Island Rambler - the everyday musing of an Island mum

There is a saying that March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb. Well I think January could be said to come in with a bang and out with a cheer. Good old dreary January with it’s influx of bills, grey weather and the post Christmas back to work blues. The lights are down, restaurants are shut and Spring seems such a long time away let alone the summer holidays. And for me I have the added joy in that my birthday falls just after twelfth night.

I’ve now got to the age where my birthday is greeted with a little trepidation, watching the calendar that seems to speed through more quickly than a decade ago. However this year it was really compounded with the arrival - on my birthday - of the health check letter from my doctor. Whilst a worthy thing to have (and I have and am quite fine, thank you), I was a little miffed at receiving on the big day as it clearly seemed to say “You’re getting old”. So I got to thinking that yes, I suppose I should have to class myself as middle aged but when does it really all begin?

My mum used to say to me that she was eighteen until she looked in the mirror. I never understood what she meant, but am really feeling it now. And though I may not want to go back to my stroppy teenage years I definitely don’t feel in my forty something ones. So is middle age an actual age or a state of mind? If you say that it is half your life span then I would have to concur that I am there, but now people are saying forty is the new thirty so I am not quite there yet? It is all very confusing.

And after all what does middle age mean? Is it the time when you no longer want to go out every night? When did you want to recall what you were doing after a Friday night? Should you be looking for comfortable clothes rather than those that are on trend? Or perhaps looking longingly at the Saga holidays who seem to having been sending brochures to my husband way before he is old enough to try them?

For me I know that my days of turning cartwheels on Tennyson Down with my children - yes, I really did! - are probably over. And there are increasing times when I walk into a room, or a shop, and then don’t remember what I came in for. But I am still sound of body and mind. I want to go out and explore different places, try different foods, read a new author. It is my choice not to want to go out every night and I can definitely remember where I am every Friday as I am at work.

Growing older doesn’t have to mean you have to grow old. Illness notwithstanding middle age, whenever it begins, shouldn’t be thought of in terms of restrictions. My children are growing older, although I am in fear of their ever approaching teen years, I have been through the whole dating malarky and no longer feel the need to change the world single handedly. I am comfortable with who I am and if the woman who looks back at me from the mirror has a few more lines and little more sag than I would like I only see her when I’m brushing my hair. My dad recently complained that he was now restricted to walks of five miles or less. He is eighty five, has arthritis and a had a triple bypass. I just hope I am as keen and sprightly when I reach his age.

So bring it on middle age, do your worst. I have survived teenage tantrums, the angst of my twenties and the clock ticking thirties. Already I happily wear purple and refuse to be turned by either Eastenders or Strictly. And I intend to turn into a grumpy old woman at the earliest opportunity.