expired just to perplex and dismay my adversaries.
and wear the bottom of my trousers rolled…
I will steadfastly decline to get on board with the latest technology that is supposed to make my life easier or more productive or more exciting. Ever the technology Grinch, I will go old school wherever possible and declare that everything ridiculously old is new again and ever shall be.
When I grow old…
I will spend as much time as my aging body can manage roaming meadows, marshlands and woodland trails immersing myself in the endlessly fascinating dance of nature and all its wondrous creatures. My social skills, never my strong suit in any case, may atrophy as I become fluent in the language of the woodlands and choose it over the language of mankind.
And wear the bottom of my trousers rolled…
I will embrace the over the hill metaphor by sitting on the proverbial hill soaking up the sun and watching contentedly as the world rolls on. It will not concern me that life is passing me by because I will have done my time playing by the rules.
I will be a reclusive, peculiar old fart stuck in my ways and deliriously happy being so. And, of course, I will at long last have my trousers rolled just as T.S. predicted.
~ Now Available Online from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet
~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.
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Tags: metaphor · Michael Robert Dyet · old man · T.S. Eliot · The Love Song of J. Alfred PrufrockNo Comments