I actually have a two-volume copy of it, complete with magnifying glass, given to me by my great friends,  Dick and Sheri.  I've sampled its offerings on numerous occasions but have never regarded it as a "good read."  Ammon Shea, however, does so regard it, has read it from a (first letter of the English alphabet) to zzz (phonetic representation of snoring) and has written about the experience in Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages.  As I perused his report on little-known yet interesting and possibly useful words, it struck me ("Eureka"! as they say on the California coast, though along I-5 for some reason they spell it "Yreka"--and have you fans of palindromes and pastry ever noticed how the Yreka Bakery gets you coming and going?) that many of them were a propos of me and my senior compatriots.  Ever been vaguely aware of something but not quite able to delineate or articulate it?  Well, the OED probably has a word for it.

Let's first see what words we can find for the positive side of this advesperate (approaching the evening) stage of our lives.  By now we're garbists (adept at engaging in polite behavior), we're benedicent (benevolent in speech), and we've mastered the art of charientism (saying a disagreeable thing in an agreeable way); for example, we'd never dream of calling our grandkids mammothepts (spoiled children), even if they don't write thank-you notes for the gifts we've sent.  At this age, couples often show maritality (affection for a spouse) and enjoy consenescence (growing old together).  Some gallant geezers demonstrate frauendienst (an exaggerated sense of chivalry), and opsigamists (those who marry late in life) may pleasantly discover that marital happiness is still a possibility.  By dint of nature, Botox, or farding (painting the face with cosmetics), a few of us are ageresic (lacking the signs of age).  There's also a sense of independence among us.  We're no longer as sequacious (slavishly following others' opinions) or as elozable (influenced by flattery) as we perhaps once were, and women enamored with Jenny Joseph's poetry are often unabashedly porporate (dressed in purple).  If we are sometimes misclad (inappropriately dressed), we really don't care.  We tend to be matutinal (active in the morning hours), catch the early-bird special for dinner, and fall asleep before Leno or Letterman come on.  Few of us are jehus (fast or reckless drivers) or bother to pavonize (behave like a peacock).  We are comfortable in our niches.  A few are solivagant (wandering alone), but many find sympatetics (companions one walks with).  The tacturient (those desirous of touching) still get pleasure from holding their infant grandchildren and hugging their friends.  And we have stood the test of time.  As life winds down, we hope we don't experience indescinence (want of a proper ending), but in any case we know that in our lives we have demonstrated sitzfleisch (ability to endure in some activity) and will do our best to be pertolerate (endure steadfastly to the end).

Of course, at this age not all is rosy.  Physically we find some activities incompetible (not within the range of our competence).  Women may no longer be eumorphous (well formed), and men may be elumbrated (weakened in the loins).  The orally challenged may be xanthodontic (having yellow teeth) and suffer from xerestomia (dryness of the mouth)--though a few may exhibit sialoquency (spitting in their speech).  Both men and women are all too often micturient (strongly desiring to urinate) and sometimes must wiggle embarrassingly to achieve pissuprest (the holding in of urine).  Some experience obdormition (the falling asleep of a limb) and often must engage in pandiculation (stretching the limbs, either in tiredness or upon waking).

And, granted, when it comes to managing our lives, we sometimes have problems.  In the kitchen more and more of us tend to be petecures (those who cook modestly), and our refrigerators my contain lots of semese (half-eaten) foods.  Too often we may be ambisinistrous (clumsy, having two left hands).  Faced with learning new tasks, we may show atechny (lack of skill).  On the ballroom floor, we may balter (dance clumsily); in conversation, the hard of hearing may scrouge (give discomfort by standing too close).  Few are panurgic (ready for anything); some may be redeless (not knowing what to do in an emergency).  Sadly, we may experience indurization (hardening of the heart, either literally or figuratively) and, even among the happiest, few these days tripudiate (dance or leap with excitement).

Psychologically, we sometimes have trouble accepting the present and yearn for the past.  We realize that we've reached our paracme (point at which one's prime is past).  Some of us are just cranky enough to complain of a kakistocracy (government by the worst citizens) and become paleolators (those who show excessive reverence for that which is old).  Some are pejorists (think the world is getting worse) and expect not the optimum but the pessimum (worst possible conditions).  Some long for resipiscence (a return to a happier state of mind), often experiencing a desiderium (yearning for a thing once had).  More than a bit forgetful, we sometimes obganiate (annoy by repeating) or show onomatomania (vexation at having difficulty in finding the right word).  And we may have twi-thoughts (vague or indistinct thoughts).

But, hey, we remain capable of putting these sometimes vexatious problems aside.  Take it all around, most of us still have felicificability (capacity for happiness) and vitativeness (love of life).  Around the house, more and more things may be introuvable (incapable of being found), but away from home we still seek videnda (things worth seeing).  And we cherish the little things: apricity (the warmth of the sun in winter), psithurism (the whispering of the leaves moved by wind), and petrichor (the pleasant, loamy smell of rain hitting ground after a dry spell)--though I, for one, remain intolerant of being impluvious (wet with rain).

Which brings us back to the aging author of this piece, the vocabularian (one who pays too much attention to words).  He's still learning a lot of new terms--but perhaps he fails to recognize tacenda (matters best passed over in silence)?