|Two Cats Is Two Much
||[Mar. 28th, 2015|01:48 pm]
A family member offered us a cat that is surplus to requirements. We said "No thanks."|
As Ailz said, "One cat is fun. Two begins to look like work."
We're slowing down.
There was a time when we had a house full of cats. They came and went but I think the high water mark was seven. I look back and shudder.
Mind you, I shudder at a lot of things I did. Isn't that what age is for?
Well maybe it's not all about shuddering. There's some pride and satisfaction in the mix. The word is assessing. I do a lot of that.
And don't tell me I'm not old. I'm the age my grandparents were when I entered my teens. That's old in my book. I hate this modern pretence that one is young and then young again and then still young until the point when one suddenly drops dead (only lets not talk about that).
Take each age as it comes. Accept it for what its worth.
For instance I'm happier at 64 than I was at 24 or 34.
I watched Ian McKellen's Lear yesterday. I've seen- and read- the play many times. This was the first time it seemed to have a personal application.
But I imagine that you're younger at heart than your grandparents were at the same age.
That's probably he case, though, who knows? I remember both my grandmothers as being quite jolly in their very different ways.
I can't imagine my grandfather, or even my father, riding a bike at 65, and I see them all over our neighborhood.
My father was riding a bike into his 80s.
Yes, well - you're English.
I enjoy going back and re-reading certain novels for a similar reason (speaking of King Lear). I tend to identify with the characters in my general age cohort, so each time I advance a generation I have a whole new perspective. (On the other hand, I identified with the faculty at Hogwarts from the first book and am unlikely to change that perspective...)
I don't re-read novels much, but my perspective on the Shakespeare plays is continually changing.
For instance I really used not to get what Prospero was on about when he said every third thought would be his grave; now I know exactly what he meant.
Age is a funny thing. My husband hates it when I say we're middle-aged, but we obviously are. At 37 we can hardly claim to be "young", and since we're not "old", either, that must put us squarely in the "middle-aged" bracket. And I find that quite a comfortable bracket, to be honest. Ageing can be quite enjoyable, really!
Also, I think I look better and better for each year. Or perhaps not "better", but more like ME, if that makes sense. Like a paperback book where the spine has cracked because it's been read, my face is slowly beginning to show that my life has, at least in part, been lived. And isn't that a lovely thing?
But when it comes to Shakespeare there are downsides... Romeo and Juliet, for instance, has almost completely lost its magic for me, and Hamlet is beginning to fade. Perhaps I just don't identify with those clear-cut, grand feelings any more?
I never liked Romeo and Juliet much (to be honest I think its a silly play) but I'm still up for Hamlet.
There are things that go with age- like maturity and wisdom- that are very well worth acquiring. I've had my youth, I've been middle-aged; now I want the experience of being old. It's all good.
Though I have struggled with some of the realities of aging (where the heck did all of this silver come from? I don't feel old enough to have this much!) I am far happier at 46 than I have been since I was 6 or 7. I am more myself than I have been since then, and that is why I am so happy.