Gentle Reader ~~~ with deepening concern over the past few months, I have to accept that I am getting old. I don't feel old, in fact there is a raging twenty something, or maybe she's a thirty something these days, on the loose inside this decades older body of mine ready to party hearty and boogie all night long. {preferably to Duran Duran or Spandau Ballet and dressed as a New Romantic as I did back in the day when the intensity of hangover was commensurate to how good a time was had} ~~~ in my dreams, or maybe these days in my nightmares!
I won't give in, I am
not old, at least not until another grey hair or wrinkle arrives; or a muscle is pulled while washing the dishes; or arthritis starts to twinge as I turn a page of a book; or particular genre of television shows seems suddenly unappealing, or even begin to show more than a passing interest in Songs of Praise or the Royal Variety Show {I've always loved Mastermind and Gardener's World, so they don't count in my case}; I'm no longer adverse to a quick forty winks on a Sunday afternoon; and now I look in utter horror at how the youth of today walk around scantily clad even in the depths of winter; I whinge about change ~~~ None of these mean I'm getting old, do they? ~~~but then a few weeks ago, as night time temperatures started to drop, the evil spawn of a cruel and painful thought crept into my unsuspecting, possibly napping for a moment, brain. My guard had slipped and in came the thought, barrelling it's way into my normally very secure and sound reasoning youthful mind ~~~ a thought so dreaded and feared that resistance is futile.
Have you noticed how the country is being run by pre~adolescents and teenagers? I swear the policeman plodding the beat the other day was a Boy Scout.
To me, getting old means a lot of things, none of which I feel I have experienced or achieved yet, so don't take any notice of the last paragraph! 'Old' is what my Grandmother was when I was a small child, yet in reality she was just a few years older than I am now. You wore a twin set and pearls before they became fashionable vintage items; you wore your Sunday Best if you were going 'to town' for the day; you had a quarterly perm and a weekly shampoo and set because both were de rigeuer, and a blue rinse if your hair was white or silver; you wore make up only if going out for an evening; you listen to 'old' music {
okay, maybe I have that one under my belt}; you became less active; you watched "Coronation Street" because you related to Ena Sharples and Minnie Cauldwell and found Uncle Albert attractive in a worrisome way {
although today, admittedly, Corrie and Eastenders appeal across the generations, and I do not watch soaps at all}; you go to bed earlier, you get up later; you go to Day Centres where there are 'suitable activities for the elderly'; Bingo was not a fashionable gambling activity that everyone played but the domain of the elderly in those Day Centres; your slippers were tartan with turn up ankles and red pompoms; you tut tut tutted the 'younger generation' saying things such as "In my day ~~~" {
yikes, maybe I also have that one on under my belt too}; you sucked on boiled sweets and enjoyed jellies {
soft fruit sweets, not those dreadfully uncomfortable plastic shoes}, a 'night on the town' meant a Port and Lemon or a small, sweet sherry in the Snug at the local pub, never the main bar, and only if in the company of friends, never alone.
I never gave getting old more than a passing thought every once in a blue moon ~~~
So, there I was, happy as Larry {
whoever Larry is} first thing this morning over visiting on Guillaume's
Vraie Fiction {which I implore you go and take a look, using this link, to see a most beautiful picture of early morning England} and having a moment or two to spare I hopped along to
Octoberfarm following my curiosity to find out what exactly is an Inside~out Ravioli only to discover that the author addresses a similar feeling. Things that only seem to happen when we are
OLD ~~~ you can read her story too, following the link and I think some of you will relate to it too: you have been warned!
So, what was it that happened to me to bring on this sudden awareness that I am
old? {
speaks in whispers}
I like to read in bed. Now, that is nothing new, for as a teenager I was listening to
Radio Luxembourg or
Radio Caroline while I read
Bunty or later on
Jackie. However, two years ago a tiny doubt about getting old crept in when I treated myself to one of those big, fluffy, supporting, triangular cushions to give me more comfort than just a pile of pillows while propped up reading into the wee small hours ~~~ it did not go unnoticed by my brain that this was not something I would expect a "young" person to own and use, much less be as thrilled with it's presence and usefulness. However, all thoughts were quickly dispelled as I snuggled into the incredibly comfortable hug given by the generously amply pillow that wrapped itself around me offering such support to my back, neck, and arms. Suddenly, this became one of my best purchases ever. I had been very silly to think as I had done. Hadn't I?
Time passes, and with that thought gone, I was a happy bunny, warm, relaxed, and completely cosy, as I wandered through the realms of alternate realities with the amiable, sometimes not so amiable, companions and adventures provided by my choices of reading material ~~~
Until earlier this month when the night time temperatures started to drop to a chilly, late Autumn average. Now this is not a new thing, it happens at some point around this time every year.
Except. This year that dreaded thought of the most dreaded thoughts arrived ~~~ late at night when your guard is down and the black shadows prowl outside your window sometimes sneaking in between your ears, and the wind moans like a banshee down the chimney, and the rafters are creaking wildly as rain lashes against the window panes, and you find yourself nodding, half awake, half asleep, into your hot cocoa drink
~~~POP!!!~~~
There it was ~~~ there it came ~~~ from nowhere ~~~ that tiny voice that whispers in the night ~~~
"Wouldn't it be lovely to have a nice, cosy
BED JACKET!!!"
That's it. My youthful days are over. No point in trying to disguise the fact that I am not that far away from my Free Bus Pass {of course, much is happening in local government and the qualifying age may well be upped, or the Free Bus Pass even done away with before I get there} I have become my Grandmother. Next stop, Marks and Spencer {I'm too old now, I can no longer call it Magic and Sparkle} to the bed jacket department it is, no longer can I hold my head high and walk into River Island or even Dotty P's ~~~ I'm holding off, for a while at least, on the tartan slippers with pom poms and thankfully, I still don't care for Sherry!
You'd be amazed how toasty warm it is sitting in bed still reading at one o'clock in the morning wearing an old sweatshirt ~~~ maybe I can postpone the bed jacket and impending old age for a few more years then?
Until next time ~~~
Sincerely yours
Deborah xoxo
