Rambling with an Octogenarian

 

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old,
they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” 
― Gabriel García Márquez,  1927-2014 – Colombian novelist, short-story writer, screenwriter and journalist, 

When I was young/younger, I warned my children and anyone who would listen, that I would not grow old gracefully. And  I have warned you in the past my blogging friends, how I shall be when I am old.

“I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves, And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.”

Jenny Joseph – Warning

I love the idea of women growing older but not old. We all undergo several steps in maturing from infancy. These include childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, middle age, and then if we are lucky, we reach my age!  Each stage presents distinct challenges and as we move through them hopefully, we are learning and maturing, But growing old…

But just because we are getting older – and think about it,  every day we are getting older – we don’t have to be old. When I think of old I imagine an old person sitting in a chair doing nothing active. I don’t want to be that person. I have said in the past that I want to hike into my old age. Well, perhaps hike is stretching things, but at least I am walking and occasionally dancing, into my old age.

I look at these fashion icons over the age of 60 (sweet young things) and think that’s who I want to be who when I grow old.

So I will just keep on as I have been and then maybe when I’m old I can wear purple, with a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.

But for now, as Shirley MacLaine says:

“I think of life itself now as a wonderful play
that I’ve written for myself and so my purpose is
to have the utmost fun playing my part.”

And Audrey Hepburn says:

“The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she knows.”

And Judith Baxter says:

I will most definitely be outrageous, difficult and undignified,
but not until I am old.

 

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Vintage?

 

 

 

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Are you lucky enough to own a car like this?  I have never owned one that was more than 5 years old but can appreciate the beauty in this one and others like it.  Close to where we live is the world renowned Southwards Car Museum and I often used to take my son and later the grandsons there when they were younger.

Owners of these beauties really care for them.  They are certainly pampered.  Kept in a warm dry garage away from the vagaries of the weather; they are regularly cleaned and polished, their motors serviced; primped and polished they are very well cared for.

Well now, I’ve become vintage.  I too am kept in a warm dry house (rather than a garage) away from the vagaries of the weather.  I’m cleaned, polished and primped.  I have regular services, hairdressers, facials, manicures, pedicures, dentists and the occasional visit to the GP.

We all know that with regular servicing and maintenance, cars can perform well for many years after their manufacture and so I plan to keep up the servicing and maintenance of me.

Looking on Google for a quote as I have nothing in my many books, I came across this.

“Recent generations seem to consider ‘old-fashioned’ thinking
as out-dated
and without place in the modern world.
I beg to differ. After all, who has greater faith?
He who looks to and learns from the past,
or the man who cares not for consequence?”
― Fennel Hudson, A Meaningful Life – Fennel’s Journal – No. 1

Now off to find out some more about this author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Passing Strangers

“We seem like passing strangers now
Funny how things can change
We were so inseparable
Now you’re acting very strange….”

Are you old enough to remember Billy Eckstein and Sarah Vaughn singing this song?  Click here to listen to it again.

And passing strangers is how I describe all those great thoughts and ideas I have in the shower or driving the car that completely disappear by the time I am near a computer or notebook to jot them down.  It seems that I am brimming with great ideas for a post or a poem that I absolutely must write but poof, it wafts off into the great blue yonder never to be seen or heard from again.

And I guess this is one of the things I do dislike about getting older.  The mind is not nearly as clear as it was; things are not stored the way they were and the memory fails me at times.  I do remember wondering why my Mother would forget something that I had told her just a few days ago.  Now I find that my daughter is saying the same thing to me – But Mother I already told you we were going to be away this weekend or I already told you the boys were playing water polo at the Hutt Pool.

Do you ever find yourself seeking a word – a very normal, everyday word.  This happens sometimes when I am writing.  Luckily, I can go ahead with what I am trying to say and the elusive word just pops back into my head.  But all those great ideas are lost never to return.  So yes, they are like passing strangers

“I think age is a very high price
to pay for maturity”
Sir Tom Stoppard, OM, CBE, FRSL
British playwright, knighted in 1997.  1937 –
and
“Getting old ain’t for the fainthearted”
My friend Phyllis Mills 1914-2006 (?)

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• ‘It’s very nice it’s worked out quite so well’ – Parade’s End writer Sir Tom Stoppard modest about BBC2 record drama ratings (standard.co.uk)

Mr Nobody

Have you met Mr Nobody yet?  When we were growing up he was a regular visitor to our house and again when my children were younger, he was often there too.

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody’s house.
There’s no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody

‘Tis he who always tears our books,
who leaves our doors ajar;
he pulls the buttons from our shirts,
and scatters pins afar,
that squeaking door will always squeak,
because of this you see:
we leave the oiling to be done
by Mr Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
So kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There’s no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody

Walter de la Mare

And now I come to think of it, perhaps he and that Very Strange Old Lady have got together and decided that my home is where they want to co-habit, living  in blissful disinterest in how they upset my routine and my life.  I just wish they would find somewhere else.  Does anybody have a spare room for this awkward couple?

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• Mr. Nobody (whoneedsanap.me)

A Very Strange Old Lady

I have warned you in the past how I shall be when I am old.

“I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.”

I will most definitely be outrageous, difficult and undignified but not until I am old.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I looked in the mirror and saw this Old Woman looking out at me.   I just had to share this other poem with you.  I don’t know who wrote it or where it’s from but it just says how I felt earlier today.

A very weird thing has happened.
I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in.
I certainly didn’t invite her.
All I know is that one day she wasn’t here and the next day she was.
She’s very clever. She manages to keep out of sight for the most part;
but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her there;
and when I look into a mirror directly to check
my appearance, suddenly she’s hogging the whole thing,
completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body.
It’s very disconcerting.
I’ve tried screaming at her to leave but she just screams back, grimacing horribly.
She’s really rather frightening.
If she’s going to hang around, the least she could do is offer to pay rent.
But no. Every once in a while I do find a couple of dollar bills on the kitchen counter,
or some loose change on my bureau or on the floor, but that certainly isn’t enough.

In fact, though I don’t like to jump to conclusions, I think she steals
money from me regularly. I go to the ATM and withdraw a hundred dollars, and a few days later, it’s gone.
I certainly don’t go through it that fast, so I can only conclude that the old lady pilfers it.

You’d think she’d spend some of it on wrinkle cream.
God knows, she needs it.
And the money isn’t the only thing she’s taking.
Food seems to disappear at an alarming rate.
Especially the good stuff–ice cream, cookies, candy–
I just can’t keep them in the house. She really has a sweet tooth.

She should watch it; she’s really putting on the pounds.
I think she realizes that, and to make herself feel better,
I know she is tampering with my scale so I’ll think that I’m gaining weight, too.
For an old lady, she’s really quite childish.
She also gets into my closets when I’m not home and alters all my clothes. They’re getting tighter and
tighter every day.

Another thing:
I wish she’d stop messing with my files and the papers on my desk. I can’t find a thing any more. This is particularly hard to deal with because I’m extremely neat and organized;
but she manages to jumble everything up so nothing is where it’s supposed to be.

Furthermore, when I program my VCR to tape something important, she fiddles with it after I leave the room so it records  the wrong channel or shuts off completely.
She finds innumerable, imaginative ways to irritate me.
She gets to my newspapers, magazines, and mail before me– and blurs all the print;
and she’s done something sinister with the volume controls on my TV, radio, and phone. Now all I hear are mumbles and whispers.

She’s also made my stairs steeper, my vacuum cleaner heavier, all my knobs and faucets hard to turn
and my bed higher and it’s a real challenge to climb into and out of.
Furthermore, she gets to my groceries as soon as I shelve them and applies super glue to the tops of every jar and bottle so they’re just about impossible to open.
Is this any way to repay my hospitality?

I don’t even get any respite at night. More than once,
her snoring has awakened me.
I don’t know why she can’t do something about that. It’s very unattractive.

As if all this isn’t bad enough, she is no longer confining her malevolence to the house. She’s now found a way to sneak into my car with me and follows me wherever I go.
I see her reflection in store windows as I pass. and she’s taken all the fun out of clothes shopping, because her penchant for monopolizing mirrors has extended to dressing rooms.
When I try something on, she dons and identical outfit- which looks ridiculous on her– and then stands directly in front of me so I can’t see how great it looks on me!

I thought she couldn’t get any meaner than that, but yesterday she proved me wrong. She had the nerve to come with me when I went to have some passport pictures taken, and actually stepped in front of the camera just as the shutter clicked.
Disaster! I have never seen such a horrible picture.
How can I go abroad now? No customs official is ever going to believe that crone scowling from my passport is me.

She’s walking on very thin ice.
If she keeps this up, I swear, I’ll put her in a home.
On second thought, I shouldn’t be too hasty.
First, I think I’ll check with the IRS and see if
I can claim her as a dependent.

(sigh….. bet that strange old lady is on “her” puter too!) What’s a body to do??????