Author: Sue Young

Looking forward to fifty

I’m going to be turning fifty, this year. I don’t feel it. I don’t know whether to grow old gracefully or disgracefully. I’ve always been indecisive.

I looked up stuff about age last week (because I am sensitive about age now) and I learned so much! Some of the things I learned were…

You’re not allowed to say ‘elderly’ anymore. ‘Senior citizen’ is out and ‘retired’ is out the door. You can’t say ‘geriatric’ and I think that’s quite fair. ‘Pensioner’ is outdated and ‘advanced age’ – don’t go there. ‘Old people?’ No, can’t do that, as it euphemizes age. And that euphemism is negative, if you’ve lived a lot of days. So, what are we to do, to show respect for all the years? How do we put a stop to all our politically correct fears?

A lot of these words were bandied about, in certain times and phases but now ‘fossil’, ‘fogey’ and ‘codger’ are out, they’re not P.C phrases. ‘Older adult’ or ‘older person’ is the acceptable term these days, or simply ‘man’ or simply ‘woman’, followed by their age.

It’s about time, the PC World (not the computer store) said something nice about me, so if I’m an ‘older adult,’ then that’s what I’m happy to be.

Quote Of The Week

‘All my life I’ve been doing things for other people, looking after them, doing things to please them but now I want to be my own person in my own right and I’m no longer afraid of doing what I want to do…’

Puli (Sathnam Sanghera’s sister) from The Boy With The TopKnot by Sathnam Sanghera

Less Is More With You

I love you

Because you’re unexpected

Unpredictable

Just salty enough

Tangy enough

I spread you close

Lather you up

Against the butter

Against the toast

But not too much

Less is more with you

You come finely housed in curvaceous glass

Not everyone likes you

But if they like you, they love you

And if they don’t like you, they hate you

And can’t stand the smell of you

Let alone eat you

Some people are taken in by your cunning disguise

They see you all brown and sticky and gooey and think

you are a chocolate spread

And then they eat you, one big mouthful

You’re a nice surprise or a nasty shock

Depending on your outlook and tastebuds

I once was a little frightened of you

And once, I hated you.

But now, I love you, Marmite.

Beaver or Diva?

I overheard a conversation on the tram this week between a man and woman. This is how it went:

WOMAN: (LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AND POINTING): She’s a diva.

MAN: (A LITTLE LOUDER): A beaver?

WOMAN: (A LITTLE LOUDER): A diva.

MAN: (MUCH LOUDER) A beaver?

WOMAN: (VERY MUCH LOUDER): No! A diva!

MAN: (VERY LOUD) What’s a diva?

WOMAN: (LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AND POINTING): She is. (SIGHS & THEN QUIETLY) Oh, she’s gone now.

Quote Of The Week

‘Music really is the international language. All the places I’ve been to in the world are divided by language, idealogy, religion, etc, but music unites us all. It’s quite spectacular really, music’s extraordinary power to heal, to help, in a very real sense.’

Cured- Lol Tolhurst

The Cure

January Calls

Ah, January, I see you’ve brought me some ice. Please leave it by the door. I don’t mean to be rude but when you come around, you bring me down. Your clothes are drab, your demeanour cold and your jokes for all things winter, are getting old. I know you have to visit and I don’t exactly give you a warm welcome but it’s the same on your side of the fence. There’s no love lost, is there?

Still, you do make me smile sometimes, with your tales of Christmas Past and your Very Best Wishes for the New Year. You quite respect those who brave another of your fierce tempers and make it through to warmer times. I see that, as you go, you leave me with some hope for longer days and brighter mornings and the promise of the sun on my face. So thank you January, you are kinder than I thought. Ah, I see I have another guest. Can you say hello to February on your way out?

Ah, February, I see you’ve brought me some ice…

Hope Is Long

Hope is long

When you’re born.

It’s longer than a cold, cold night

And keeps you nice and warm

Hope is deep

When you take your first step

It goes up past your waist

Gets your ears wet

When you go to school

Hope trails right behind

Sometimes tangles up

But is always there to find

And when you are a teenager

And school is done

Hope becomes a lasso

To catch the sun

And in your twenties

There’s nothing you can’t do

Hope is like a coat

That looks really good on you

And as the years go by

And your youth, it flies away

Your hope becomes a friend

That you cling to every day

And you take life’s knocks

The bores and the thrills

The birthday cards stop coming

And you’re left with all the bills

And that door that is closing

Is getting harder to push

The dreams have all grown up

And they don’t come and visit as much

And you’re standing there one day

And you suddenly start to think

What happened to your hope?

Is it beginning to shrink?

It’s no longer dancing

Bright eyed and bushy tailed

Shorter than an ankle sock

And looking rather pale

You can’t wrap it around anywhere

It’s not flexible or strong

In fact, it’s disappearing

Where did it all wrong?

One day you look around you

And hope has surely gone

It either ran off with the milkman

Or hitchhiked further on

So now, you have no option

There’s only one thing left to do

You must create some new hope

And forget the one that flew

No time to waste – just time to sit

To mend and stitch and sew

And knit yourself a new hope

That will never ever go.