When I was old I put away childish things
So the other day I ran into an acquaintance who said, “Whoa, you were a wild thing.” And I said, “Back in the day.” At this point the idea of dancing on a table top, tripping the light fantastic sounds like anathema. Oh my. Oh my.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, in his poem “Nature,” compares the old to a child who must “leave his broken playthings on the floor” and go to bed:
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
I’d say in the words of Rosana Rosana Dana – if it ain’t one thing, it’s another. But it’s always something. Until it ain’t.