Having turned sizzling 70 in February, I pondered many things. Initially, the number itself was a shock. It didn’t feel true so I checked my passport and yes, 70 years old. Typing it, I sound decrepit yet I am far from it. To be honest, some days I feel 99. In my youth, I would say to much older people to ignore ageist comments and just be themselves. That has boomeranged with a cold thud.
Like many people of German heritage, I suspect I have lived to work rather than the reverse. I can remember saying to colleagues I thrive on work and I did. Then I stopped working outside the home, and it was full stop for everything. I lost my identity, drifted day-to-day and entered a depressive episode of two years. Only now am I emerging.
The years flew by — cliche of the year. My aunt said once, My life feels as though I turned around in a circle and that’s all. I was startled but failed to gauge the deeper meaning of that statement. My life hasn’t rushed past as quickly and so far, I have done a lot but the 70th birthday has been an epiphany of sorts which came unexpectedly.
Being atypical, I don’t want to be in the garden, polishing the silver, cooking pies, knitting pullovers, crocheting blankets or playing board games. One of my older neighbours has been seen sweeping the roof of his house. That was never my thing. Housework, cooking…
