Will you still need me, will you still feed me . . . ?

I was 19 when the Beatles released this track on the Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album, (1 June 1967). I was at the start of all sorts of things in my life, not least of which was motherhood. And the answer to the question you might be asking is that, for a whole host of reasons, I have never had the slightest regret about being - by today's standards - such a young mother.

As for my mothering skills, you'd have to ask my daughter, except that behind the outgoing, sunny exterior is a very private person, so I doubt that we'd be able to persuade her to make a public appearance. You'll just have to take my word for it that she lit up my life when the midwife placed her in my arms and, all these years later, she continues to do so. She is an amazing woman of whom I am immensely proud.

But back to the song. At 19, I was incapable of imagining what it would be like to be 64, let alone whether my then Other Half would still be needing me or feeding me. (To which the answers were, as I soon discovered, 'no' and 'no', so my small daughter and I steered a different course.)  

I tend not to do 'hello, it's my birthday' posts; as I said to Twitter chum @maribeeb, yesterday, 'a bit cheesy, no?' However, today I have a proper excuse because, as of today, I am fully cognisant of what it is to be 64 and I can tell you this. It's just like 19 but with the addition of, hopefully, a soupçon of the wisdom of years and, very probably, a couple of extra inches round the middle. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And for me, there have been many more valued friendships forged, more books read, more music listened to, more parts of the world travelled to and explored, many hundreds of thousands of words written, many thousands of photographs taken . . .

Lest you think my life has been a bit of a doddle, there have been profound shocks and great sadnesses and betrayals too and, in my late thirties and for a few years thereafter, a string of losses and bereavements that came hurtling out of the blue and so close together that it was like watching powerlessly as a line of dominoes toppled before my eyes. I had no doubt at all, at that time, what it was to be acquainted with grief.

But I prefer, on this blog at least, to stand four-square with Jane Austen and 'let other pens dwell on guilt and misery'. ( I didn't think much of this sentiment when I was studying Mansfield Park for A-level; I was a teenager for goodness sake, I wallowed in guilt and misery. Tsk, tsk.) Besides which, there has always been the joy of animals . . 

Although I didn't read his novels, I remember an interview that the author, Dick Francis, gave towards the end of his life in which he said that the saddest thing about getting older was the number of beloved dogs that he had outlived.

(I do a mental tally: the dogs of my earlier years, Bruno, Rusty, Albert and Rennie, and, latterly, the Squadron Leader, the Rough Diamond, and my daughter's dog, the Divine Miss M. The cats deserve a mention too: Snooky, Fluffy, Tibby, Timothy, Victoria, Sunshine, Tara, Merlin, Tabitha and Muffin and, more recently Mr C's twin brother. Then there was Susan, the tortoise, and the hamster, Deborah . . .  and the horses on which I learned to ride in my middle years. Do not worry, my current companions, Mr C, the cat, and the Edinburgh Boy and Christmas Holly have no literacy skills whatsoever, so cannot read this. Besides, today - as on most days - the dogs have plenty of canine distractions and are happily bounding around with this week's guests: Little Miss P, the Mad Merle and the Seal. Mr C, sensibly, has retired to his dog-free quarters upstairs. )

Anyway, that's enough 'ageing woman looks back at her life and becomes perilously anthropomorphic' waffle. Here's the music:

Comments

[Friend In New Zealand]

Whoo hooooo!!! Happy birthday dear friend (and also, happy MI anniversary).

[Babs]

Happy Birthday - I really enjoyed your blog . I made lots of connections not least the early motherhood. We old birds still have something to say and we can say it eloquently :)

[Maureen]

Happy birthday, D. Celebratory lunch on Monday WITH PUDDING! Forget the exra inches - all the more to hug.

[sue furby]

Happy Birthday Dear D - have a lovely day! Why am I so useless at organising a visit!
Much love

Sue and Lawrence

[Sally]

Happy happy birthday. The amazing thing about getting older, is that aside from acquiring and somehow managing to carry all those experiences, adventures, joys, sadnesses, we can still feel as giddy, passionate, lively, mercurial inside as we did at 19. Happy continuing to be curious and passionate.

[Christina]

I am only 59 but, when asked my age and even when not, I say, "I am 60 this year!" It may not happen for another 11 months but I am so ready.

Bring on the feisty old broads and their dogs. This, truly, is the life!

Happy Birthday!

[Amy]

Hope you had a happy birthday! You're right, we still have so many fun things to do and to enjoy!

[colleen]

It's been quite a year, hasn't it? Hope you enjoyed your day.

C

[Nonizamboni]

I come to you a bit late but wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed/understood/smiled at this post. Turning 61 on Sunday I was relieved to read that you feel about the same as 19 with wisdom and 'a couple of extra inches round the middle'--nice post!

[60 Going On 16]

A very belated thank you to everyone for your kind wishes - and a warm welcome to Nonizamboni and to Twitter chum, Babs. And a big hug for my fab cousin and sister Springsteen fan, Sue, who could tell you all sorts about those teenage years.

I've been away from blogging, of necessity (sadly), for reasons that will be come clear in a couple of days.

Back soon.