Reconciliation

A friend recently pointed out that my blog is suffused with ambivalence. I assumed she meant between life and death. This I am not sure about but it could be implicit in the title: an ambivalence between the chronology of 75 and the instinct of  40. Thinking about her comment my head started to feel bigger on the inside than the outside Ultimately, I decided ambivalence was one of life's threads for everyone, sown in tiny backstitch along the seam of everyday. Like a good student, therefore, I write keeping the question - sorry, title - in mind at all times as instructed by my teachers those many decades ago.

Take television for instance. I watch rather a lot of it. I have favourites, usually detecting or other puzzlement situations. There is a drawback. Each series comes to its end, presumably so as not to bore the audience or to afford what is called in the North of England 'teachers' rest'. (Half-term down South.)  In this case it would be actors' and technicians' rest, I suppose. or even a fallow period for the sponsors. To me it presents a hazard. What if I am no longer able or around to watch television? As you must know, the series always end with a monumental crisis. There is a very good chance I shall never know what-happens-next. I can't see myself contacting the producers to explain my problem asking them if they would  be kind enough to spill the beans ahead of time. I would, of course, offer my absolute respect of confidentiality, swearing on my life never to divulge to another living soul. Oh Dear, there it is again. I can't swear on my life because that, (my life) is the lynch pin which supports my please-tell-me-now plea. I have grown quite sneaky in this pursuit. I switch on the computer and Search Engine the programme to see if I can devine the future. On one occasion this gave me an awful shock. One of my favourite characters is a lady doctor working at the turn of the century - the last one, silly, all Victorian pre-suffragette. On screen a numbered list of the episodes of the next series told me Dr O was scheduled to die. I spent a horrible period believing the end of the known world was on its way. Dear Reader, when it came to it it turned out it was her Father who was doomed. Since he had appeared only by refrence not by substance, I had formed no attachment to him. I let him go without a twinge and took my first full breath since I had first spied on the what-is-to-come. I am wrestling with how to reconcile myself to letting go what the rest of you are taking for granted. It's rather like knowing I shall never have a waist again while I watch the glorious young tighten their belts - really - and plan the hemline for next year. Or  giving up the race at the half-way mark while everyone else charges on to the end. Still, it is very pleasant to be able to enjoy half way, having had my turn at.  going all the way.  Prynhawn da