Tag Archives: Ageing

What well behaved Mummies must do-and not do…

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                When Mothers Day comes around it is always delightful to see or hear from one’s offspring, receive cards and display graceful acceptance of their dutiful appreciation. But other than this I tend to feel a little melancholy as the day arrives; because I have reached the advanced stage of becoming the oldest generation, the matriarch, if you like, and this means I have no older, female family members to choose a card or buy a bunch of flowers for.

                I also grow more aware, as my adult children grow older of the pitfalls I can easily fall into whilst attempting not to replicate the behaviour of my own parents as they aged. Whilst I have promised myself what and what not to do, I begin to realise that I may transgress without knowing it! Horrors! So in the interests of keeping to the regime of well behaved, uncontroversial, un-embarrassing mother I write this list of Dos and Don’ts for myself.

DO

Dress appropriately

Remember that song about the ‘Harper Valley PTA’?…[a number one hit for Jeannie C Riley in 1969] Well I suppose most people will be too young! Basically it was about a ‘mom’ who wore miniskirts to the school parents’ meetings. Whilst I am not yet ready, I feel, for elasticated waist, floral skirts and Bri-nylon ski pants I must be aware of the minefield of fashion faux pas that stretches ahead.

 

Undertake age-appropriate activities

One of the difficulties with this one is that I don’t actually know what activities are or are not age-appropriate. Should I be attending flower arranging classes, knitting things and playing Bridge? Or is it ok to take up motor-bike riding, learn electric guitar and go to raves?

 

 

Remember things

That thing about going upstairs for an item and returning with something totally different does not improve with age, rather it becomes worse. Being aware of memory loss does not address the problem. What was I saying?

                               

DON’T

Repeat Oneself

My own offspring are not slow to remind me of stories I’ve already told them, remarks and events they’ve heard before, which is, of course only too kind of them. I’m sure it is a most galling and irritating trait. I imagine, however that if I were to stray off into the realms of fantasy there would be much more cause for alarm.

My own offspring are not……..[oops!]

 

 

Like what they like

There is only one thing worse than your mum hating your music. That’s if she likes it. Apparently one should not claim to share one’s sprog’s taste in music, fashion, film or any other area of culture, or even, in fact know that these names exist, or ask about them. [Relates to number 2 of the ‘dos’].

 

 

Advise

This must be the worst behaviour any ageing parent can display. ‘You don’t wanna do it like that’- the most annoying words any adult offspring could have the misfortune to hear. I resolve to hold my tongue, that is if I can remember to do so.

 

Happy Mothers Day!

At some point in our lives as parents we cease to become god-like beings our babies look up to and want to emulate and become mildly comic and ridiculous caricatures of ourselves or annoying, cloying, drivelling old buffers.

How to avoid all this? I really don’t know.

Answers on a postcard…….[or in the comments box, please]

 

 

 

 

 

To keep up or not to keep up, that is the question…

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                If there is one, nasty, insidious, creeping element to ageing I’ve noticed, it is the necessity to complete ever more actions in order to appear presentable in public. This is one of the things your mother never tells you; that seemingly every day that goes by brings another challenge to be faced in front of the mirror! Indeed, the mirror itself is a challenge! These days, if I can actually find something I might wish to try on in the changing room of a clothing outlet I am in the habit of facing the door rather than the mirror. The overall result of this behaviour is that I return home with any garment that I can get on and do up, regardless of how it looks.

                Gone are the days when I could get out of the shower, towel off, drag something on and go. Now it is more a case of completing a checklist of fabrications, falsehoods and concealments, all designed to fool everyone [including myself] that I look ok. Starting at the top, it goes something like this:

Hair [of the head kind]

Having originally been a very dark, almost black shade of brown, I’ve been undertaking a stealthy transformation over the last fifteen or so years to lighten to a shade which will blend seamlessly into grey. Progress continues to be slow. I’ve lacked the courage, thus far, to go ‘cold turkey’. I’ve always been hopeless with hair styling, so at least that is one area that does not change.

Hair [Face]

It grows where it is not wanted and disappears from where it used to be. This anomaly has to be addressed on a depressingly frequent basis.

Skin [Face]

Dry, blotchy, wrinkly, spotty etc etc. It requires the use of ‘product’. ‘Product’ occupies increasing amounts of space and time and is also a drain on resources. It is also of dubious expediency. QED.

Skin [Elsewhere]

Dealing with elsewhere skin demands a regime consisting of a combination of the two above. I am hampered in the execution of these tasks, however by a lack of flexibility [eg twisting around to access lower part of back of leg] and failing eyesight. The result is to go out and about with unsightly hairy patches like a mammal undergoing a moult, not a problem during the winter months but an obstacle to baring flesh in the summer. Elsewhere skin also soaks up ‘product’ like a sponge. The choice is to keep slathering it everywhere in industrial quantities or take on the appearance of a crocodile.

Shape

Where do I begin? It changes. I cavort about at the gym, walk, do active things, eat sensible things, eschew the demon chocolate. Despite all this effort and deprivation, stubborn, squidgy bits appear where there were none.

                I know women who deal with the outward signs of ageing by concentrating all their efforts into the extremities. They spend vast sums on nail beautification or the purchase of designer handbags, thus avoiding the proverbial ‘elephant’. If it works for them, great! I am neither a nail person [being more of the Carol Klein type…gardening nails] nor a bag-o-phile. I fail to understand the allure of bags, especially when changing bag to suit outfit requires decanting all items from one to the other. I use a rucksack. When it wears out I get another.

                I also sense a certain inequality here, between the sexes. Men can embrace ageing and become all those desirable things like ‘distinguished’ without so much as nod to Grecian 2000. This is much discussed in the media, where male presenters, newsreaders and the like can carry on into their dotage without a worry.

                So how old do I have to be before I may sit down, relax and let it all go the way it will without my intervention? Like I said, my mother never told me! Answers on a postcard please….. [or in the comments section!]

 

Stick a Plaster on it!

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For anyone who is in any doubt that the National Health Service in this country is worth preserving I recommend that they read Lionel Shriver’s ‘So Much for That’. Set in the United States, it tackles the grim subject of terminal cancer and the awful reality of paying for the astronomic bills that such a complex health issue presents. The book illustrates the stark, cynical way in which health insurance providers work to fleece hapless patients and their families and serves as a salutary warning.

                The pressures on a large organisation such as the NHS can only increase as the number of elderly increases [I include myself in this number]. Despite assuming responsibility for one’s own general health by eating sensibly, exercising regularly, rejecting smoking and attempting to curb alcohol consumption the issues of wear and tear begin to surface. This poses a dilemma I am unable to resolve. Until a few years ago I prided myself on the infrequency of my visits to the GP. Having grown accustomed to this lack of medical intervention in my life I continue to avoid making appointments, even when problems, [such as joint failures] interfere with normal life.  

                The result of all this procrastination is that problems begin to stack up, providing an even more complicated predicament. This is not good! When I do, eventually make it into the consulting room I find I’ve compiled a ‘list’ of complaints, which I’ve had to prioritise. I describe the main problem and then ask for other issues to be taken into consideration. I can’t help feeling this is a sneaky way to go about a GP appointment, but the alternative would be to schedule several, separate meetings. I imagine these visits in the future, pencilled in on the calendar with depressing frequency as I grow older.

                So I prefer my current approach; but what does the average healthcare professional think? Would they rather us wrinklies waited and piled up our complaints in a bulging package of ailments? Or would they prefer to become increasingly familiar with our wrinkly chops as they see us on an almost daily basis?

                I am, nevertheless very glad to be able to call on their services, as should we all be. The NHS faces a huge challenge as the population ages, but it is worth preserving, for sure.