At a little bit of a loss for something to write for today. Usually by this hour of the night I have already written (in my head) what I will share for the day, but today I am struggling for a topic.
Funny that yesterday my mind was awhirl with ideas, funny stories, and anecdotes that I might share, and today they are all gone. Does this say something about my ageing brain, or just that I have forgotten it all?
I have already written on ageing, did I mention forgetfulness as being one of the less than pleasant side effects of that progress? I don’t remember!
The odd thing about growing older, is that inside you don’t feel any different than you did when you were 16 or younger. Your mind, while educated by the passing of the years, is still as active and agile as it was then, but your body, which you wish was the same as it was when you were 16, is definitely not the same! Joints become stiff, backs ache, fingers are no longer straight and strong, and whilst you may imagine yourself jumping over that garden fence, you dare not try it because you know it won’t end in reality as you see it in your mind’s eye.
You begin a task, enthusiastic as the young, but your body protests, your bones ache, your joints ache, and you are forced to stop and to rest. So you take your coffee and you sit in your rocking chair in the shade and before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep, a thing that you know perfectly well will mean you won’t be able to sleep this evening when you should be sleeping!
Why is it that as we get older we sleep less? Or at least, we sleep less – at night! How many of us are wide awake in the early hours of the morning, no matter how tired we were when we went to bed that evening, and yet we could sleep the afternoon away! Perhaps the early hours of the day are a time for reflection, a time to consider in the quietness of the night. Is that when wisdom comes? It is the time when I can write poetry, so perhaps that’s why! At most times I have no poetry at all, but in the early hours, poetry seems natural. How sad that I can’t remember it in the morning!!
My Mother loved poetry and could and would quote it on any given occasion, usually the complete work, not just a verse or two! You knew if you said certain words, she would launch forth into the appropriate poem, verse or saying, or perhaps even a song lyric. I don’t think she ever wrote poetry herself, but she loved the works of Banjo Patterson and others like him, and enjoyed nothing more than a full quote of their poetry. I believe she was taught from a young age to enjoy and appreciate the English language, to read and enjoy good writing and story telling. She often told the story of how she wrote the word “Cabbage” on her Mother’s brand new window blind, for no other reason than that she loved the look of the word! I’m sure my poor Grandmother was horrified and mystified when she was confronted with her lovely new blind now adorned with the childish handwriting of the word “Cabbage” across it! Family history does not relate if my mother was punished for this offense, or how my Grandmother removed the word, or even if she could remove it. How wonderfully innocent that story is. My Mother would not have intended any harm, she was not that kind of child, I’m sure to her, it was simply a wonderful broad space to write, she would not have imagined that she was damaging the blind. A family memory, carried through the generations, part of the fabric that makes up a family, part of the history that every family has and treasures.
The Wendy Diaries 