My Photo
Location: United Kingdom

Yes...this is ALL about me, and mine. Marvellously self indulgent, feel free to tell me how splendid I am, leave comments, nice ones please, I have little kids and teenagers who can do the rude stuff. I am a grandma, to the glorious Joshua, I'm allowed to look frazzled and weary, I earned it. The older I get, the more I see that hanging on and being patient is worth it! They ( whoever 'they' are) are so right when they say you never know what is around the corner, it isn't always an articulated truck! It is vital to make the time for making memories, friends are the greatest treasure, I love mine. I am rich!

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

It's an age thing.

It's actually rather splendid getting older, I admit that the chin whiskers would take over if I wasn't on constant beard watch, the grey in my hair is a sweet memory and when I leave my hair undyed for longer than 3 weeks I see that actually, my hair is snowy white now, lawks. That's not something that fills me with much joy but on the whole, getting older is quite lovely.
I was putting my pyjamas on the other night ( still know when to do what, that's a plus) and I always put the top on before the bottoms ( riveting, I know) and I pulled my pyjama pants on and as I looked down, blow me if the top wasn't tucked in the bottoms, like some dear old lady determined to hold it all together and rather than feel horrified I was actually quite happy as I thought to myself " Not long and you'll be able to get away with that, in the day, outside, in public"
When I was young, I would look at older ladies, with their stretchy waisted trousers and slip on shoes and wonder what in the world had happened, no-one in their 20's or even 30's thinks that elasticated waist polyester trousers are OK. Ever.
Yet look around and you will see old ladies wearing them with such pride, some with creases ironed in, the very posh older lady will wear those skirts, of a certain flowery material, in vibrant pinks and purples that no-one under 50 would ever dream of wearing. Is there an old lady shop that I don't know about because I swear I haven't ever seen those skirts in a shop, ever yet so many older ladies have them.
I adore old ladies, I do, I love to see them walking through town and I always want to talk to them and ask them their stories and I rejoice in their ability to wear their shirts tucked into their stretchy waistbands.
I don't mind at all hurtling towards being a member of that club.
I think my ovaries are having a last hoorah, I find myself for only the second time in my life, so painfully broody. I feel as though I want one last baby, especially a baby girl, one with curly hair and big brown eyes. Oh what a beautiful baby she would be.
I think, also, that the desperation is stronger because I can't have any more babies. I am sure that if H hadn't had a vasectomy and I wasn't so old and creaky, I wouldn't give having a baby another thought. If the choice was there, I probably wouldn't want one. Probably.
I am just indulging my feelings by thinking of how lovely it would have been and not telling myself how this poor old body would collapse if a new person were to grow inside it, never mind have to look after a baby again.

I find, also, as I get older that the need to tell other people how to live their lives is almost overwhelming, especially famous people. I read all about these youngsters splitting up and moving on to the next 'love' 2 weeks later and I want to bang their stupid heads together.
I even think in sentences that start with " now listen here!" and " what in the world?"
My sister called me the other day, she is 4 years older than me and she doesn't have little children to help her think she is younger than her 50 years, so she called me to tell me, with both horror and pride that as she came out of Asda, she saw some hoodlum throw his empty pop bottle on the ground. She said before she knew what was happening she had picked it up and was running behind them saying " EXCUSE ME!!! HEY! You dropped THIS!!! HEY!!! Come back here and put it in the bin!"
She told me how the other part of her head was yelling at HER saying " SHUT UP! You stupid old bag, they'll turn around and beat you up..what are you DOING! You are making a holy show of yourself!" But that other part, the one that was actually yelling after 2 young men, just kept shouting and running after them. Even when they turned around and said " Wasn't me lady" she said " YES , yes it WAS because I SAW you! Put. it. in. the. bin!"

I am considerably less willing to deal with drama and nonsense. The longer you live, the more you learn what is really important, the easier it is to walk away from situations that are getting you nowhere. Life is so short and it's such a shame to waste any of it in futile pursuits.
Life is about giving and gaining good things, knowledge and friendships, memories and joy.
Perhaps it's because I will be 47 this month I am noticing how my place in life is changing, how the things I find important are so different to those that mattered 20 years ago.
There is such joy in the smallest of things. Time is more precious and what I do with my time seems to matter more.

It's not all bad getting older, especially when you think of the alternative!



Blogger TN said...

Hi Helen, I agree, it beats the alternative and it is rather splendid to grow older. I am 72. Here's a poem I have kept all these years.

Then I'll Be Old.....
When I was three, it seemed to me
I simply could not comprehend
the ancient age of twenty-three...
or any other age past six.

Of course, when all the years between
had passed, and twenty-three arrived
I realized I wasn't old at all,
But youth personfied.

And somewhere down the distant road..
lay forty-three, the sunset age of life,
When "young" was truly past
and "old" was firmly fixed, I thought.

But at forty-three, you see,
I scratched my head in disbelief,
because I knew I wasn't old,
and youth was still at hand.

Aha! Sixty-three! Yes, Sixty-three....
That's when I'll be old beyound recall.
At last the truth had dawned on me,
A man's not old 'till sixty-three.

Will I be old at eighty-three?
Most likely not, you see.
If I should reach that golden age....
still young at heart, I'll be.

6:22 pm  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home