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LAST TIME I WROTE at any length about being old, I wasn't even seventy-five. Now I am a few weeks short of seventy-six. The additional time has been welcome and enjoyable. It has been accompanied by some increase in aches and pains and minor, mostly intermittent, physical malfunctioning, which I accept as part of the character of longevity. Unfortunately, many younger people, mistakenly defining being old as a state of being unyoung, are less comfortable than I am about my winding down.
Walking, I sometimes need to stop and sit, breathing heavily. Compassionate strangers pause to ask if I am okay. I give assurances. I am touched by their concern (and impressed by ...