According to the late comedian, George Burns, "you can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old." Having turned the ripe old age of 80, there's no way of disguising it, I am chronologically old. Yet, I like to think I'm functioning on most cylinders. My hearing is one sensory function that has taken a nosedive over the years, and I have given in to wearing hearing aids. Some of the time, that is. Having purchased a set not even a year ago for the princely sum of $4500, I have already lost the originals, right ear and left. So, I keep the replacement ones in their charging device most of the time. That defeats the purpose of having them, one might say. Never mind. A friend of mine, who is the same age as me, tells me that the same thing happened to one of his hearing aids, so he keeps the surviving one in a safe, to be used only on special occasions. We are on our daily walk "around the lump" (Sheffield, England slang for block), my wife Alison, our little dog Lexi, and me. Walking down Aptos Lane in Stratford, Prince Edward Island, where we live, the Hillsborough River and the port of Charlottetown are clearly visible. "Look at all those smelt shacks on the river," Alison comments. "What's that? Something smells?" "Have you got your hearing aids in? No. I can tell. What's that I see down the road?" asks Alison. "It's that lady we often bump into with her two little dogs. Better hang on to Lexi tightly." Yip, yip, yip; yap, yap, yap, as the three little scoundrels lunge at one another, yanking on leashes. Bedlam, until we, the lady and ourselves, are well away on our separate paths. When we get back to the house and I start to take off my parka, I notice that I am wearing my hearing aid in my right ear after all. But, where is the one that should be in my left ear? It's gone. I backtrack by myself, against the odds, looking down at the ground all the way around the lump. I meet up again with the lady with the two little pooches. When I tell her that I'm looking for a hearing aid, no bigger than a quarter, she says she'll be on the lookout for it. Some chance of finding it. For weeks after, every time our paths cross, she makes a point of telling me that she still hasn't seen it. Short term memory (or is it absent mindedness?) has taken a hit also. In the house, I'll walk into a room, then say to myself, what did I come in here for? On several occasions, I'll do the grocery shop at the supermarket then realize, after the cashier has rung them in, that I've left my wallet at home. "Look after these groceries for me until I get back," I tell the cashier, who has a puzzled look on her face. I once drove all the way to the west of Summerside to deposit my two Cavalier King Charles spaniels with a friend, who had agreed to look after them while Alison and I went on vacation. I got all the way to my destination, a drive that took over an hour, before I realized I had left the dogs behind at home. I once lost my wallet in downtown Charlottetown. Someone at one of the stores on Queen Street found it and a week later tucked it under the floor mat at our front door. But not before I had gone to considerable trouble to cancel my visa and alert all the companies with whom I have an automatic payment arrangement of my new Visa number.To remedy the wallet problem Alison has bought me one with a chain on it that attaches to the belt loops of my pants, with the other end, the wallet, nestling in my pocket. Now, I always have my wallet, but in a store, I hold up the line of people behind me at the cash register as I try to untangle the contraption then feed it back into my side pocket again. Yes, hearing difficulty, absent mindedness and short term memory loss are signs that I'm getting older. But to return to George Burns, who, nevertheless, tells us not to get old, I prefer to smile and even write about it, rather than dwell on it. It isn't easy, though. Submitted by Roger Gordon   Submitted By: Roger Gordon