When I got into work on Monday, the cake arrived shortly after breakfast, and the singing ensued. It was not rapturous but jolly none the less. "Are you going to do 'lunges' today", I was asked by the younger members of my staff. Of course! I was, actually, now out of prime. Not necessarily out of my prime, but out of a prime number. I would have to wait until next year until I was back into a prime, but I could survive. "If I do one leg at a time, split myself in two, I can be 30 this side, and 30 the other side", I said, tongue in cheek. Of course, I felt like I was in my prime, not feeling any different to last week, and presumably no different to tomorrow, when I would be one step closer to that next 'prime' stage.
I did take the 'senior' status to the extreme. So much so, it took the slight curl of my mouth and glint in my eye to let all know that I was joking, but I remembered my grandmother and the indignation when she became an 'old age pensioner'. She could push in front of people, and she could say what she wanted. Actually, there was no change to how she had been her whole life, but now she could wave her bus pass and appear to have authority. I responded to all calls of my name with a very stern, "What?" Fortunately, for all, I got bored with playing before everyone else! I decided the 'double thirty' was a better option!
The fact that I found swimming harder this week, had nothing to do with me not being a 'prime' number anymore, but it took me a couple of days to realise. Becoming sixty did not overnight make me weaker! The heat index, and the 'feels like' heat were soaring, and whilst the temperatures were hot, it felt like it was over the century all week. One hundred is also not a prime number, so I felt justified in my breathlessness! Of course, first thing in the morning, I did not have a problem.
Falling down the stairs on Tuesday was probably not one of my better stunts since becoming this 'hip-hop', 'double thirty' act, but I slipped and slid and lay at the bottom wondering why I had insisted on opening a theme park in my house! Surely there were more conventional ways of enjoying a 'roller coaster'. "You need to be careful!" said my loving daughter, who had been putting on her shoes, and came running, one shoe on, one in hand. "You are an old lady now". Right. Last week would have been fine! I felt no pain, and dismissed the nagging in my neck as it had been pulled. I was fine! I was strong! One year does not a degenerate make! However, if you are talking noun instead of verb! A degenerate I was becoming!
Hotter and hotter the temperatures rose. Texas at its best. The air conditioning was working overtime, and the inevitable leak in the ceiling was just around the corner. The office was once again flooded in the kitchen area. Of course, I blamed the dogs for the puddle just outside the door that led to our 'utility' room, but realised that not even the two of them could manage to make that big a puddle, and certainly, being dachshunds, could not have aimed and managed to get it that high up the wall! The drip on my head as I was giving them that 'I am a senior, I have a bus pass' look, gave it away.
Birthday cards filled my mailbox all week. I went from being two thirties to six ten year olds. I felt so much happier, and more at home, with the ten year olds! Still cheeky enough to enjoy life, not sullen like the four fifteen year olds I had decided to avoid at all costs. Although not 'prime', I was enjoying the diversity of this new figure! After all, age is just a number, is it not. It is not when you fall down the stairs, apparently. I had a pain in my side that would not go, and could not work out why!
"Hmm. It's dripping from the ceiling", said the air conditioning repair man. Clipping him around the ear with my imaginary bus pass would have been the answer, I am sure, but instead I smiled, and resisted the all Texan, "Y'all reckon?" He stood looking upwards, and did not appear to be phased my the drips of water that were landing on his nose. Instead, he sighed, and told me he would return to take care of the problem. I thanked him, profusely, as is my way, and he almost bowed out of our office. Reverence it appears is not just restricted to the pool!
It was a week of reminders. I called several jails to find out if they had 'inmates' at their 'facilities', as I had a few papers to be sent out. I spoke to several court house clerks. It reminded me, once again, how different my life has become. At one time a trip to a courthouse would have been daunting. Calling would have been just as bad. It was as if the person on the end of the phone could see right through you, and no matter your reason for calling, you could hear the voice announce, "Guilty as charged", before you even uttered "Hello". I spoke to the clerk. "Oh heck, we have had problems with our system. They just had to take out one letter to change it all around, and they can't do it". I sat and laughed with her. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I laughed. "I will send them to you", she said, referring to the papers I needed. She then continued to tell me the problems she was experiencing with the supposed 'experts' who were in charge of her "Ay Taye" department. I could have listened to her all day. The twang was not really East Texas, but the slur was definitely slow enough. The prison officer was the same. It was like she was doing me the favour. "Oh, yes, ma'am. We surely do have him here. Why yes, ma'am". It is like living in the black and white era of television, back when prime was forty, and sixty had you sitting on the porch with a glass of iced tea, rocking in your chair. I could enjoy that, for about ten minutes! At forty I had no idea that I would be celebrating my sixtieth birthday in Austin, Texas, let alone anywhere permanently outside of England, but here I was, a few days after another big one hit, being referred to as 'ma'am', by an East Texan prison officer! It never fails to make me smile!
I continued with the 'in house' exercises, which were not too harsh this week. However, after ninety squats, I did feel a little breathless. The phone rang, and I ran to answer it. It was a solicitor, but I could not help but laugh. It is rare that the person answering the phone is the heavy breather! The caller replaced their receiver quite promptly! Perhaps I will be taken off their list as a 'nuisance answerer'!
"Well if you will throw yourself down the stairs", said my daughter, as I climbed with difficulty into her car on Saturday morning, "Especially at your age", she added with a tone of humour in her voice. She had known immediately why I was suffering from a modicum of pain from the moment I mentioned it. "Checked for bruising?" she asked. I had not. I was surprised that when I did I had not noticed the large patch of yellowy brown discolouration covering the top half of my leg. My pride, rather than my prime, had been compromised!
Our shopping trip was tough. It was getting hotter, with a 'heat advisory' notice published. 'Record breaking' were words that were used. The roads were quiet and the shops not particularly busy, until we got to the check out. I wondered what my grandmother would have done in this situation. "Blind people can go to the front of the queue", she would tell everyone. "You are not blind!" they would comment. "No but I am deaf", she would say, "And an old age pensioner!" I thought about it. "I am a senior. I demand to go first!" I think I would be marched out of the store! "Yeah but are you in your prime?" Not until next year. Of course, I could baffle them with my waffle and indicate that I am in another 'prime year', but perhaps it is best not to go there.
Walking back to my house after another early morning swim, I looked up at the sky. It was gloomy. There was a very dark patch of cloud to the south (oh yes, living here I have had to become 'directional') and it looked like rain, although there was none in the forecast. It was already becoming hot, and I could feel the 'index' rising. "We need rain", I thought to myself. The crepe myrtles were blooming, and the persimmons were showing sign of fruit. "Who am I?" I wondered. When did the crepe myrtle become my tree, and when did Sharon become Persimmon? At ten years old, I think I would have been comfortable out in public in a swimsuit. At thirty, no way! Yet here I was, admittedly, towel around me, walking along the road at seven thirty, in beachwear! In my prime? Heck yeah! This is something my grandmother would never do! I doubt she owned a swimming costume! Two generations ago, I would have been old! Now, I am just starting! I have not abandoned the two thirty year olds, three twenty year olds, nor the four sullen teenagers, but I think for the rest of my non-prime year, I shall be going with the six ten year olds! It suits me better. And if all six of them fall down the stairs, they will do it together, and one will come out on top, and unscathed. In the words of an octogenarian who celebrated his birthday this week, "I feel fine!" Oh Ringo! Four twenties or eight tens? Maybe you will go with the tentacles on the octopus, about whose garden you sang!
I look forward to temperatures under the century, which I am assured will be around Tuesday, perhaps Wednesday, and shall attempt to enjoy another week of being all six sextuplets, acting accordingly, if not appropriately, and shall be singing and laughing my way in to ...... another story!
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