Sometimes I catch myself and wonder what I might look like should I reach a ripe old age (dependent on what the definition of a ripe old age might be). Then I remember my paternal grandfather, born in 1898 (and dead by the late 1970s), and it occurs to me that I'll possibly look like him more than anyone else.
His name was Evelyn. I remember him, as an old man of course, whereas I was a child. I do remember his eyes being full of spirit as much as his body was weary, and I can but hope.