Just for once

I’d like to be called something other than ‘the nana’ …

When did I become this non-person? How did I turn into my mother? And why do I find myself thinking about death and what the next five years, or ten years, are going to be like — will I even get to see the next few years anyway? What will they do when I’m gone? Am I no longer vital? Have I lost my edge — if I even had it to begin with?

I search for evidence of splendidly vital women my age — there are many I’m sure but then I look at the news feeds streaming onto my phone and half the time I don’t have a clue what the fuck they are talking about. Has journalism gone so far up its own backside that editors are now too bloody lazy to come up with a title that ‘your general public’ can actually understand. Next post, I give examples, I’m cooking macaroni cheese at the minute and the grandkids are awfully quiet upstairs — so I’d better investigate.


Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Janice Scott’s story.