2011

It is a new year—2011—and I think this might be the one. On New Year’s Eve I ordered a glass of wine and the server asked me for my ID. I was a bit shocked but happily acceded. After all, I haven’t been asked for proof of age in over forty years. And my gray beard and age-cut lines bespeak do not suggest some masquerade. I received my pinot noir and looked at the menu. There, at the bottom of the page the following was printed: “We ask for identification for anyone who appears under the age of 50 years old.” So, I thought, is it possible that I do look under 50? My daughters say, of course, but they have ulterior motives, though I do not know what they might be. I am not asked for identification when I request a senior ticket at the movies or the theater, and so I assume for their purposes I certainly look beyond sixty years of age.

So I anticipate a good year, one in which I will alas, grow older—even beyond fifty years of age—but one in which I will only appear to be some ageless fifty year old.

For New Years I watched Monk, a police consultant with a serious case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The episode I viewed starred John Turtorro as Monk’s brother. He suffers from agoraphobia and has not left the house in . . . 32 years. I like when the really neurotic people catch the bad guys.

Beethoven has been much on my mind lately. He has also been much on the radio. Yesterday I listened to thee magnificent recording of Daniel Barenboim’s performance of the 4^th piano concerto, and right now plays Beethoven’s Piano Trio, #7. I have read that Beethoven was not always the most pleasant of men, but he carried about with him the most beautiful sounds.

And public schools go back into session today after Winter Break. It’s a long haul until Spring.