Lucid thoughts
of an Nonagenarian
by Ian Curtress
Let me say at
the beginning, real old age has nothing going for
it, certainly not if one retains most of one’s
marbles.
Putting two legs in one trouser leg may be
hilarious on stage but when it is brought about
by the combined actions of uncooperative joints
and indifferent balance, the humour is lost.
Shirt button holes intentionally made
fractionally smaller than the buttons to allow
the passing of a considerable part of the morning
in dubious dexterous activity.
Then the joy of trying to reach one feet. They
are down there I know because that’s where
your socks fit.
Socks infirmly grasped in thumbs and fingers but
feet moving further and further away. If you
carefully bend your neck you can watch them going.
B. mindedness is a great asset and a last resort
which often works, as on this occasion and we are
ready for the slipper shoe horn event.
Just how do the manufacturers achieve the top of
the heel to collapse after two or three weeks use.
In spite of amazing ability with a long handled
shoe horn, the moment slipper detects heel it’s
foundations fail.
Perhaps it’s to keep us occupied between our
frequent little trips, known as the Eastbourne
Effect.
If you have made it until eleven o’clock you
are prepared for coffee.
Why do they call it Instant? I’m lucky if I
am drinking it in thirty minutes, and that’s
with giving up the Chocolate Suggestive.
At least one doesn’t have to get outdoor
clothes on, as those days are gone. I’m
reminded of my Bus Pass days. This will strike a
cord.
If you found yourself the only one at the bus
stop, the drivers eagle eyes will detect you and
know you will take a while entering his bus. He
will look the other way as he carries on. The
drivers used to call this practice The Bus Pass.
If you did make it on and survived the pushchair
across the front seat you endured twenty minutes
of Little Tommy running up and down playing robot
wars.
The reason for your journey was inevitably your
entertainment of the week. The outpatients visit!
Now I remember the time when human beings used to
welcome you checking in, (after not finding you
on the list for fifteen minutes) but now you play
space invaders with a robot who asks you for a
complete CV except for birth marks.
At least from my experience the medics are “old
school” understanding, overworked and not
appreciated.
But being an Nonagenarian is not all bad. You
have been granted longer to see you family grow
and achieve. Longer to receive their love and
affection.
For which I am eternally grateful.
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