Evidence that even at her age Fran is still experiencing rites of passage
I guess you could call it a rite of passage, the first time you squeeze the toothpaste onto the plastic back of the toothbrush and not onto the brush at the front.
It's a very different teeth-cleaning experience - not unpleasant, but odd nonetheless - so I'm not recommending it and it'll teach me to wear my glasses in the bathroom.
Is 57 still middle-aged, or am I sliding inexorably towards the autumn of my life? How long until I experience the rite of passage that is washing my hair with body butter or trying to apply shampoo to the hard skin on my feet?
A more significant rite of passage recently was my trip to Northern Spain with my daughter and her partner. It's over 20 years since I've flown so I was nervous and, after listening to various horror stories about imploding ears, had 49 fruit-flavoured boiled sweets in my hand luggage. As the plane lifted off the runway at Gatwick, I sucked the sweet as though trying to extract its soul, my cheeks falling in like sinkholes, but my ears were fine.
So, I threw away 48 sweets on my return to the UK as they had all stuck together in one sugary mass and, as big as my mouth is, and as much as I love sugar, that would have proved a challenge and limited conversation all that day.
In Spain: another rite of passage. I climbed 132 steep steps to the top of a bell tower. This was predominantly as revenge on the Spanish clerk selling the tickets. He'd asked my daughter a question, nodding towards me. I didn't understand all the words but knew he was asking her 'Is this your mother? Are you sure she won't die? Shall I have an ambulance and helicopter on speed-dial?'
Never before, either, have I sat in a sunny Spanish town square for hours at a time, completing crosswords, reading novels, and nibbling the free tortilla that comes with the wine.
This compensated for the near-seizure I had climbing 132 steps just to get my own back on a Spanish clerk.
It's a very different teeth-cleaning experience - not unpleasant, but odd nonetheless - so I'm not recommending it and it'll teach me to wear my glasses in the bathroom.
Is 57 still middle-aged, or am I sliding inexorably towards the autumn of my life? How long until I experience the rite of passage that is washing my hair with body butter or trying to apply shampoo to the hard skin on my feet?
A more significant rite of passage recently was my trip to Northern Spain with my daughter and her partner. It's over 20 years since I've flown so I was nervous and, after listening to various horror stories about imploding ears, had 49 fruit-flavoured boiled sweets in my hand luggage. As the plane lifted off the runway at Gatwick, I sucked the sweet as though trying to extract its soul, my cheeks falling in like sinkholes, but my ears were fine.
So, I threw away 48 sweets on my return to the UK as they had all stuck together in one sugary mass and, as big as my mouth is, and as much as I love sugar, that would have proved a challenge and limited conversation all that day.
In Spain: another rite of passage. I climbed 132 steep steps to the top of a bell tower. This was predominantly as revenge on the Spanish clerk selling the tickets. He'd asked my daughter a question, nodding towards me. I didn't understand all the words but knew he was asking her 'Is this your mother? Are you sure she won't die? Shall I have an ambulance and helicopter on speed-dial?'
Never before, either, have I sat in a sunny Spanish town square for hours at a time, completing crosswords, reading novels, and nibbling the free tortilla that comes with the wine.
This compensated for the near-seizure I had climbing 132 steps just to get my own back on a Spanish clerk.
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| Fran and her daughter in front of their recycling pile |
You can still count yourself as MIDDLE-aged if it's plausible that you might be alive at double your current age. So, 57 x 2 = 114 . . . maybe. You'd hold the title for the world's oldest person, but I have faith in you that you can do it.
ReplyDeleteGreat photo -- looks like you both were having fun!
Thank you for your faith in me, Debra, that I will live that long, even though you've read my blog posts!!
DeleteI figure when we've lived fifty or sixty years (or more) there's just too much information stuffed into the ol' brain; it's only right that some has to fall out and make room for new things, and sometimes the wrong thing falls out. As long as we KNOW we did something weird, we're okay. It's when we don't realize it that we're in trouble, and of course at that point we won't care. It's all good!! (denial denial denial)
ReplyDeleteHa ha - I'm so glad that process doesn't actually happen for others to see ... ('Oops, there goes my phone number, straight out of my brain, through my ear, and onto the floor! Bounce, bounce, bounce, and it's disappeared. Aaaaand ... something else ... yep, that's my grandchild's birthday ... bounce, bounce, gone.')
DeleteAh! A Senior moment. I've had several of those, the most recent being yesterday when I made a cup of coffee, put it in the fridge and carried the carton of milk to the table (*~*)
ReplyDeleteBrilliant! I'm always having to throw away drinks I've made for my husband (who only drinks decaffeinated) because I forget (that he only drinks decaffeinated).
DeleteI'm quite a bit older than you and sorry to say there will be lots more of those 'rites of passaage' to come lol.
ReplyDeleteBut you are only slightly confused!! So how does that work?!
DeleteI exaggerate!
DeleteTrust me: You're sliding inexorably not toward the autumn of your life but toward the winter of your death. I know because I am 60 and I've turned into a bigger blithering idiot than I've ever been before. My son was here Saturday afternoon. He mowed my lawn, which I have no hope of doing and I also would not attempt climbing a bunch of steps in Spain because I'd sit down halfway up and never move again and people would probably step on my fingers and toes when they pushed past me and there would be such a fuss when the fire brigade arrived to toss me back down, and then the aforementioned son watched a couple of comedy "news" shows on HBO. I had to go in my bedroom to lie down because the people on the TV were talking too fast and I couldn't keep up, not even with the help of the subtitles. By this time next week I'll probably be pushing up daisies so this is what you have to look forward to, and look--I've just ended a sentence with a preposition and that's part of the horror of being 60. Good luck, old girl.
ReplyDeleteLove,
can't remember my name
Janie, your comments are the funniest. I love the picture of people stepping on your fingers and toes and then the fire brigade arriving! But, you're right, the idea of ending a sentence with a preposition ... I think that's when I'd book myself in for euthanasia. (Isn't it ironic that it's pronounced youth-anasia?)
Delete57? You’re a mere stripling yet. A bit of absentmindedness is endearing, no more. Also, you managed all those steps. Chapeau!
ReplyDelete