Damn, it maybe should have read “gelding” scissors
I just turned sixty, such a shock, as I still wonder what I am going to do when I ‘grow up’. I always thought that, at this age, I would have mastered it all … sophisticated and well groomed and dressed, able to throw together a dinner party at short notice for a dozen people, witty cultured small talk, etc. Not a hope in hell … I still can’t do anything with my hair, look like I’ve got dressed in the dark (my wardrobe is a scream of fuschia pinks and bright blues), pretty much burn most things apart from salad and still get up and pogo and head-bang at any music event, a throwback to my punk days. Maybe in ten years’ time, at 70, I will have got my act together.
We were recently passing through a park that has those’ fitness bars and what nots’ dotted around. My French partner looked at me and said ‘No, don’t you dare’! The reason being a couple of years ago I decided I was still young enough to cavort on the parallel bars near a lake, result a very badly bruised nose, eyes and ego !
Still doesn’t stop me going on slides, swings and roundabouts when there are no ‘responsible adults’ around.
I had to recently be rescued from some rocks that were easy to climb but impossible to descend too …
As for grooming and cooking well I think maybe you must be my hidden twin Sandy ( I am a gemini)
Don’t count on it.
I am 71 in July and I am just the same person as always.
Sandy, there is a wonderful book I discovered some years ago called “The Girls with the Grandmother’s Faces”. I dont remember the author’s name, but it was well worth the read. We are already doing much of what she did, but you might get a giggle out of it. My 90 yr old mother says she still feels like a girl, and she calls her friends ‘The Girls’ still. They can giggle up a storm. Dont grow up! Simple! There is nothing that says we have to be other than our authentic selves. I’m 61 (recently) and the only thing that tells me Im this age (or maybe my body has a life of it’s own?) is that my body is on the rapid slide downhill to being 10 feet under. I abused it a bit too much in my ‘youth’…that time under the age of 50!
France’s most famous accordeon player… made it to 95, giving her last concert in 2011 at the age of 87… good for her
women have no staying power, you must be joking tim17 we certainly do have lots of staying power and dont give in .
Ha ha… Tim knows he is on dodgy ground…
What do we way to wayward kids… Santa’s making a list and checking it twice… or maybe “thrice” in Tim’s case… ooops
How many of us can claim to have “almost” saved our species from extinction… and she lived to a ripe old age… well done.
Sad to live so long… and to be so miserable…
To be honest, it can’t be much fun living somewhere like Chechnya
I cannot imagine being unable to find at least some moment of happiness in Life, no matter how simple, no matter how small. This lady has been miserable ALL her life…
Thinking about her at my kitchen table with a nice cup of PG tips (it’s too hot and close to sit outside), I tend to think she gets a grim satisfaction out of being miserable. For one thing, if she’s never known happiness, maybe misery is her definition of what others recognise as happiness, or contentment.
Telling other people seems to give her at least a little relief from misery, which is presumably why she is so forthcoming about it to strangers. If she denied getting satisfaction from sharing her tale of unremitting gloom, I don’t think she would be totally honest with herself. It might even raise a mirthless smile of recognition on her face.
Another curious thought occurs to me: I wonder if she’s ever been tickled and whether she giggled when she was?
There is a psychiatric term for the incapacity for happiness or satisfaction: ahedonia. But I’m not sure it has ever been demonstrated in a form that could be claimed as ‘pure’.
You’ve probably hit the nail on the head Peter. Perhaps, in a way, she enjoys her misery. (I’m not saying she may not have had a hard life… but… . )
In our commune, there is an elderly lady who loves to visit me… she starts off by doing nothing but complain about her family etc etc…(Poor things, they do not deserve this vitriole. )
Anyway, I know her story off by heart and let her blow off steam, then I remind her of how much she loved her dead husband… and ask her to retell the tale of how they met. That breaks the cycle of misery and, for a while at least, she is cheerful. She does giggle and laugh with me (no, I don’t tickle her) and she was probably quite good fun, in her youth…but she has got stuck in this merry-go-round of almost self-pity. Truth to tell, I almost dread seeing her nowadays… which is sad in itself.
OK 76 may not be very old… but he’s got the right idea I reckon…
Colette Maze, born 1915
I love the way her Home Help (aged 64) cannot keep up with her… and asks her to slow down…
“Dr Legg” … at 92