Dogs don’t think about getting old, do they?
Jesse on a bed near Galway, Ted on a bed in North Yorkshire, Laika at Lough Corrib and Joey relaxing.
Any one who can convince me that growing old (gracefully or otherwise…) is a wonderful time of life deserves a prize…ok…ok – Saturday was just one of those days…
and I am quite sure there are a good few grannies out there that have felt the same…
So – yes we all know it – the alternative is the dark side of nothingness… and oh yes and growing old is a privilege… was it Groucho Marx who said “growing old is what you do if you’re lucky”
But, and there is a little but…
It is undoubtedly quite hard being positive all the time – I know with certainty that’s the only way to be…for after all, on any other route lies the road to madness, any other direction leads to depression and being unhappy in one’s skin…it leads to no one wanting to be with you because they can do nothing about your negativity and don’t want to hear about it…it’s a bit like other people’s holiday photos – after the first moan, after the first few snaps you just want to go and get another drink…
The phrase ‘geez why doesn’t she get a grip and go and do something helpful, worthwhile, giving…? Try and be a sun to me and not a weary insistent personality…’ comes to mind.
It’s good to be strong and have a positive outlook on all aspects of life – someone who deals with whatever comes their way with fortitude… don’t know what that is anyway, and may never have had much in the first place, but I am very sure, like everything else, it will diminish with advancing years.
It must be wonderful to be that cheering soul who brings light into a darkened room, someone who can warm the heart of even a total stranger…we probably all are lucky enough to know or have known someone like that; but sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if it’s ok to look in the mirror at one’s face resembling a crumpled paper bag, be forced to acknowledge the ravages of time and see impending old age and decrepitude and then wallow in self pity for a day or two? (Make that an hour or two…)
I always thought my go to place for serenity and peace and calming of the soul would be the coast. I now realise that if I ever did get to a beach – I wouldn’t be able to sit on the sand without a chair, because how on earth could I get up again? I know I should be concentrating on the fact that at least I can still (post covid) drive to a beach…
Himself reminded me this morning it was 7 years ago this weekend we went to see Joe Bonamassa – a blues singer – in Lyon… I would have said three or four at the most. I thought – we could easily not be here in another 7 years…I certainly wouldn’t be going to any blues concerts. Would I? Who knows, aren’t all things possible and shouldn’t we dwell on possibilities?
It made me wonder… funny how enjoyment has a different meaning as I get older. I’ve always known the more you put into life the more you get out of it – but now I km worried to find I don’t seem to have quite as much energy to put that much in. Hasn’t it been wearying trying to stay positive through the awful times of the Covid pandemic? Can’t just be me, can it?
My quote for this week resonates for me somehow, and, like my photos, it gives me a lift.
Read it and rejoice, I say – if I can still write and my readers still read, then we should all be thankful!
“O murmuring heart, thy pleasures may decay,
Thy faith grow cold, thy golden dreams take wing;
Still in the realm of faded youth and joy,
Heaven kindly leaves some bird of hope to sing.”
~Albert Laighton (1829 – 1887) ‘In the woods’ c 1859
PS I’m not sure about the ‘murmuring heart’ bit – sounds as though my pills for tachycardia aren’t working
and Happy 70th birthday to my sister x