Ooookay people… I’m gonna say this real quick…in a few short days, I am going to be 60 years old. There I said it. Despite seeing those words in print and the images that accompany them… I can’t quite believe the truth of that simple statement.
There is, after all, plenty of other evidence to support the onset of my 60th year. My pecs, for instance, are located underneath my arms these days, having fallen off the top of them several years ago. It is necessary for me to plan my days according to the proximity of the nearest toilet more than I ever used to and, thanks to my inability to retain the simplest of information such as my car registration number, I frequently flatten my key battery trying to locate my vehicle.
BUT… 2019 has definitely had a lot to recommend it too and, for that, I feel truly blessed and beyond lucky.
When Kenny died in 2014 and I tried to implement my ‘cunning plan’ as those of you who have been reading my book, The Funny Thing About Being a Widow? will understand the meaning of, I could never have guessed at all the things I would have missed out on. Thankfully my ill-fated attempt at joining my husband shortly after his funeral failed miserably. No doubt he would have been furious to see me turn up on his cosy celestial cloud insisting loudly that all he had to do was take a quick shower so that he could stage a return similar to that of Bobby Ewing’s reincarnation in the TV series Dallas. Like I have said many times my tenacious nature can prove to be a weakness as well as a strength.
If 2014 was my own version of Her Majesty’s annus horribilis then 2019 was the antithesis of it. On new years eve 2018, Craig and I became engaged to be married which, was technically the starting point of another wonderful period in my life. As many of you will also know we married on the 21st September this year, a year in which I finally completed my first in the series of The Funny Thing About Being Widow? books…not bad for someone who once regarded her life as pointless.
If, as I approach my 60th birthday I am frustrated by the departure of some of the dexterities I used to take for granted, I am reminded of my honeymoon in Maderia. I like walking I do…but readily admit to a preference for routes which do not include steep inclines. As with most things that I embark on there is little planning involved which, explains why I didn’t know that Madiera is basically a very big hill. It is, apparently, also a very popular destination for those of us of a more mature vintage, with most of those that I encountered, unlike myself, appearing to have a lot in common with your average sprightly mountain goat.
I would like to convince you, dear reader, at this point that I have had cause to revise my attitude to my levels of personal fitness and feelings towards anything that heads towards an apex as a result of my trip to Madeira but, that would be disingenuous. Having said that, however, this does not mean that in my 60th year I will be avoiding the navigation of other types of mountains, just the ones that make me breathe like a hospital ventilator and reduce my eyeliner to liquid.
My experience of death and bereavement has changed me in so many ways, and it took a long time for me to find and accept the ‘me’ of today and how I might use what that experience has taught me.
Who knows what future ‘mountains’ might present themselves for negotiation in the life of a 60-year old who likes to laugh? Whatever they turn out to be I am good to go, just don’t expect me to walk up em’ when I can take the cable car instead…the top is the top however we get there.
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