It’s been a week-end of major life events at one remove. On Friday, my youngest, Jonathan, was 21, and today, my oldest, Eleanor (now with her own blog) is 40. Turning 40 doesn’t seem such a long time ago, even if turning 21 seems like a lifetime past. I recall mine, working in the City of London, and being taken out and filled with whisky (as a Scot in London) at lunchtime. (Well, I suppose, I must have been a willing victim, since I don’t believe anyone forced drink down my throat!). This was followed by a rather unproductive afternoon, during which I’m told I suddenly turned green, and rapidly left for the toilets. My fortieth was a much more civilised affair, a party at home with children present, and a new electric piano. But why should these life events of my children affect me so?
On one hand, it’s an intimation of an end of an era: with no kids under 21, surely I should be moving on to some new part of my own life. I haven’t any grandchildren, though there’s a grand-dog, Frieda, in DC with daughter Alexis & Katy! And perhaps it’s also my recent (minor) operation providing intimations of aging and mortality. I’m not a believer in trying to indefinitely prolong life: there’s a time to go, and preferably before ones wits abandon ship. How long might that be? My father made it to 84, and was solving the Times crossword the evening before he died, so that’s a good sign. But I’ve watched others gradually lose the place, and it’s not a pretty sight.
At least now, it’s over: there’s no other big birthdays on the immediate horizon (at least birthdays are predictable). Nor, so far as I know, any imminent marriages or other life events, but one never knows…But carpe diem! Let’s celebrate the birthdays: we had a very good dinner at the Cafe Andaluz in Glasgow for the 21st, and there’s a party in Stirling for the 40th next Saturday!