It was my venerable mother-in-law’s birthday again this week. I say ‘again’ as these celebrations seem to come round ever more quickly. The years probably pass even faster for her. Tired of fuss over her longevity, Wynne now chooses to age backwards, losing a year annually.
Like Prince Charles, I’m facing my Biblical three score years and 10 (in 2019). Oh, you wouldn’t think so? That’s very kind! What hurts is when people just nod after you’ve revealed your age.
Glamorous She Who Knows, on the other hand, looks great and has been mistaken as my daughter. Her sprightly gait and fresh comp-lexion owe much to that clean living she attempts to teach me. I, sadly, courted my well-seasoned looks: enjoying a pint, or savouring wine; always clearing my plate, while never known to rush anywhere.
When I once limped into my doctor’s surgery – years ago – sporting an injury from the squash club; he quipped: “What happened? Did they ring last orders and you leaped too quickly off your barstool?” Really!
Anyway, I shall share with you my lifetime’s sagacity about the ironies of ageing. (Also see my ‘Growing Older Book’.)
We’re in such a hurry when young to be older that children telling people their age add, “and a half”, or even “a quarter”. Only later – in my case when I ceased to be a teen – do we anxiously wish to slow down time.
In the end, you only get the opportunity to make the most of life when you’re considered past it. Also, just as you do acquire that long-dreamed-of free time to indulge yourself, you’re warned to cut back on everything.
Still, as veteran entertainer Maurice Chevalier once wisely observed, “Growing older is not so bad... if you consider the alternative.”
* For Roy’s books, on Kindle or in paperback, see royedmonds-blackpool.com