Evidence that a 60th birthday has Fran musing on change (and decay)
I am forty fifty oh-all-right-then sixty today. 'You're entering your seventh decade,' my (younger) sister wrote in my card, because that's what sisters are for: to cheer and encourage you. Some things belie your age, though, don't they, however hard you cling to your youth? The down-turn of the mouth; the crows-size-11-feet around the eyes; the appearance of elasticated trousers in the wardrobe due to the baffling disappearance of what used to be your waist but now appears to be spare cookie dough. Where do waists go? Are they with all the lost socks? I found something else which illustrated the passing of time recently. Our holiday list. I was packing for a mini-break with a friend: the first time I've been away for aeons. 'Where's the holiday list?' I asked my husband. 'What's a holiday?' he said, glumly. (Imagine Eeyore just after he's stubbed his toe.) Over the last 40 years, we've compiled a list so that our family di...