Want to stop worrying about memory as you age? Here's how.

"Give me the first letter," I say to the young woman at the check-in desk at my neighborhood health club. We had introduced ourselves at my last visit, but now I was stomped at her name.

She doesn't have to worry about remembering my name. A brightly lit computer screen, coaxed open by a swipe of my membership card, displays my photo and identity.

Also, she is in her 20's, as opposed to my 80's.

"D," she replies. Her face has a look of satisfaction. Our little quiz show brightens the 5 a.m. quiet.

"Dani!" I say, "Short for Daniel."

At age 84, my memory is in pretty good shape. But I don't leave it to chance. I have accumulated a handful of tricks to aid and bolster that part of the brain that taunts and frightens those of my generation. They are:

-As in my opening scenario, I'm not embarrassed to admit I can't remember someone's name. Even those younger than I stumble on recalling all the folks we encounter in a day.

If we've previously exchanged names, the first letter will send my mature mind meandering through the alphabet. In this morning's case, I didn't have to travel very far to come up with Dani. But in other quizzes, this trick gives me enough time to calm my worries and visualize the route of 26 letters.

-Place a Reporter's Notebook on every surface in your home. Mine -- wire rimmed at the top, 70-sheet, Gregg Ruled 11/32" -- sit on my counter adjacent to my computer. Also, on the space next to my fridge (grocery lists), on my TV table (Season, Episode, and paused point of current favorites), and at bedside where all sorts of ideas pop up, including this essay.

I prefer wire rimmed because it allows me to keep all previous notes, as opposed to Post-Its because those can mistakenly get tossed out. With my Reporter's Notebooks I can flip backwards to learn if a particular note has a history.

-Use both an electronic and paper calendar to record appointments and birthdays. This helps prevent a phone call from a friend that begins with, "Where are you?"

My iPhone calendar travels with me outside of my apartment. But once I book my next haircut on the device, upon arriving home, before shucking coat and shoes, I go straight to my paper calendar and repeat the entry.

-Write longhand in a journal every day. My time is 4 p.m. when I'm also listening to my favorite jazz artists and drinking my daily 4 oz. Chardonnay and lime sparkling water. (Yes, I measure. This essay should give you a clue to my rigid routines.)

Doris, my rescue dog, relaxes alongside me. This is her special time of day. We are nearly hip-to-hip. She loves my music selections. I am quiet, as opposed to pestering her with my babble.

I use a 5 x 8 inch, again wire rimmed, lined notebook to record the activities of my day. It is for my eyes only. I am allowed to also add tiffs, slights, accusations, and other lines that will never have a public viewing.

Along with being a most satisfying practice, I'm convinced that daily writing, in longhand, imprints memory in some part of my brain. I have no scientific proof of this. But again, I am 84 and I am composing this essay relatively easily. (The Reporter's Notebook at my bedside had been the recipient of the outline of this piece.)

 Now, having written all of this, there is absolutely no guarantee that in my time left on earth I won't develop Dementia, Alzheimer's Disease, or any other ailment that hangs over older folks' heads like the sword of Damocles. (Per a Google search: a real sword, hung over the head of Damocles in the palace of King Dionysius II, in the city of Syracouse, in Sicily, in the 4th century B.C. Nowadays, it is a phrase used to depict life's unpredictability and possible existence of imminent danger.)

-The example above is my final tip. Instead of fretting over an evaporated word, phrase, or cinema star's name, try posing "what is the word that...." to a search engine. You'd be happily surprised at how many other healthy adults have replicated your quest.

You're Never Too Old To Be A Mediocre Athlete. Here Are Tips To Help You Become One.

You're Never Too Old To Be A Mediocre Athlete. Here Are Tips To Help You Become One

On the day I celebrated my 84th birthday, I had another reason to revel. I completed eight laps in the small indoor swimming pool of my health club. I did not swallow water.

Others sharing the lanes zoomed from one end to the other. Instead of rising at that target like I do to catch my breath, they dive below, flip, and swim easily to the other side. I admire, but do not envy.

They are all younger than I. By their appearance --broad shoulders, V-shaped torsos, and muscled biceps -- I surmise they've been swimming since they were tossed in a pool as a toddler, or were enrolled in infant classes at their local YMCA's. I didn't learn until age 79. My achievement was hard won. It took me a lifetime to find a coach who could teach me the simple crawl.

I am grateful that I have been able to accomplish my mediocre style that keeps me swimming three mornings at 5 a.m.

I have a ritual. I pack the night before so there is no chance of abandoning my intent, or feeling rushed. I bring swim fins because that extra length allows for better balancing and force. I place goggles on my eyes BEFORE the swim cap. This reversal, which I learned by searching "How to keep water from getting in my eyes," leads to a chlorine-free experience.

If you, like me, have read reports that exercise leads to a longer life and mood booster, perhaps have had an ache to become an athlete, I offer other suggestions; some simple, others challenging:

-Reside near a health club or YMCA. I realize this may be impossible at this late stage, but if you're contemplating a move, or if you are deciding between living on your own, or settling in senior housing, I recommend this alternative. Preferably, you should select lodgings within walking distance of my suggested establishments. Avoiding transportation will ease your ambitions.

If your sights are set on senior housing, seek a facility that includes an indoor lap swimming pool and a gym.

-On the other hand, if you're not a candidate for senior housing, find a center that has younger people as members. I have nothing against my cohort, but when I exit my club at 5:30 am, the rush of youthful athletes coming in transforms me into a coed on a college campus. I am content in my age of 84, but I don't necessarily need to be around my category throughout the day.

-Starting my day at the health club brings a handful of friends who rise early, too. I can feel strips of leftover sleep dissolving, being replaced by delight. "Good morning." "Good to see you." "How was your weekend?" These swift, but pleasant greetings can eliminate the isolation seniors are warned about. Loneliness can be as menacing as a slip and fall, we're told. Younger folks who frequent my club are upbeat. That spirit modifies mine.

-Before you settle on one athletic activity where you can be contently mediocre -- such as swimming for me -- I suggest sampling a few. Here's my list of rejects: tennis, golf, yoga, running, Pilates, and weight training. I never reprimanded myself for being a dropout. Instead, I allowed myself to release, and to move on to something more palatable. Tell yourself it's an experience then attempt a different sport.

-Suit up. Don't borrow a friend's athletic clothing because you're reluctant to shell out shekels for an activity you may abandon. Treat yourself. If the sport sinks in your enthusiasm, find a charity that will recycle the tennis racket, golf clubs, yoga mat, swim fins, or other accessories. This way any incurred guilt for giving up will be tempered by your charity.