Hae Old, Ober

Recent pennings drawn from a new graph-paper notebook I am calling Micrographia (which is also a small-handwriting symptom of PD.):

November 19

I am sitting in the Charlie Card store, waiting for E-917 to be called. I am discouraged that they are mainly calling C numbers, with an A thrown in. A "D" would be nice. I am here to get my official Senior Charlie Card, entitling me to a subway fare of $1.00 instead of $2.00. Ah! They called a D. Anyway, it will make me a senior citizen in the eyes of the MBTA. This shouldn't be as shocking as it is, because I've been sneaking up on 65 for a year—or has it been sneaking up on me? (In any case, we met each other three weeks ago.) And people have been giving up their seats for me far longer than that — a courtesy that has gone from amusing to expected and sometimes required.  But this card is a new badge of old agehood. I'm not fooling anyone now.

There was an E! And 915 to boot. But now they're back to the C's. Funny how age matters, in a casual him/her versus me way. I'm more seasoned than him. She's in the prime of life. He's feebler. I'm ennobled by age. She feels freer than me. I disdain her callowness. Etc.

Should be soon. E-916 just got his picture taken. I'm trying to relax my hat hair...

Have I been here longer than is fair? On the other hand, it's affording me more writing time.

Any time now. I'm not getting any younger.

(Of course E-917 was called just after I wrote that punchline. But there was a further punchline! The Senior ID card bore the name HAEOLD OBER. I thought about having it redone, but decided to adopt HAEOLD, which sounds more like HOW OLD? than the derisive HAR! OLD! would have. And in Scots/English, hae old means "have old", which is probably good advice: "Hae old, Ober.")

Three city observations: Serial uproar of dead leaves flying and scattering in the wake of outbound D line train;

Pigeon shadows wheeling around me over and over like a crazy clock on the Tremont Street walkway along the edge of Boston Common;  

Three guys hanging around a Davis Square trash can, high-fiving each other's mutual appreciation of singer Barry White.