My time at the Nebraska Regional was super. Our team won three of the four Knockout Events, was second in a shorter “Compact” Knockout – then struggled to 13th place in the last day’s Swiss Team, although we were in second place with only 3 rounds to go. Still, our performance was enough to place each of our team members as tied for the best showing overall. We bridge players are competitive animals; this is our goal!
Arriving home was a bit tougher. My partner from Iowa City called to warn me that the ribbon of interstate from Omaha to Des Moines had a terrific traffic jam. “Go north on the smaller highways,” Billy told me. And – when my partner Billy speaks, I generally listen. I came upon the enormous parking lot after a bit, so headed north on “N36 Audubon”.
Fortunately, for someone who travels in unknown locales, I’m fairly good with directions. So, my calculation was to head north of the interstate, go east when possible – then join up with the interstate heading north. Ultimately, I’d find my bed and Mr. Mollo about 12:30AM.
Alas. Unfamiliar with tiny Iowa roads, I didn’t realize that N36 Audubon would be the only game in town. I didn’t mind the single lane (no one else was around) and the lush green landscape dotted with farmhouses and cows was divine. What was not divine, however, was when N36 began to curve west back toward Omaha! I wanted to get onto a new road heading in a superior direction. None were available.
I began to regret that I hadn’t stayed the evening with friends: “Don’t worry; it’s interstate almost from portal to portal” I’d gaily told them. Now I was driving 60 MPH back toward Nebraska with little clue where I was and darkness only about 40 minutes away.
Well. As you probably have gathered from this post, eventually I was blessed enough to come upon Highway 44, which did indeed hook up indirectly with the interstate and Minneapolis. All was well – except for arriving with Mr. Mollo and my bed at 1:15AM instead of a more rational 12:30.
When you’re in your mid-fifties, your body doesn’t bounce back like it does at 26. Nevertheless, at 9:30, I knew I had to get showered, caffeine up and face the world. All things considered, my brain seemed to work reasonably well throughout the day; today I’m fine with just a hint of fatigue in my step.
Age is a funny thing. When you’re young, you wish for more of it. Age delivers wisdom, experience, a resume, knowledge. When you’re older, you regret how little you appreciated the energy and exuberance of youth – not to mention a face without wrinkles and a body that didn’t absorb calories like a sponge on the desert.
How should we weigh age in a candidate? Should we turn up our nose at one who is younger and not battle scarred? Should we dismiss one who is in their 70′s as too feeble-minded, decrepit and worn?
Each of us must judge for ourself. Of course, the individual candidate’s personality, characteristics and beliefs must all be calculated into the equation, too.
McCain hails from an America that exalted service to country, and he is the scion of a military family who endured five years in enemy captivity and who preaches a mantra of personal honor and of the nation over the individual — “Country First,” as his campaign slogan declares. His wife is conspicuously reserved at his side; he does not communicate by e-mail and only recently learned to use the Internet; even his roguish sense of humor carries echoes of the more chauvinistic 1950s of his youth.
Obama’s embodiment of a newer America begins but hardly ends with the fact that he would be the first black president. In a country where people liked to know where you were from, Obama lacks a ready answer — he is part Hawaii, part Kansas, part Chicago. In a recent speech in Berlin, he declared himself a “citizen of the world.”
Youth and age have their benefits and burdens. No matter which candidate earns your vote, I advise that you appreciate the blessings of your age as you live them.