Growing Old Gracefully?

There are plans for a massive expansion of the residential area to the edge of our village. Neither of us can go to tonight's meeting [as we already had other meetings arranged] So yesterday Bob called in at the Parish Hall to look at the plans. as he walked across the car park, a child, waiting outside with his mother, said "Mummy, is that a man or a councillor?" Had Bob been a councillor, I think he would have been subjected to a barrage of protests. Feelings are running quite high about this issue!

Yesterday afternoon we took a Communion Service at one of the Care Homes. In view of all the precautions re Swine Flu, Bob opted for "intincture" [that's when you dunk the wafer in the wine and give it to the communicant altogether] He figured that was safer than sharing a common cup. One lady declined- she only wanted the wine "Can't have the bread, it'll put me off my tea!"

When we got to the response "Your death we proclaim, your resurrection we celebrate, your coming we await" one lady piped up "Are we waiting for Him too? I thought it was just the Mormons, those ones who come round the door" Bob assured her that yes, we too were waiting for the Second Coming!

We watched a programme last night about a community of 300 OAPS who live in a Retirement Complex in Milton Keynes. I have decided that it is better to have lots of age groups mixing together. Being with just elderly people does not strike me as a good thing. Mind you, living in MK at any age might cause me to lose my marbles, I think. [Apologies if you love MK - it just isn't my cup of tea at all]

I am reminded of Jenny Joseph's poem about getting old...

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

 

Actually, I think my family feel I am quite eccentric already, with or without the red hat and the purple dress!