Bungalow Lil muses on old age

 On the whole old age is not as bad as middle aged people assume.   Do you really have to touch your toes?  gallop after busses and achieve a mind blowing orgasm on a daily basis?   I thought not.  

But people do die which on the whole they didn’t when I was younger, or if they did, it was children from cancer, heartrending.   Now its little old ladies in their dotage, it’s like leaves dropping off trees.  

There is one real dilemma that becomes more apparent with age and that is heaven.   There are those who can’t wait for heaven, have questions they are going to ask their dear ones, and think of all the news.

“Darling, do you remember the Allsops, you know Henry and that dreary wife? well after I’d buried you I had a rip roaring affair with Henry, utter bliss!” 

 There are some dear ones who I really don’t want to meet, but do I have any say in the matter? and who do I kiss first?   Husband one, Henry, my rather dull parents, or Cocoa, my adored terrier. They do have dogs in heaven don’t they?   And while we are on the subject of heaven, do I have to eat turkey at Christmas?  

 But the other group, ‘just pop me in the dustbin’ brigade, are equally challenging.  

“Darling, I couldn’t care a damn who gets the crown jewels, most of them have been lost, anyway”   so the family falls apart in internecine war fare on their death.

“Hymns?  Up to you but no jolly songs, they are quite deplorable.   And no trips to my favorite place to deposit the ashes, leave that to the undertaker please, they have special arrangements with the council” So that takes place for the moment of grace.  

 It’s the twenty years before to think about, to drive, or not to drive, drink oneself insensible for the hell of it, leave the gas on, fail to understand the central heating and forget the shopping list.   I find the answer is to go to bed and will myself to sleep through those moments of boredom ‘cos being old, if there is a drawback, it’s the boredom of it all.

But enough of that, think of the pleasure of reading a gripping thriller at nine in the morning because you can.   Think of the fun of having cheese on toast at three in the morning, followed by a good read and then sleeping to ten.   And the garden, creakingly bending down to gather a bouquet for the kitchen table, or to decimate the weeds with cans of spray, if you are like me and get the sprays muddled up, the weeds find themselves with a healthy dose of deodorant, so what, I’m old and who’s to know.   So hoorah for being old and long may it continue.

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