The Dread Pirate Dewey’s Guide to Graceful Aging, Part 1.

Well shipmates, I promised a stirring diatribe against the old*, but the cargo freighting my imagination on this topic requires a series of posts to fully unload. Let me begin though, with a disclaimer. “Aging ain’t for sissies” someone once said**, and so I’m not going to ossify my audience by describing the grossness of the elderly flesh that daily basks poolside before my horrified gaze. We all face the prospect of liver spots and hair loss; in fact, the strange goal of life is to become a doddering, diaper-glad fossil, so I’m not going to criticize those who have won at this game. I have found, however, during my recent foray into the gerontological world that is the Peqoud, that there are ways to age gracefully. Thus, while there certainly is some bile that this post will help my spleen expel, I want you, dear readers, to glean something useful from my brushes with those whose departure for the river Styx is imminent.

Allow me to begin by describing an encounter I had this very morning—an encounter, I might add, eerily similar to a dozen I have each day. Whilst seated at my desk, safely ensconced behind my well-thumbed copy of Moby Dick, an older couple entered the library and sat at one of the computer terminals. After a dozen or so minutes of ever-lowering brows, the male component of said pair waved me over. That is correct. He used his withered appendage to beckon me as one would a wayward dog or child. When I arrived and asked humbly how I might be of service, he answered rather tersely, “we can’t sign into our email account.” Now, many people have difficulty initially signing into the internet system that Ahab allows—it is expensive, slow, and of the poorest quality. And so I understand how people can become frustrated. These people, however, had managed to access the system and reach the sign in page for their account. They were stuck, I discovered, at the page that verifies your identity when in unusual locations. It seems they could not remember what they had answered for their security question. I explained this to them. The female then sternly demanded, “well how are we supposed to sign in?” I explained once more how the security system worked. I then waited with a look of “sympathetic concern” on my face as they once more attempted to gain entry to their account. When they failed, the woman stated triumphantly, “see, we keep getting this page.” “Hmmmm, yes,” I said, and then proceeded to explain again just what was being asked of them. After a few more minutes of this ever-so-useful exchange, I suggested they consult our internet manager and found an excuse to slip away.

The lesson I wish to draw here is not that old people are bad with technology***, but that there is a way to gracefully deal with such frustrating situations: be patient. Relax. I savour those elderly people who approach the mysteries of the digital with the stoic reserve befitting their age. My main point of advice, in fact, is about this sense of stoicism, this dignity that is the cornerstone of the good life. When you confuse raging against the dying of the light with acting like a child because you have forgotten your own password, you surrender any dignity you might once have earned. And thus, you act ungracefully and disgust your humble narrator. In my next edition of The Dread Pirate Dewey’s Guide to Graceful Aging, I will touch upon this theme of dignity as it pertains to proper manners and the treatment of friendly librarians, but for my next post, expect a photographic journey through the best and the worst of cruise ship uniforms.

* And their old people ways.

** Winston Churchill I think.

***For the record though, old people are bad with technology.