ANITA BIRT'S JOURNAL

I've been thinking about what it feels like to grow old. I mean really old, like ninety! What about starting a NINETIES Club? And that made me smile. Clubs have rules after a fashion. Imagine electing (by a show of hands) a ninety-five year old woman, let's call her Grace, a pleasant old fashioned name. She uses a walker and seems a little frail but is bright and humorous when the spirit moves her.

So to the first meeting of the NINETIES Club held in a convenient room in a retirement community where they all live. Ten joined the club. One died, now there are nine. Reminds me of that silly song about ten green bottles sitting on a wall. This club is risky. Join at your peril. Members are given tasks! Bring in something of interest to share with the other members. A book. A piece of knitting. A small piece of rock found on a recent walk.

Then I started thinking about how many of the members will live another year, never mind another two . That made me smile. Without new members rushing to join, the club will die, with its members within a couple of years. Not good to go.

I'm reading A.S.A. Harrison's book, The Silent Wife. I almost tossed the book aside because the characters didn't interest me. They seemed unexciting. Living lives without passion. But as I continued reading I became engaged in the unfolding story. I have to put it aside at night or I'll stay up reading. I am eking (is that a correct word?) the book out as I go about my day, my long walks and my own writing. I thought time would drag as I aged, instead it is flying by. Stop the world! Let me catch my breath.

I also thought about being a brilliant blogger, catching a brilliant idea and going with it. I read about such bloggers but my ideas are not brilliant. How about writing about the sky outside my window? As I glance outside, pale gray rays of sun are slanting through a narrow gap in a lowering sky, threatening rain. Sunsets are spectacular over the Strait. Like postcards. Then we have roaring gales lashing the coast. The bare dry bones of trees lie on the stony beach. But, that's not going to interest anyone. So what to do?
 
About my published books. A VERY DIFFICULT MAN. I'll send a copy of a promotional disc and a card and envelope to the first three people who send me her/his name and address. No charge.

Anita
My new web site is a few heartbeats away