VAN Morrison, in his cover
with THEM of the John Lee Hooker song ‘Don’t Look Back’, sings:
“If I
could call back
All those days of yesteryear
I would never grow old
And I'd never be poor
But darling, those days are gone.
All those days of yesteryear
I would never grow old
And I'd never be poor
But darling, those days are gone.
Stop
dreaming
And live on in the future
But darling, don't look back...’
And live on in the future
But darling, don't look back...’
Of
course, he fails to take his own advice, always, it seems, singing about the
glories of THE PAST when he lived near Cypress Avenue, on Hyndford Street. For some of us, there will be glories of the past. For me, it was visiting the cousins in
Bundoora, waiting for the parents and brother of your first love to go to bed,
my football team’s first successes, Enid Blyton, family holidays to Cooma and
the like, the first big trip overseas to places like Cornwall and Paris.
But for now, I am in the mood to think about the glories of THE FUTURE.
In my mind I have mapped out a plan. The future will be dotted with lots of little
highlights that bring memories of nightclubs and working life and raising
little kids to shame.
In the future my children will obviously no longer be children. They will
be fantastically useful adults who will have children of their own who will
provide me with boundless pleasures. M will ring out of the blue and ask if J
and I can feed her two little girls, give them a bath, and read to them. During
the week I will have caught a tram to Carlton, visited Readings bookstore, and bought
them the new shiny picture story book about a red dragon or a purple unicorn
that everyone is talking about. It will be really something to be 80 or 90 and
have two sweet little kids holding their breath, fascinated, by my aged, husky
voice and my long practised ability to adopt character voices.
Then a couple of days later S will drop in- my kids who are now adults
will never ring first-and I will be just getting out of bed because of a new habit
of sleeping in, and she will make us both a strong coffee with the sparkly machine
she bought us for Christmas. She will seek some advice and hang onto my words
of wisdom and kiss my whiskered face in gratitude. We will hold hands like we
have always done and take a book outside, sitting beneath the oak tree as red
and golden leaves of autumn fall around at our feet. She will tell me about how
her boys are getting on and where her philanthropic work is heading.
Some mornings I will wake early and read by the natural light coming
through the bay windows. I will marvel at the blue light splashed on the walls
from the reflection of the stained glass. J’s hair will look soft and wavy, all
grey cascading across her pillow. There will inevitably be either our Afghan
puppy or Persian kitten at the foot of the bed making my toes warm and numb. Sometimes,
on the street, I will hear early morning conversations amongst neighbours, kids
getting ready for school, bells tingling, the comforting crunch of gravel. We will
know and treasure all our neighbours. They will visit, like our kids,
willy-nilly, and if I am busy tinkering with something, J will attend to their
needs.
After breakfast I will sigh deeply and read the paper (still shunning
the electronic version), and the morning will melt into the afternoon. Eggs,
milkshakes, crosswords, maybe a bit of gardening, but not too much. J will go
outside and wrap wire around her tomatoes, and splash a bit of paint below the
orchard wall. Watching her labour, I will sit in my great armchair and think
wistfully of England, planning another visit in my head, thinking about our
last visit, wondering if the lanes of Much Wenlock look the same, the tidy
brown cottages of Bibury in the Cotswolds, the black, black graves in the grounds
of the Bronte parsonage, the charming low ceilings of pubs like The Feathers in
Ludlow, the stone jetty at Mevagissey in Cornwall…
Whoops, it is 3:30 already. J has come in to have a shower. Some books
have arrived from ABE books in the mail. I am reminded of my goal- to read one
Henry James novel a fortnight until I have finished. I go back to bed with
toast and an orange juice and knuckle down with my Afghan and a first edition of
The Ambassadors, from James’ third period. I have nearly finished. I drift and
fall asleep, and awaken, and drift, and fall asleep and awaken. It is suddenly
10 o’clock and I have finished. My body feels strangely alive and tingly. J is
still up, watching television, as I ponder what I will read next.
It is late but I am not tired. I put my dressing gown on and pour a
generous whisky and escape the television and wander into the billiard room. I practise
slotting balls, preparing for the billiard night that is coming up here in this
very room with four or five fellas from the neighbourhood. We all enjoy our
whisky and chat about politics and our sports. Tonight, though, I am gloriously
alone, pocketing balls, and listening to Mahler’s 5th symphony, the Adagietto,
from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I am transcended. It effortlessly propels my
limbs around the table. I’m not sure if it is the whisky, my age, or the music,
but I am sighing deeply, then suppressing a sob, in gratitude, for everything
good that old age brings.
4 comments:
Love this. So rich in the simple pleasures of life. Thanks for writing and sharing this. I hope your life moves towards this future in every way possible.
Thank you- maybe you come and play pool and listen to Mahler with me- we can both wear a smoking jacket and talk about the dropping standards in the youth of the day.
So...were you visiting your cousins in Larundel or Mont Park?
I grew up in Reservoir, caught tadpoles in the shadows of Pentridge,
was unhappily married in the crevasse of Pascoe Vale South and me dad
was in the RAF with Gerald Hughes.
And like Gerry's brother Ted, me dad had a Mad Cow's disease and I
survived me mam's attempt to top herself. Talk about the drop-kick
standards of parents. Back in the daze.
Mmmm, interesting timing- I just found out that Gerald Hughes died the other day. Went looking for him once on the streets of Mornington as in Mornington Peninsula- I didn't really know where to look. Sorry to hear about all the family problems.
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