To the editor:

I once felt dismayed, appalled, even abashed thinking about becoming 86, no longer able to sprint, enjoy ten mile walks, or perform trampoline tricks.

But now I have changed, firmly accepting that I still have life, hardiness, sound mind, dearest companionship, and enjoyable activities of multiple kind.

For example, weekly I usually read a mind-capturing novel vicariously taking me to historical grandeur, mystery and surprise, or horror and hovel.

Daily I enjoy mnemonics, television, cribbage, and computer chess, even though at times my strategy and tactics seem a mess.

My dining adventures are always scrumptious, for Barb’s cooking is consistently ambitious, meticulous, and luscious.

Also, even though some of us are separated by many miles,

The Holy Trinity, my family, friends and former students paint my face with countless smiles.

Indeed! Indeed! Becoming 86 generates in me passion, enthusiasm, and zeal.

In short, my life seems constantly enhancing with aesthetic appeal.

So, to anyone who becomes depressed because of advancing age, I wholeheartedly contend that aging is an excellent life’s wage.

And to others saddened by cabin fever from the COVID Pandemic, I exhort exercise, proper vaccine, safe conversation, and being more epistemic.

— Wayne (“Red” or “Doc”) Mannebach


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