My Mother Joins Something
"I want to join something," said my mother. "Something with dance in it."
She's very sociable and she loves any kind of dancing, and has always been very good at it.
I suggested that she might join Heydays, which happens every Wednesday for over-55s at The West Yorkshire Playhouse.
Then our friend David sent her the leaflet about it, and she decided to start, yesterday.
She got there at nine o'clock and straight away found a dance class - show dance of the kind that you find in musicals. She loved it and did it for the hour until ten o'clock. She said the teacher was excellent and I'm sure she picked it up at top speed.
After that she did some play-reading for the next session of the day. She thought the plays weren't very good but enjoyed it nevertheless. Plays are something she knows about. She used to run play-reading classes, for goodness' sake.
Then she had lunch and went to a T'ai Chi class, though she didn't think much of it ("bit wishy-washy, no rhythm to it, not as good as yoga").
Afterwards, she decided to get the bus home, so walked the three-quarters-of-a-mile or so to the bus stop.
When she got home, she said, she felt really invigorated by the day. "So I spent the rest of the afternoon gardening, until it got dark."
She was still bouncing about full of energy when I went over to see her as usual at about eleven o'clock at night.
"I'm back to normal!" she said. And it's true, she's been below par for weeks, ever since she got the virus, the one that the Communist died from.
She was delighted with Heydays: everyone was very friendly and she's going back next week. I shall look about for other things that she might join.
I didn't tell her, but yesterday would have been her sixtieth wedding anniversary. Both my mother and the Communist were terrible at remembering and I'd have to remind them every year, so they could each sneak out and buy something for the other one.
They did know that their anniversary was January 14th: they just never knew what the date was on any particular day, because they didn't need to. But, at the age of eighty-four-and-a-half, on her nearly-diamond-wedding anniversary, I'm glad that my mother had a good day.
She's very sociable and she loves any kind of dancing, and has always been very good at it.
I suggested that she might join Heydays, which happens every Wednesday for over-55s at The West Yorkshire Playhouse.
Then our friend David sent her the leaflet about it, and she decided to start, yesterday.
She got there at nine o'clock and straight away found a dance class - show dance of the kind that you find in musicals. She loved it and did it for the hour until ten o'clock. She said the teacher was excellent and I'm sure she picked it up at top speed.
After that she did some play-reading for the next session of the day. She thought the plays weren't very good but enjoyed it nevertheless. Plays are something she knows about. She used to run play-reading classes, for goodness' sake.
Then she had lunch and went to a T'ai Chi class, though she didn't think much of it ("bit wishy-washy, no rhythm to it, not as good as yoga").
Afterwards, she decided to get the bus home, so walked the three-quarters-of-a-mile or so to the bus stop.
When she got home, she said, she felt really invigorated by the day. "So I spent the rest of the afternoon gardening, until it got dark."
She was still bouncing about full of energy when I went over to see her as usual at about eleven o'clock at night.
"I'm back to normal!" she said. And it's true, she's been below par for weeks, ever since she got the virus, the one that the Communist died from.
She was delighted with Heydays: everyone was very friendly and she's going back next week. I shall look about for other things that she might join.
I didn't tell her, but yesterday would have been her sixtieth wedding anniversary. Both my mother and the Communist were terrible at remembering and I'd have to remind them every year, so they could each sneak out and buy something for the other one.
They did know that their anniversary was January 14th: they just never knew what the date was on any particular day, because they didn't need to. But, at the age of eighty-four-and-a-half, on her nearly-diamond-wedding anniversary, I'm glad that my mother had a good day.
posted by Daphne at 6:03 pm
5 Comments:
Last year would have seen my parents' 50th wedding anniversary - is that gold? - but of course they didn't make it.
I know my dad would have remembered, he always did though I had originally thought it was my mum who reminded him. However, after mum died a couple of weeks before their anniversary, I found a card he had already bought for her.
I am glad your mum had a good day. And I'm glad she's feeling well again. Well done for getting through a significant day.
Good for your Mum! Our neighbours are like that, in their eighties and always out cycling or dancing or gardening. It's keeping them going, I'm sure of it, and I'm equally sure it's doing a lot for your Mum, psychologically and emotionally.
I'm like that with dates, but my Mum always knows - she's eighty-eight. She reminds me of important occasions, my Dad's death, my brother's death, my step-father's death, their would-be anniversaries.
To me the date isn't important, but it clearly is to her, and to many others. We all deal with loss in our own way.
January 14 was my parents anniversary also.
Reading about your Mums day tired me out. I'm going to join something too. I'm going to go join my body to my mattress!
My Dad always remembers, and always asks me to buy something, because he never knows what she wants...that and they're never really apart from each other long enough to buy anything in secret!
Fantastic! Can you ask her what the secret is please, Daphne?
Post a Comment
<< Home