On being a crock

I have done something to my back. I have never had back trouble and Ian often has. I hope I have been sympathetic and supportive when he has struggled with putting on socks and has had a spine curved like a banana but I suspect I might have combined sympathy with too sharp a sense of how funny it looks. Well I have my comeuppance now.

This morning I rolled about on my back like a stranded beetle trying to work out how to get up. I finally achieved an inelegant slide over the side and began the slow hobble to the bathroom. As I approached the full length mirror I saw a bent over crone, an older version of my mother. Now my mother is a good looking and interesting woman and turning into her holds no fears but she is seventy four and this woman looked about eighty. I've straightened up now after four hours or so but it was a bit of shock.

I find this quite a lot since I turned fifty. I can still turn out quite well with a decent haircut and some makeup and heels so on a good day after loads of sleep and through a light veil I can look ten years younger. However if I am feeling under the weather I can easily look ten years older. I feel I slide about between fortyish and sixtyish, madly disconcerting. I suspect it is generally part of getting older because I see Ian doing it a bit too when he is tired but his sliding scale seems a more manageable ten years or so.

I'd love to garden but bending over seems impossible unless I have a small crane to lift me up again so I have been wandering about with my camera. Walking seems better than sitting and outside is always better than in. The sun is shining and the hens are clucking, the cats are sunning themselves on the flags. Keep away from the mirror for a day or two and count your blessings.