"That is no country for old men," the poet W.B. Yeats wrote more than 70 years ago, referring wistfully to the country of the young. He was not so old when he wrote it, either, barely in his 60s, but he knew that his age automatically excluded him from much that interested him -- chiefly heedless sensuality at that point, although he did his best to keep up. If he were around today, however, he would find whole new tracts of country sporting "keep out" signs.
Things have actually improved greatly since Yeats' time, at least with respect to the shelf life of sensuality and the physical health and fitness it depends on. When it comes to interpreting those loaded terms "old," "elderly" or "aged," the bar has been raised irreversibly. Not only are people in all developed countries living longer, they are staying active longer. James Doohan, Scotty in the original "Star Trek", may be pushing the upper limit with last week's announcement that he is to be a new father at the age of 80. But in most other spheres, from work to recreation, people who just half a century ago would definitely have qualified as doddery tend to see themselves today -- and are generally seen -- as occupying the latter stages of a graceful and vigorous middle age.
So elastic has the concept of middle age become, in fact, that it is now virtually open-ended, a change registered in moves both here and abroad to raise the official retirement and pension-eligibility age. This mainly reflects the fact that, with dipping birthrates, the pool of financially dependent senior citizens is rapidly outgrowing the pool of workers whose taxes must support them. But it also reflects the accurate perception that the word "elderly" needed redefining anyway, and not just as a means of averting social crisis: The average 65-year-old today is simply not the same human being as his or her counterpart of 50 years ago. Most are quite capable of supporting themselves -- and indirectly, a few authentic old-timers as well -- for another five or even 10 years.