On Being An Adult

On being an adult.

It is not so bad being an adult.  Being an elderly adult is a different thing altogether.

The pain from your joints never lets you forget that you have become elderly. Your joints swell, and ache, and deform,  unless you are very lucky.

Your memory has lapses...forgetting the names of plants. Forgetting the names of your children's childhood friends. Forgetting small family anecdotes.
Nothing major, but you still wonder where that memory went? How could I forget that??

My children seemed to forget more of their childhoods than I. I remember much of my childhood...or do I really?
I find myself wondering if the memories are programmed from family stories, or from real memories.
It is very disconcerting, as I realise that memories are coloured by the folklore of retelling. How much is reality, and how much is recounted memory from other  adults?

My memories of childhood are very mixed. I have good memories and quite dark memories. None of them abusive as such, but some of them damaging by implication. "You are so bumble footed" "You are clumsy""You are knock knee ed" " You have an awkward shape"
All guaranteed to rob me of self confidence, none of it intentional, I am sure.
However it took it's toll, and the mixed up me is the result.

I remember a night when a man said to my mother "Isn't she beautiful?" and my mother answered doubtfully, "Yes?" I felt simultaneously crushed and happy. Happy that someone outside my circle thought I looked nice, but crushed that my mother didn't seem to be convinced, as to my beauty.

Ego I guess. We never know how others perceive us.
I always strived to make my children feel they were perfect, and I smothered them with physical affection, and daily affirmations of how much I loved them, and respected them as both children, and adults, when they grew to adulthood. I loved my son's chosen partner. I loved my daughter's expartner.
Now, I love my son in law. and I still love my son's expartner.

I have a wonderful Uncle, who turns 100 this year. He is still in charge of his faculties, and very much aware of life around him. His lovely wife is still going strong, and is partly responsible for his continuing  good health.

Adulting is indeed a very hard passage in our lives. Old adulting is even harder, and not for the faint hearted. Or the slipped fart,  or the wet myself unexpectedly brigade.
You never know when sabotage might strike your poor unsuspecting bodies!

I hope I die before too many indignities attack me.

A Sea Story

A Sea Story.

The sea lashed itself to fury,
as it thrashed upon the wounded, aching, sand.
It withdrew itself, with ebbing, boiling, rage.
An arrogant refusal to apologise
or retreat, from confrontation.

The orphaned, uprooted kelp
lay helpless upon the shore.
Knowing, it is an incidental victim,
of rage, of deep, dark, disturbing,
unrest that lies within, the sea's
deepest, primeval, emotions.

The sea, thunders again to shore
Shouting! 'You dare to threaten, challenge me?
I will crush you, demolish your very being!'
'Ah, but you must retreat', I reply.
'You cannot remain, and,.
If I dance beyond your reach,
your threats are idle, imptoent'.

Who would dare to taunt the sea?
Who, could be so foolish? So ignorant of danger?
The sibilant hiss of the sea subsiding,
whispered of revenge to come,
Hissed, of eons to keep the rage alive.
"I will triumph" the waves declared.
"Revenge is mine" as it crashed upon the shore.

My depths are greater than yours.

I will outlast your petty thoughts.

Your transient atoms.

I will exact revenge, and you,

You may beg for mercy at my tides.

I am not lenient, nor forgiving.

You may yet ride the tides

of my emotions.

You may yet ride the flows of

my eternal oceans.

you shall return to all my swells

or surges of evolution,

Tribute to Beautiful Sheree

Trying to write a long-formulating post, to my original blog.
It seems I cannot access the Life's Free Treats blog, so here it will be.

I wanted to post a tribute to a beautiful woman I knew, whose name is Sheree.

I met Sheree when we gave birth to our third children. She gave birth to her third son, and I was lucky enough to give birth to my first daughter. We were in the same hospital, in the same maternity ward.

We just 'clicked' and had many laughs in the ward before we were discharged. I had a slight complication, but Sheree had a larger complication. We vowed to keep in touch, and we did.

Her third son was so handsome and dark, much like his beautiful mother. She had beautiful long dark hair, cascading down her shoulders, in glorious profusion. Her small dark haired son had hair aplenty, and a cute upturned nose which made him appear angelic. His  immediate older brother had red hair, just like their father. He was a very different looking child to his small newborn brother.

As they grew, the differences in personality were marked.

Sheree had gorgeous dark eyes, and with her long, almost chestnut hair, almost looked like a Gypsy. Or, perhaps what my vision of a Gypsy would be. Her beautiful light infused eyes with their brown and hazel lights dancing, were just breathtakingly dazzling.She was filled with light, and a love to embrace every living creature.

They had a gorgeous Boarder Collie bitch, who loved the children, and guarded them so devotedly. She had puppies. Some of the puppies died mysteriously.
A small pet rabbit died mysteriously.
The little dark haired 'gypsy' so often had  'accidents'.

Another small brother seemed to fare rather better. He was a blonde little boy, and he seemed to be immune from the 'accidents' that befell his older brother.

It was all very unsettling. What exactly, was going on?

I had a very nasty car accident, the week my lovely friend had her fourth chid, a gorgeous  daughter, who looked like her beautiful Gypsy mother, with dark eyes, and hair.
It was weeks before I could get to see the lovely little daughter.

I often think of Sheree, and wonder what happened to her after we lost touch.