Not much to report today, except that I am still recovering from a few days of hands-on parenting again, helping my son make the transition from New York. 23 year olds are a mass of contradictions: they want your help, they don’t want your help, they need you, they don’t need you. They want your advice; then, if you give them advice they don’t want to hear, they get annoyed with you. Two things they do always like: lifts ( i.e rides) and money.
So today will be a day of recovery & getting all those everyday pre-Christmas things done – like shopping and getting the house ready for guests. My dearest old friend, Michael, arrives today for 2 nights. On Saturday, Heather, my current ( and, I hope, future) inamorata, flies in from New York. I can’t wait to have her in my clutches again.
Lying in bed this morning, listening to R4, listening to a discussion about the proposed phasing out of cheques ( in 2018), made me think about time and morality. Working forward to 2018, I did the maths in my head as to how old I will be when that happens ( 67). I suppose because cheques are part of the world I grew up in – grandmothers wrote you cheques for your birthday; my mother paid her bills that way; learning to manage a cheque book is a rite de passage from adolescence into adulthood – the report struck a chord. Another bit of your world is going to be abolished/phased out, like LP records or ( now) even CD’s. Old people – of which I absolutely do not count myself as one – must feel like this all the time. But the only constant in life is that there is no constant. Change is at the core of life and evolution. As Bob Dylan said: he who’s not busy being born is busy dying. But the discussion about the death of the cheque made me think about my own mortality. By adding on, say, another 20 years, from the date they were saying cheques will be abolished ( 2018) – a date which seems just around the corner – I realised that assuming I have not already popped my clogs then I will almost certainly have died by the year 2040 ( allowing myself a generous life span of 87 years). That makes death seem awfully close – and life, very finite. Most of all it makes me determined to live as full a life of the senses and the mind as I have until now.