Saturday, April 02, 2016
Lux (5) was explaining to Cecilia (3) how everything moves on and everything dies: "Even I will be dead and gone one day, Cecilia. And all the things that are past are in the memory box. Like my memories of when I was four. That was a happy time. And now I'm five, I have to understand more things and it's harder."
I'm 66 and I feel just the same. But I would like to be five again and get out of bed in the morning and walk downstairs for breakfast without being aware of my body in any way.
It needs focused, concentrated effort to ignore all the twinges that signal its deterioration, as well as cultivating positivity and hope in the face of the current state of the world. That's why having something that absorbs me completely - playing with the children, writing a sitcom, or trying to cycle to the top of Longstone Edge without getting off my bike - is such a blessing.
This isn't meant to be another whinging post, more a recognition of what's involved in being a cheerful older person. I told a friend recently that I was looking forward to being 70 because I'd feel able to sit by the fire and knit or read on a biting afternoon and not feel compelled to do anything more creative or energetic. But actually, I don't think that will be possible because of my mother's genes. I remember ringing her up one teatime when she was ninety and she said she felt awfully guilty because all she had done that afternoon was light the fire, read the paper, and do the codewords.
And now, for no reason at all, except that I adore it:
Posted by Sue Hepworth at 7:16 am