Rotarians support old people

Hi everyone,

The title of my post today is something of a joke. My Rotary club, although one of the youngest and most vibrant in the area, is primarily filled with white haired business people, close to if not over the edge of retirement. The rest of the clubs in Cork are even more so, thus making it ironic for the three clubs to get together every year and put on a bash for “old people” How is it we define old?

Tuesday night this week found me in a ballroom at the Cork City Hall setting tables and helping at the door. The food consisted of a variety of “English style” sandwiches on mostly white bread, complete with the crusts cut off, and pastry trays full of sweets. No one had made coffee so all had tea. The tables were set with paper goods and fabulous bright colored balloons. Overall the atmosphere was festive, if low budget.

At the door, my friend Colette and I were discussing whether we would come to an event like this – she said no and I said, “Of course! When the times come we all take our entertainment where we can get it.” The crowd was mixed, if predictably higher on the side of the feminine gender. Collette immediately noticed that some of the people didn’t look “old enough” to attend, and this is really where my musings start:

I am currently teaching philosophy and epistemology classes to doctoral students. These topics have made me “go brain dead” in the past, but for whatever reason I am now interested in and fascinated by questions of how we know what we know. For instance, two schools drop out immediately, do we know what we know from the external world and then we sort it out inside of us, or is it the other way around? My experience at the door would make a case for the later, woefully subjective as it is. A few years back I can remember thinking that young people in offices (sometimes my doctors) had become very young indeed. Now at the door supporting an “old people’s” gig I found our clientele for the evening not old at all.

What may count more than age is that, whatever the universe has in mind for our personal circumstances, we can always find “a good time.” Picture a ballroom full of people, some blind, some having few economic resources, some looking as spry and well put together as either you or I. The entertainment during their sandwiches is the excellent Cork military band. Afterwards they sing and dance to the sounds of a local musician playing what were mostly hit tunes or Irish classics. Women dance with women (I love that part), men dance with women, young people (sons and daughters of Rotarians) dance with old people. It was a gas!

One of the younger lads I met took pictures and has agreed to send them to me. If all comes through I’ll add pictures here in the future. But in the meantime, something that we all muse on at some point: What is age? How do we know it and what does it matter?

Love to everyone,

Alana