Daily Prompt: The Eighth Sin – there were seven?

Remember the seven cardinal sins? You’re given the serious task of adding a new one to the list — another trait or behavior you find particularly unacceptable, for whatever reason. What’s sin #8 for you? Why?

1st August Fireworks

I was never an ace at firework photos, probably because I am too lazy to carry my tripod everywhere I go with the camera, but even this amateur presentation shows the explosive nature of the whole thing. Actually I am supposed to invent a new eighth deadly sin, although I must admit without having the link from the man in the WordPress t-shirt I would not even know what they were. Just a moment, I remember a film called “Seven” with Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt about some serial killer that decided to kill people according to the seven deadly sins. Unfortunately I only really had eyes for Brad Pitt, and do not exactly remember what the sinful bit was, although there was quite a lot of blood and sadism.

“Tabby, did you want to say something?” My Tabby feline is waving her paw in the air and probably wants to correct my previous statement, as usual.

“Yes Mrs. Human I do. Where was I yesterday evening? Think about it.”

“You were at home, although I was surprised. You are usually exploring the landscape on the search for a poor unsuspecting mouse to devour.”

“And why was I at home and where did I spend most of the evening?”

“Yes, I remember I opened the window to let you out, and you immediately decided to stay and disappeared under the settee in the spare room.”

“Mrs. Human I was ready to take my usual evening walk and as you opened the window there was a bang: a loud bang, followed by more loud bangs.”

“Ah yes, the Swiss nation is celebrating its national day on 1st August with firework displays. They are very pretty. We also light fires on the mountains and the children have processions with their pretty patriotic lanterns.”

“I know all that Mrs. Human, but yesterday was not the 1st August.”

“I know Tabby, people cannot wait and the celebrations begin every year earlier.”

“So what about us felines. It is not fun to be followed by ear splitting explosions. When the humans say “aaah” and “oooh” we cats hide and say “MEOW”. We do not like loud unexpected noises. My cousin in the States hates 4th July, my friends in France dislike 14th July and the 5th November is one big cat problem in England. You can add 1st August to the list.”

“OK, Tabby, this evening I will stay at home and hold your paw whilst you are quivering from the fireworks.”

“And something else: tell the guys in the WordPress t-shirts that the eighth sin will be NOISE.  You humans are far too noisy. If you have a problem you shout, if you have a war you let bombs and missiles explode. It seems to be the only way you solve anything. We felines might have our territorial problems, but we solve it with a hiss and meow and an aimed swipe of the paw. Afterwards we retreat and go each other out of the way. And Mrs. Human, forget Brad Pitt. He was paid for the role in the film and it was all make-believe in any case.”

So it seems again the felines know what they are talking about. As I am writing this piece outside on the porch it sounds like world war three has broken out. There are explosions everywhere. I will also be glad when 2nd August arrives. I will probably be picking up the remains of burnt out rockets in my garden.

Daily Prompt: The Eighth Sin – There were seven?

Daily Prompt: Handmade Tales – I am Mrs. Do-It-Yourself in person

Automation has made it possible to produce so many objects — from bread to shoes — without the intervention of human hands (assuming that pressing a button doesn’t count). What things do you still prefer in their traditional, handmade version?


Who makes their own lasagna? The photo is a Mrs. Angloswiss lasagna fresh from the oven. Perhaps there are those with Italian ancestry that would not dream of buying a ready-made, frozen lasagne and would do it all themselves from the beginning. Is it worthwhile to make the pasta pastry, roll it out to size; make a cheesy sauce as well as cook mincemeat in a tomato sauce put it in a dish layer by layer and top it all up with the remains of the cheese sauce, sprinkle parmesan over it and bake in the oven? There are not many that bother today; after all it is all available in the supermarket, even if the British did have a crisis when they discovered that some frozen food companies were using horsemeat instead of the normal beef. Mrs. Angloswiss does it all herself, although I do buy the ready-made pasta leaves to save time.

I have a thing about ready-made food. I do not trust it. I do not know what it really contains and today there is so much automation, the greedy food companies do not really care. Now and again there might be some food poisoning, but nothing serious and today’s news is always news, but tomorrow? If I write a prize suspicious blog today, tomorrow it is already forgotten, or a few days later, because something new has arrived. So if the customers of supermarket “A” all have digestion problems because the ready-made automated food they bought from the frozen food selection or special sterilised section or whatever from the shelf had some sort of germ, who cares. No-one really talks about it a week later and the toilet roll sales multiply in turnover.

If I am invited to a restaurant I will go and I will eat, but I will not visit a restaurant as a treat. I had to make enough compromising solutions when I was a working woman. I arrived home half an hour before lunch. I cooked for my son and I, with enough left for Mr. Swiss in the evening and I returned to the office ninety minutes later. I could not afford to eat in a restaurant with son no. 2 daily, and I did not want to. I had dealt with the shopping problem before I arrived in the office and I had it all worked out timewise. Pasta cooking needed about twenty minutes, veg ten at the most according to what it was, and meat could be cooked in the pressure cooker to save time. I did it all myself. I could have taken advantage of automated food, but would I know what I was eating? There are so many preservatives, chemical elements mixed into everything. It is not my sort of thing. Basically it is all a question of logistics. I remember once I had to bring my car to the garage and near the garage was a MacDonalds. I had to eat something for lunch and so I entered this fast food temple. I found a small table. The other tables were occupied by mothers and their children. Do mothers actually cook today I asked myself?

Today I am a golden oldie and no longer a working woman, so I have the time to think it over and cook it. I do not need prepared packages. I buy my meat over the counter usually. I do not buy pre-packed meat in a cellophane wrapper. Perhaps I should have married a farmer, then I would even know the mother and father of the cow I was eating, but there I would have a problem. I am not a vegetarian, but prefer my meat to be anonymous, otherwise I would not eat it. If I knew that the leg of lamb I was eating came from the farm around the corner where Bluebell was its mother and the only ram in the pack the father, then forget it. I prefer New Zealand lamb. There are thousands of them roaming the prairies and probably the mothers do not even remember how many children they had. My dad had a basic saying on stock as always “Let’s face it there are enough cows walking around and they must be there for something”. I am not agreeing, but try feeding a cat vegetable, he cannot digest it and so it always eats meat. The human body is able to digest meat, so why not.

That is the food problem dealt with for me. I love knowing how things arrive. I made my own clothes for many years; mainly because I had such an impossible figure, that it was the best solution – I was very tall. I even made trousers for the kids, but that was more a financial solution. Today I have perhaps shrunk a little, but what I have lost in height I have gained in width, although being a golden oldie who bothers. I dress in comfort and comfort clothes give and expand and I can buy it.

I buy bread although I even baked bread almost daily some time ago. Ok, it taste fine, smells good, but is it worth it? I decided eventually no, it was not worth it and so I now buy my bread. I do not eat a lot of bread. Making shoes is nothing I ever thought about, but I do not think so. There is nothing better wearing a pair of adidas or whatever for roaming around the country, and in summer either shoeless or a few leather thongs wrapped around the feet do the job quite well.

A thought came to me. This prompt is really directed at the so-called western civilisations. I remember a week in Marrakesh, Morocco. There is a market (souk), full of hand workers. They recycle what they can. They are not rich people and they would probably laugh when they would see the subject of this prompt. They would not have a great choice (except for the rich), they know how to make everything themselves and do not throw it away because something new has arrived.

Daily Prompt: Handmade Tales – I am Mrs.Do-It-Yourself in Person

Daily Prompt: 190 days later – I made it

Back on January 21st, we asked you to predict what day #211 would be like. Well, July 30th is that day — how have your predictions held up so far? If you didn’t reply to the prompt at the time, is this year turning out to be as you’d expected?

Predictions – so if you follow this link you will see what I wrote 190 days ago. I found it a stupid prompt then and still do and find this prompt the superlative of the original prompt. Since last writing I am still alive, but not all. My chief feline Nera decided to go to the eternal corn chambers and accompany Bastet on rooting out the mice in the feline happy hunting grounds.. I did not want that to happen, but it did.

As you can see from my blogs I am still here annoying all with my deadpan humour and trying to make the most of life and daily prompts. I am still waiting for an opportunity to order an XXL WordPress t-shirt, but forgot to mention this in my original prompt on 21st January. Can someone supply the link please?

New Back Garden

The blackberries shown in my first blog, really did disappear from the garden forever. They do not even try to reappear on the surface in the lawn. “What lawn?” you are asking. Yes, even the lawn has disappeared but this is a pure coincidence. Yesterday two gardeners arrived and scraped the remains of the lawn away, together with some slimy patches of dead slugs that were disintegrating from the salt I had spread on their munching bodies. The new lawn will probably arrive beginning next week. We have had a lot of rain and it was not possible to deliver at the moment. I am having a ready-made lawn delivered as it it not certain that if I grow a new lawn it will not be devoured by the eternal hungry slugs. I have even planned on Fred, a lawn mowing robot. As soon as the new lawn roots itself into the surface and begins to grow, it will have a daily cut by Fred who will even recharge himself when the power runs out, but more to this exciting novelty later when the new lawn arrives and has happy roots in the garden.

Although when re-reading the last paragraph of my original blog it seemed I had a morbid future in view.

“The computer was shedding light on the surroundings, it was breathing, its fans cooling the inside coils and circuits. There was a half empty glass of water on the desk and a half eaten doughnut lying next to the mouse pad. The blogger was slumped in the chair, a hand stretched towards the keyboard, and a finger resting on the letter “z”. A glance at the screen did not show a “z”, it was a blank black screen, a screen of death, until a white sign began to creep across the terminal as if guided by an invisible hand. Yes, the death of a blogger left many open questions.” TO BE CONTINUED ON 31ST JULY 2015 (perhaps).

It was not so tragic. There was a temporary power cut and thus no power. At the same time I had knocked over my half-filled glass of water and dropped some doughnut crumbs. I had to slump on the chair to wipe it all up with a paper handkerchief I found. This was a difficult job. “Z” on the screen was just a coincidence, it could have been @ or §, or even ¢, according to where my fingers had roamed. If your fingers remain on a key because with the other hand you are mopping up wet doughnut crumbs, the letter will repeat itself until you have collected whatever you are gathering with the other hand.

Anyhow here I am, living my usual golden oldie life, which is currently quite stressful. I have had quite a bit of logistic work to do, but together with Mr. Swiss we have mastered most of it. On Friday of all days, it is 1st August. If I say it is a Swiss 4th July I think you get the hang of it, but we are not celebrating independence. We only had a couple of disagreements about religion in Switzerland, otherwise it is a country with the bits and pieces of of Europe that were left over after everyone else took their chunk (Geography according to Mrs. Angloswiss). Now and again Switzerland acquires a new member. The last was the Kanton of Jura, which decided to split from the Kanton of Bern. The country did not grow larger, it just became more complicated.

Anyhow this 1st August stuff does not suit me on Friday. All the shops are closed, everyone walking around with a Swiss flag and kids with patriotic paper lanterns, lighting fires on the mountain tops and listening to a few speeches from the local mayor in town. As I do not shop every day, due to other womanly chores, I had to plan it all very carefully. Now we have barricaded ourselves with food to last until Monday. Mr. Swiss volunteered to fetch the remainders tomorrow morning. If this special commerative day had been on Sunday, it would have been more convenient, as the shops are then closed in any case and I would not have had to plan meals in advance.

So if the bloke/guy in the WordPress t-shirt has no further ideas about predicting what will happen in the future (and my future grows smaller day by day) I will now come to a close. See you all tomorrow on the flip side – I hope.

Daily Prompt: 190 Days Later – I made it

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun List Twist – There are fairies (and slugs) at the bottom of my garden

For today’s challenge, try a twist on a technique Ray Bradbury used to beat writer’s block.

Your mission is to write a new piece that includes at least five nouns: Garden, grass, slugs, cat, salt

New Back Garden

Today was the day. I am having my back garden revamped. Everything is planned for an early morning start, Mr. Swiss confirming that he would be up and ready to go at the crack of dawn. I was glad. If I told you that my prize winning collection of photos have many showing the golden sun sinking slowly in the West, but none showing the rising sun in the East, you will understand what I mean. No sunrises in the collection but plenty of sunsets.

We had decided to have the grass removed from the garden as it was no longer grass but a superb botanic mixture of all plants generally qualified as weeds, although I always found daisies and clover to have a mystical meaning. The reason why fairies would definitely be at the bottom of my garden, but unfortunately due to the damp summer the slugs ate the fairies. Every evening when I entered the garden to take breathes of the scent of the flowers; I heard a fairy scream somewhere. She was being attacked again by the brute of a slug. She had no defence and his slimy body held the fairy in a tight embrace. I decided to take action.

Armed with a kilo box of salt, iodine and fluor free, I began my search for a long brown, or perhaps black, shiny body. I carefully approached the fairy killer on tip toe, not wanting to alert the slug into a quick getaway. I am no longer the youngest and was not sure that I would be fast enough to surround this killer. It had double strength being both male and female. Probably this was the reason for slugs to be so unsatisfied with their life. They did not feel that Spring was in the air, they had no reason. Their sexual needs were combined in one body. They could not even get a divorce if they were unhappy with their partner, their partner being themselves. How boring the life of a slug must be.

Suddenly another high pitched scream filled the air at the bottom of the garden. I now knew no mercy and I lifted the leaf from where it came. There it was. A long slimy slug that was about to entwine a poor defenceless fairy and cover it in slime. This could not be, fairies also have a right to live. I shook some salt in my hand and sprinkled it on the slug. The slug twitched and was then still. A pattern of white spots formed on its skin where it had been hit by the salt grains. The fairy escaped to be met by my cat Tabby who decided they tasted even better than butterflies. Yes, so is the life of a fairy, out of the slug into the cat as the old saying goes. Actually it would be out of the frying pan into the fire, but I adapted the sense of the words.

I have now used all my words, so now to tell the rest of this story full of suspense, murder and shock.

The fairies now hid from the stealthy steps of my pet cat and the slugs were slowly disintegrating in a sea of slime caused by a salt attack when the gardener arrived. As a new lawn was planned, he scooped away the old grass surface and the pools of dying slug slime disappeared as well. I again heard a few fairies scream, I think he scooped some of them up as well, but as he did not believe in fairies, he never noticed it.

To make the job worthwhile and to ensure that I paid enough, the gardener also fitted a nice stone border around the vanquished lawn and made some stone paths. I organised the stone paths for the fairies to make it easier for them to escape from the slugs and my cat, but I did not tell the gardener. He may not have believed me.

To put the icing on the garden cake, the hedge was also trimmed. Then the head chief gardener, capo di tutti gardeners arrived to tell me the bad news. It seemed due to unexpected amounts of rain our new lawn could not be delivered tomorrow. It was too wet to be transported. I must explain. We were not having seeds of grass planted for a new lawn. That would have taken two months and the fairies did not have so much time. The complete tribe would have died for lack of grass. We organised a lawn that was already grown and would be delivered in meters. Unfortunately this prefabricated lawn was now delayed and we would have to wait one to two days. I asked the fairies and they said it would be OK. I did not ask the slugs, as most of them were now liquid slime and the remainders were all standing at the edge of a barren garden where there was nothing specific to eat for slugs in any case. I had placed a line of salt around the fairy settlement to protect them from a slug invasion.

Now we have a nice border with bushes and flowers, edged with tiles and an empty barren space where the lawn will be planted. One of the disappointments in life: the gardener told me to spread anti slug pellets around the edge to keep them out. I checked the packet of pellets and it said fairy and cat friendly, meaning that the two species would have to live with the problem until the new lawn arrived.

Now I am sure Ray Bradbury never had the success I had with the fairies and I do not remember reading a book where he told us how he wiped out the slug population of a planet with one kilo of salt. He always did it so complicated with firemen and books and thermometers. I am sure a packet of salt would have done the trick. He forgot to put salt on his list.

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun Twist List – There are Fairies (and Slugs) at the bottom of my Garden

Daily Prompt: Back to Life – did I die??

After an especially long and exhausting drive or flight, a grueling week at work, or a mind-numbing exam period — what’s the one thing you do to feel human again?

Stressless 1

Silly question at my golden oldie age as I do not do long and exhausting stuff, being at work has been eliminated from my timetable and I passed all the exams I needed in the last 68 years. What is “gruelling”? Ah yes, I remember, a word from the olden days when I did things I had to do and not what I wanted to do.

Now and again there are little jobs that have to be done. This morning was Tuesday, the day I clean the bathroom. Why do I clean the bathroom? I really do not know, but as everyone else cleans their bathroom from time to time I do it as well. It is hard work, but I have perfected the system over the years since I belong to the non-working-for-wages population. If you do it every week, it does not need so much involvement of energy and it saves time. Not that I like cleaning the bathroom, it is the worst job in the apartment, only second to cleaning the shower. I have now reduced the cleaning time to an hour and am generally finished by 11 o’clock in the morning. So what do I do afterwards? No problem: Mr. Swiss has gone hunting in town for a few provisions and I am alone with my tabby cat. I find that my ageing bones and body need a recuperation after my efforts,  so I rest for half an hour on the bed. Tabby usually joins me and we rest together, although Tabby has already been sleeping for a couple of hours, but she likes to change her position and place.

We are approaching midday and a woman’s work is never done (my mum always said), so I move to the kitchen and begin to cook. I eat lunch and after lunch relax with a cup of tea and some chocolate. Then I discover I am again feeling worn out and tired. Eating is also an exhausting pastime. I have now become a member of the midday sleeping club which is quite common amongst golden oldies, but you cannot just go to sleep. Preparations have to be made to ensure a restful undisturbed relaxation. I switch my iPhone to flight mode. With time I realised this is the quickest and simplest way to deter people from interrupting my sleep. Mr. Swiss does likewise He also blocks the land line and we are isolated, unavailable. After a two hour midday sleep I awake, refreshed and ready to go. I do not go far, just grope my way to the computer. This has also been switched off and it is time to let the electric impulses flow again through its cells.

As soon as it is alive I check to see if Facebook is still there and then move on to the daily prompt to see what brilliant ideas the men with the WordPress t-shirts have to keep our grey cells from disintegrating. It is always something completely different. Today it seems that I am resurrected according to the title, although I do not remember leaving life. Perhaps yesterday’s prompt was “Tell us about the time when you stopped breathing and your heart stopped beating” and I missed out on it.

Now the afternoon has arrived, my prompt is written and all is quiet. If it is bad weather I relax in my so-called “stress less” chair (see photo). Mr. Swiss found we should have one, so we ordered two, otherwise we would fight about who can sit in the chair. These chairs were invented for golden oldies. They are fully automatic when you sit. They bend according to the position the body needs and my body usually needs an almost flat position. Just tilted enough to see the iPad Kindle book I am reading. This is relaxation pure. I have my iPhone on the table next to me for any important calls that might arrive. If the weather is warm and sunny, it is similar. I relax on my sunbed on the porch.

Despite all these precautions to organise the third stage of my life, I have to ask myself “do I feel human”? Perhaps someone could define human. I just read an article in a newspaper (online of course) about the symptoms of unknown illnesses. If you find it difficult to hang the washing up, or reach the top shelf in a cupboard you have preliminary signs of osteoporosis. If you are out of breath when lying down, it could be you have the beginnings of a heart disease. Perhaps you are dazzled by bright lights at night, which I thought was normal. This is not the case. You have the beginnings of a cataract. You might have weak arms from hanging the washing. It is possible you have torn a rotor cuff (huh). I decided to stop reading newspapers, especially online newspapers.

And when the evening approaches it is another exhausting time for a golden oldie. Shall I watch the TV or shall I read further, or pehaps play a few rounds of Sugar Crush (a sub-intelligent computer game): the decisions I have to make! Eventually I crawl into bed, tired but happy and look forward to another reckless, lively, exciting day at home (or perhaps I might risk a visit to the local supermarket).

Daily Prompt: Back to Life – did I die?

Daily Prompt: Sudden Downpour – Wrong Street

It was sunny when you left home, so you didn’t take an umbrella. An hour later, you’re caught in a torrential downpour. You run into the first store you can find — it happens to be a dark, slightly shabby antique store, full of old artifacts, books, and dust. The shop’s ancient proprietor walks out of the back room to greet you. Tell us what happens next!

Impressions of September monthly market in Solothurn

It’s raining cats and dogs. “Ouch” I just got hit by a bull dog and they are really dense and heavy. Time to make an escape and find shelter: this is just the place, an antique store. Now I can browse around and might find something.

“Can I help you” said a squeaky voice from a Gollum lookalike guy as if he stepped out of the Lord of the Rings movie.

“But you look like G….”

“I know I do, I was in the film. Unfortunately it was a one only role and they never found another film for me. My type is just not popular. You want to buy something. I have some nice rings, very precious.”

“How much?”

“That varies on how much you want to invest. You can take a walk through a forest with living trees, or plunge into a volcano, they are all payments for a ring.”

“Sounds a bit dangerous; can I just leave a cheque?”

“Is it a hobbit bank cheque?”

“A what. Am I in a film?”

“No you just happened to stumble into a middle earth junk shop. What a minute my colleague has just arrived. He would probably be more helpful. He works in another department.”

The colleague was even smaller than the Gollum type. He had pointed ears and was carrying a jedi sword. “May the rain be with you” he said in a very old crackly voice. You need something? We have some C3PO droids going cheap. You can use them in rain and sunshine and if you buy one together with a R2D2 you can have them half price. We would even throw in a Darth Vadar with an umbrella if you take a Luke Skywalker WordPress t-shirt.

“You have a remarkable likeness to a character I once saw in a Star Wars Film, who was he? … ah yes, went by the name of Yoda.”

“Yes that’s me, look at my WordPress t-shirt it has my name on it.”

And the guy with the pointed ears was really wearing a t-shirt with the name Yoda.

“Now do you want a Darth Vadar as extra or not.?”

“Do the t-shirts come in XXL size?”

“This is a WordPress daily prompt shop, so forget it. We only cope for little people.” He then produced a king sized Jedi sword with a fluorescent light and pointed it in my direction. It was time to leave.

I had visions of WordPress grids, maniac scientists and daily prompts telling people about when things happened, so I left the shop, no – I ran from the shop. It was still raining. I entered a near bye café and sat at an empty table.”

“What would you like to drink” said the water who was dressed in a long black cloak and had had two large protruding canine teeth.

“I will take a coffee” I answered. My nerves needed something soothing after my nightmare trip in the world of science fiction.

“Sorry, no coffee, just tomato juice or a nice glass of red wine. Otherwise just inform your blood group and we will mix a suitable cocktail. Just lend me your neck and …….”

I left this restaurant panic striken, these Daily Prompts are really getting out of hand.

Daily Prompt: Sudden Downpour – Wrong Street

Daily Prompt: Age-Old Questions – The Golden Oldie strikes again

“Age is just a number,” says the well-worn adage. But is it a number you care about, or one you tend (or try) to ignore?

Sweet Pea

I planted my everlasting sweet pea seeds about twelve years ago. I wanted to add some colour to my privet hedge. I did and they grew every year, but no-one told me they were indestructible. Not that they have taken over, but they do tend to reach out and multiply. I cut them down every year, but they return with a vengeance. OK, I am going off at a tangent, but I did not want to punish you all with yet another photo of a golden oldie that is growing grey gracefully. When I come to think of it twelve years ago I was a youthful 55 years old, still a working woman and could run for the bus if necessary and this plant is everlasting..

I will be 68 years old in December, that is if you live in Switzerland you are already 68 years old, because I am living in my 68th year. This is some sort of Swiss logic, which makes no sense to me. It would mean that when I was born I was already a year old, because I was living in my first year. The Swiss have a different way of working things out, and make you a year older than you actually are, but it is not important. You are as old as you feel. There are days when I feel that I am approaching the end phase, when I do not spring out of bed but first of all sit carefully on the edge and think about it. Shall I stand up and risk it, or shall I remain seated and wait until I have to move because nature is calling? These are the decisions that approach in the last third of your life and let us face it, whether it suits me or not, I have arrived.

All my life I was sort of waiting for something to happen, around the corner. I was a kid at school wanting to be a grown up. Eventually I left school, was grown up, at least old enough to earn my own way, and began to work. I got married (to a Swiss that made me immediately a year older than I was – see explanation in first paragraph), I gave birth to children. I was still a working woman, but without earning money, I was doing it all for the family, like washing, ironing, changing diapers, ironing, cooking etc.: all the things that are part of life. At the same time I was growing older.

One day I decided this was not enough, I was working for the “pleasure” of working, so I decided to work and earn money. I farmed the kids out to a day nursery and joined the working woman’s club. The kids grew up, became independent, no more day nursery, but I was still working. This was the second phase of my life, but I was looking forward to the third phase when I was retired, receive money from the state and my company without having to work for it. Mr. Swiss being a few years older than me arrived there a few years earlier than I did. He became a houseman and I did the last few years. Eventually we were both there. We had arrived at the last third and phase of our life: end station

At first you have fun; you do not have to rise in the morning to the tune of an alarm clock, alarm clocks are a thing of the past. To be quite honest today I do not even know how they work, but I have an iPhone that does it all for me when necessary.

You can retire in the evening when you want to. At last the days arrive when you can watch the late night film without falling asleep before the end. Yesterday we watched a film called “Transformers” about extra-terrestrial machines that adapted and changed in all sorts computer graphic. We changed channels after a human which was a machine tried to strange her boyfriend with her 2 meter steel tongue which suddenly appeared. Were we too old to understand or was it just a boring film. We changed channels to find the remake of King Kong, the film about the giant ape on an island that fell in love with a beautiful blond. Unfortunately the remake was so remade that there were cannibals, dinosaurs and t-rex type of animals and this went on for three hours. I gave up after the first ninety minutes. Mr. Swiss lasted longer, but only the first two hours. Were we too old or do we no longer understand modern film techniques?

Life is fun then one day you are working in the garden, pulling out some sort of weed (that you cannot smoke) and you notice your body no longer wants to return to an upright position. Just a little twinge you think, but the twinge might continue for a few days until a visit to the doctor is necessary for pain killing medicine.

Up to now you were helping your other half because he could no longer lift heavy objects, now both of you think about who helps who. Sightseeing trips to the local cemetery visiting ancestors, that you actually knew in life, become trips where you wonder where your little corner will be one day. Ok, let us not be morbid, there are other places to visit. Just around the corner to where I live there is a senior home for those that no longer can cope with an independent life. Now that might come in handy one day and the village also organises gymnastics for the older generation.

You are no longer Mrs. …., but OLD Mrs. ….. according to your acquaintences. Your colleagues seem to be disappearing from time to time, never to return. This is stage three of life, so make the most of it while you can. At the moment Darby and Joan (English expression for older couple like Mr. Swiss and I) are sitting outside on the porch enjoying a pleasant day. There were slimy patches of dead melted slugs in the garden, due to my efforts with salt which I cleared away this morning. Another job I should have left. It took my back half an hour to recover, but now we have a restful moment. Mr. Swiss is reading (on his iPad/Kindle of course) and I am writing my prize winning blog entry of the day on the computer.

Yes, we might be old, but we are online, we are cyber golden oldies and we move with the times. I was thinking about having a tattoo done last year, but after a discussion I was discouraged from the idea by a certain person. Mr. Swiss has become quite modern with his Bruce Willis hairstyle, although I think Bruce Willis chooses to have it like that and Mr. Swiss no longer has such a choice. I now have meche highlights in my hair, although like Mr. Swiss I did not choose them, they just arrived. I used to wear dresses, even skirts, but now I am very modern and stick to trousers, shorter or longer according to the season. Thank goodness for blue jeans, they are so ageless and come in all sizes.

All being well, I will return tomorrow with another episode in the life of a digital, cybernated online golden oldie if I do not have an attack of rheumatism in my keyboard fingers.

Daily Prompt: Age-Old Questions – The Golden Oldie Strikes Again