Time stops for no one, so why curse what you cannot control. I listened to a talk some time ago, and the speaker said that in modern times, middle age lasts up to 75, and only thereafter does old age kick in. Only once you reach 85, he said, are you considered old. By 95, you are really old. As we were getting closer to what would traditionally be considered retirement age, Colin and I have embarked on a Repurpose Journey, as opposed to Retirement. We are both too young and energised to watch TV and read books on bird calls.

I was chatting on WhatsApp to a much younger friend of mine, and she was saying how she wished that she was in a better position to make the break that I had made. My rather flippant reply to her was: One of the benefits of growing older. Oh, yes. Any day I would choose older and wiser over slender and sexy. Or maybe not…depends on when you ask. Whichever way, today I want to share some of my experiences of living with older and wiser people.

My very good friend from Pretoria is a hairdresser. Hairdressers rate right up there with phycologists and behaviourists.  They know all our problems, our innermost qualms, and our deepest and darkest secrets that we are prepared to share from underneath a UV lamp or pedestal dryer. This particular hairdresser had several Silver Foxes (a name coined by another friend of mine, referring to wiser, older women whom we all could learn from) who would come for their weekly purple rinse and set hairdo every Wednesday. The chins would wag, and the secrets would spill. She had the perfect opportunity to ask all those questions that younger woman would love the answers to. According to her old ladies, only the body ages, the mind remains young. I will leave it to your imagination what topic they were discussing. But to answer your question: it doesn’t stop.

In my new little village, I have become friendly with an eclectic bunch of women. In no time at all, we revived the local charity that all but died during Covid restrictions. We are back to organising tea parties and fund raisers. A couple of Saturdays ago, we decided to bake pancakes as a fund raiser. When the appointed time arrived, I joined the group, who I imagined I would find in the kitchen, baking pancakes. Oh no. I found them sitting in the lounge area, talking about things I did not imagine “mature” ladies would talk about. Much of the talk was brought on by the song: “Your Man”, and the song starts off with: “Baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low….” My goodness. Did I learn a few things about a few people that day. Getting the pancakes baked on time resulted in a frantic baking and rolling frenzy, at the last minute.

This morning, we had another meeting. This time we are making and selling another food item. Ladies, the Main Fox said sternly, let us learn from our mistakes, and not have a repeat of the pancake fiasco. She had sourced us a new meat supplier that can give us Boerewors (a traditional long sausage rolled into a coil, for those cousins from other mothers) at a reasonable price. New supplier is called Werner. Yup. Many a hot flushed giggle later over Werner se Wors (The cousins can translate this one themselves) and we confidently declared that this time we will be better organised.

Next, the conversation turned to…Cannabis Oil! And not just any Cannabis oil. Today I learned from my Silver Foxes which are the purer oils, and why it is better to have the oil in Gin and not just straight from a teaspoon. Mrs Silver Fox went into a long discussion of the day she decided to pour her 100% pure oil into the Gin bottle. All was well, until she spilled a little, and decided to lick the drip up using her fingers. The result of the story was her falling into a comatose sleep, in front of the TV, with drool down her cheek. Unfortunately, her husband was there to witness the “gemors,” and clearly husbands do not understand the Silver Fox code of silence. And so, now her whole family knows about it. The outrage is not that she poured Cannabis Oil into Gin, but that her husband shared the story! Gosh, I thought to myself. Worst I ever did was trying to bake Dagga cookies, and since I am a poor baker, even those flopped. I have been placed in Botrivier for a reason, to learn from the best darn Silver Foxes out there.

One of the fund raiser committee members arrived a little late. Sorry, she apologised. I was delayed. She was out walking her dogs, when one of the neighbour’s cars came to a screeching halt. Neighbour jumped out the car and ran back to her house. Turns out, she had forgotten to put her dentures in before leaving, and seeing the dogs reminded her of the slight oversight. I can not even begin to imagine what the connection was between dogs and teeth. Maybe she had a tipple too much Gin for her arthritis in the morning. Or maybe she forgot to turn the lights back up again. I really can’t say.

A few weeks ago, I told you about the gentleman who had to be rehomed as he is battling Alzheimer disease. I bumped into his partner and asked how he was doing. Well, she said. First, he joined an exercise class that had them sitting in a chair lifting their legs one at a time. First the left one, then the right one, and again the left one and on and on it went. He decided to not go back after two classes. Why not, she asked, and he replied: I am not here to train to march for the Russian army! Instead, he has taken up ballroom dancing. His prowess got around, and the dance class has grown in (female) numbers. Why would he tell her about this? Well, he did not want her to hear from others that he had several dance partners, and none of them are her.

My young friend had it spot on. Maybe even I waited too long to make the break. Yes, there are days when I wake up and my mind still thinks corporate thoughts. I look at my laid-back wardrobe and I miss my tailored jackets and patent leather heels. But then, I turn up the music, I listen to some young bit of lusciousness singing about being “Your Man”, and I run with my pack of Foxes, and I realise that youth is indeed wasted on the young. Today, I embrace my weekly, slightly more sophisticated, silver rinse (it gives your hair that hint of mystery, I am told). I wear my very trendy leather flats. And, going forward, I will be infusing my Gin with a slightly daring organic addition. It helps with arthritis; I have been told. Or remembering to not leave home without your teeth.