Wisdom and Age

                             Wisdom and Age

On one occasion, long after I had resigned my Fellowship at Clare College, I was lunching again with the fellows at college, enjoying the privileges of an ex-fellow (a rare species!) Remembering protocol, I took the next available seat at the common board, and found myself sitting next to the Master, Robin Matthews.

How he had aged! I remembered his selection and appointment in 1975, under the  chairmanship of the elderly Professor X (with the acute and generous mind of Charles Feinstein at his elbow). There was none of the back-stabbing and shadowy machinations described in C. P. Snow's "The Masters".  We first laid down the principle that the new master should be aged 50 years or over, to avoid the burden of having a 'dud' chairing the governing body for too long a spell. Nevertheless, the name of Robin Matthews drifted to the top of the list of 'possibles', even though he was only 49. Here he was, 12 years on, looking 70. I wondered briefly if he was suffering some curious condition that caused accelerated aging. 

Demonstrating his mastery of college table-talk, he turned to me, perhaps to show that he recognised me and remembered that I was a biologist, and he asked if Homo sapiens was the only species that lived so long after ceasing to be reproductively active. I was simultaneously grateful and taken aback. Was he also aware that he was aging? I tried to reassure him, by suggesting that, if indeed 'Man' was unusual in that regard, it might point to the evolutionary advantage of wisdom; that we were a species that benefited from and cherished its grandfathers and grandmothers.  

Is there a Wisdom of Age? It could be a special brand of wisdom. Like a collection of prized pebbles that a traveller picks up along the way, increased as much by the miles travelled as by the vigilance or curiosity of the traveller. 

I have recently acquired a few tricks that are peculiarly relevant to an aging mind, like writing things down, and paying special attention when I handle small but crucial objects like keys and mobile-phones. I have also evolved a new way of finding lost objects as an adaptation to weakening eyesight. For seventy years I enjoyed the role of family-finder. I could enter a room and sweep visually from two or three vantages, and spot the missing object before anyone else. Now the visual sweep yields nothing. I have to sit down and think; think where it was last used, think where it would be hard to see if it were in fact present (under something, or camouflaged, as a white pill on a pale carpet). But these are hardly 'special powers'; they are 'sticking-plasters' to make good my deficits.

I have evolved quite recently my own way of suppressing a cough. A lozenge offers some relief, as also a sip of water. But my new method require no equipment. You must, yourself, at some time have experienced the agony of struggling with a cough during a concert? This goes away back before COVID, away back to childhood. It may be especially the experience of a sensitive child with a weak chest and parents who enjoy chamber music. The cough in question is the 'dry cough', the unproductive cough that seems to do nothing for the cougher, but to be solely to the benefit of the virus and its progeny. I was intrigued with the idea that the virus had found how to trigger the cough reflex, and I think I found a possible (even probable) mechanism. (See my post "https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2021/11/the-cough-reflex-and-its-role-in-virus.html") However, my discovery of a way to thwart the virus owed nothing to my research. It was discovered by pure serendipity.  I put my hand loosely over my nose and mouth, perhaps with the idea of containing the cloud of virions, and breathed partly through my mouth. I was surprised to find that the compulsion to cough faded to nothing in 30 seconds. I suppose in the space confined by my hand the air became enriched in CO2 and water vapour an a little impoverished of O2; that may have affected the pH of the surface layers in the throat, but in large part that does not matter. 

I have tried to interest others in this device, purely from a love of mankind, but do not think I have succeeded in making converts. That does not worry me unduly; I am able to enjoy the benefits in my own small way.  This, I think, qualifies as one of the benefits of having lived beyond the period in which I was reproductively active. 

Another recent discovery which I am inclined to regard as an example of the 'wisdom of age' is my new method of drinking wine. This, also, I am keen to share, in my rôle as educator and philanthropist. Knowing how I came by this new method is unimportant. But I am inclined to let it be known that it was as much to do with my health as my pocket book. Ever since my brief experience of exercise-induced angina pectoris, the doctors have been asking me to declare the units of alcohol drunk per week. As I had a small German 'tasting glass' marked 100ml just below the rim, I resolved to limit my intake of alcohol to 100 ml of red-wine at lunch and the same again with my evening dinner. Essentially 2 bottles a week. That discipline brought its own rewards (smugness, largely) but that was not the main point. For I discovered that, by taking tiny sips, I got just as much gustatory pleasure as had I found with decent gulps of wine. I can now sip away at 100ml for the best part of an hour. 

We had a young man and his mother round for a glass of wine and a chat the other day. I was astonished how quickly his glass required topping up. So much so that I found it more convenient to park the bottle his side of the table. As they were leaving, I shared my new tip; "small sips are as rewarding as large gulps."