Friday, 22 November 2013


Earlier in the week, those of you with the necessary skills will have noticed an alert, other than my own, to a new blog post. I had come within a whisker of finishing it when the Wizard of Cyberspace waved a wand and the whole thing vanished. Disgruntlement has delayed my making good the loss but I feel strong enough this morning to have another go. I have it from a very reliable source that I must have touched the space bar. Well, of course I touched the space bar otherwiseeverythingwould have runintoitself. Anyway, please be good enough to keep your fingers crossed or light a candle to the Wizard or whatever voodoo best fits your hope application that he will allow me to finish this time. One more thought: where the D...l is the stuff 'saved' if it goes in to cyberspace at one fleeting touch?

I had written about blessings. It seemed a good idea because I have spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the diasadvantages of living in a body that is three score and many. It was/is about time I looked at the advantages.  Milk is homogenised. I no longer have to scrape a disgusting skin off my hot choclate. I don't have to eat my greens. What possible good can greens do for me at this stage? (Rhetorical: please don't send volumes of green-eating pluses though comments on anything else seriously welcomed.) I am more comfortable in my skin. I rarely feel slighted.. When I first started work at the local hospital, I was under a mentor who had a particular characteristic. Of ten proceedures I would get nine right and she would comment on the tenth. My bristles remembered how they used to feel but remained dormant. Presently, she stopped. Either I was doing well enough or she was bored with teaching me.. According to maternal advice one shouldn't wash one's hair on certain days of the month. I can wash my hair when I like. Come to that, there are no certain days of the month. There are no more aunts to write to to keep in touch or thank for presents; what my young used to call "Grandma letters". When I do write 'thank you' letters it is out of joy not duty. I can dye my eyelashes. This started when I used to have swimming-type summer holidays  and wished to have some definition of my eyes in this raw, wet state. People started telling me how well I looked so I have kept it up. Being vain at my age is very different from being vain at forty. I give the impression that I know a lot. I don't. My memory is very full of all sorts of information.When the old man in the archive can access it it does seem like erudition not just memory. I am braver. I can give my symptoms to a male receptionist in the Gynaegology Department  of the hospital without flinching, though I have to say, it is taking equal rights a bit far to instal a male in that situation. There you have it: equal rights.  Women knew their place until a certain number of years ago (.Mind you, an ardent feminist of my acquaintance at that period called her brother to remove the offering of a mouse the cat had brought her).  I was seen as a rebellious nuisance back then. Now I am just a liberated woman. Bora da
ps Made it. Publish quickly before You Know Who notices


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

In my experience of old age, the days go slowly and the years fly by. It's good to hear there are advantages