When I was was about 10, my great-grandma Weller (also known to us youngsters as The Great Weller), died. She was about 93 and had spent at least the last part of her life with diabetes. I knew her as a slim old lady who sat in her chair by the window with a blanket over her knees. She always wore an aquamarine and platinum ring and one day, when I was still very young (3?, 4?) she said, “When I die, this ring will be yours.”

When I was slightly older, (5 or 6) I was sitting on her lap and asked her, “When are you going to die?” I was really keen on owning that ring! Needless to say, I was not given that ring when she died but, when I was around 18, it finally came my way. By that time I had realised that I was far too young to wear such a big and expensive ring, preferring my Mexican Wedding ring which I had bought when we were in California – just a plain silver band set with chips of turquoise. That ring stayed with me until I foolishly gave it to the boy I was going out with and he ‘lost’ it. (Looking at you, Dennis!) Since then, I have rarely worn a ring except, for a few years before my wedding ring finger got too fat!

That is all beside the point, really. We’re talking about the age of 80.

My grandmother and my mother both went on to reach 80, then 90, though neither of them was as mentally competent as The Great Weller by the time they left their 80’s.

Because almost all my female relatives on my mother’s side have lived into their 90’s, there’s a chance that I will, as well. Now that I’ve reached 80 (!OMG!), I can almost imagine going the full way or even passing 92 or 93. But, do I want to?

I’m really of two minds about it. On the one hand, it means that I would be alive to see another 12 or 13 years of advances in science and art; alive to paint more abstracts (I’ve given up trying to paint figuratively!); alive to read more; alive to see Lola get old; alive to see the beauty in the world – and, sadly, the ugliness.

On the other hand, getting older has meant my legs are not able to walk so far or dance so much. It has meant, too, losing a lot of hair, gaining wrinkles where there was until recently only smooth skin, and having odd pains suddenly jabbing me then vanishing, only to reappear somewhere else a bit later. It also means becoming, once again, scared of the near future when the authoritarian heads of one or more countries have intimated that they may – or may not – spread their warlike tentacles into the places where I and my loved ones live for the least valid of reasons. (I won’t even mention the ridiculous would-be authoritarians who are stealing liberties and banning books in the name of Jesus Christ (poor Jesus!)

And, of course there’s climate change and all that means! Living in the UK, we seem to be having a slightly longer cold period of winter and, if last July and August are anything to go by, the hideous HOT of summer temperatures in the 30’s. (For you Fahrenheit people out there, that’s high 80’s/90’s.) Just at the moment, the last day of April, 2023, the temperatures in the south of Spain are threatening to go up to 40C – 104F and, presumably, it’s all going to get worse!

I can’t imagine not being alive but, unless death is only a new beginning to something really wonderful, (and nobody’s going to tell me with great authority that it is) I guess I’d like to stay alive as long as I can!