One of my companions on Church Watch this afternoon tells me, with justifiable pride, that she is eighty-eight years young. I would have thought she was at least ten, maybe fifteen years younger.
I ask her for her secret formula (let’s face it, I need all the help I can get) and she tells me that her motto is “Better to wear out, than to rust.” I am quite taken by it.
Mr B and I are both still feeling a bit rusty, as we struggle with the remnants of our summer colds. We keep dosing each other up with Lemsip and Anadin Extra and enquiring solicitously after each other’s health and well-being.
We are hoping that the mountain air of glorious Austria will blow all our cobwebs away and have us happily yodelling away about lonely goat-herds in no time at all.
With just a couple of days to go
I have started packing. Today was “Last Wash”. I’m sure everyone who has ever packed to go away on holiday knows what “Last Wash” is. It’s the final opportunity to decide that, for example, a particular pair of trousers,
a skirt, a top or whatever needs to be taken on holiday but requires washing before it can be packed. Today we actually had two “Last Washes”, one for light clothes, one for dark clothes. Woe betide Mr B should he dare to find something else that
needs washing between now and Sunday morning.
Mr B has phoned our lovely taxi driver (aka Mr Reliable) to check on timing for our early morning pick-up. Four thirty, he tells me. Four thirty!
Why, that means we will have to be up before the Dawn Chorus. That’ll be a shock to the system. Our plane flies out at 7.30 a.m. which sounds an eminently reasonable time to travel until you factor in the journey to the airport and check-in requirements.
Mr B reminds me that this holiday was All My Idea and that he always takes matters such as flight times into consideration when planning a holiday. I tell him we can sleep on the plane...
We will take
one large case and one small case. Mr B will handle the large one, I will trundle along behind him with the small one. We need to decide whether we are going to split our clothes up between the two cases, in case one goes missing in transit. Apparently this
is something which sensible holiday-makers do but I get muddled up having to think about dividing my tee-shirts up between two cases. I will either take too many or not enough. I always feel happy when I arrive home from a holiday having worn everything
I have taken, so proving that I have chosen well. It doesn’t happen very often.
I am also super impressed by those articles which appear in newspapers and magazines at this time of year
explaining how to pack the perfect holiday wardrobe of mix and match essentials which will carry you triumphantly through each and every activity. Impressed, that is, because this minimalist approach never works for me.
Anyway I had to leave off worrying about my packing, minimalist approach or not, because it was my turn on Church Watch, which is where I met the 88 year old who would rather wear out than run to rust. I was all prepared
to adopt this as my own motto when, walking home, I met a much younger woman riding a bicycle along the pavement and singing “Row, row, row the boat” at the top of her voice.
This brought to mind another Motto for Life, courtesy of someone called William W. Purkey (I imagine the W must be important or why would he bother with it?) which goes something like:
gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's
heaven on earth.”
On second thoughts, that’ll do for me...