I walked into an entrenched battery once and got the shock of my life.

But Amos is correct. Ever since I retired better than five years ago my life has been a constant descent physically, mentally, and morally. Well, maybe not morally, but I threw that in because I like double Ls. But where I used to blithefully run the five miles to work and the five back I can now barely get out of bed in the morning. Because of various surgeries I am now addicted to general anesthesia. The number of pills I have to take (thank goodness not Viagra!) has increased exponentially. When I go to shoot targets at the range I can barely lift my .22, much less place a round in the black any more. Rheumatism has forced me to give up placing my elbows on a wet bar. I no longer stand under the mistletoe as my lips, strengthened and exercised by years of trumpeting, are no longer as fit for it as they once were.

Alas! But my old friend Bill saw it coming:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.