Age again

I was standing at the kitchen sink, as I do, staring out of the window at the world, and saw a woman on a skateboard being pulled along by a small fox terrier on a long lead. It struck me that this was the ideal solution for exercising Cleo. She is the same size, very strong, a borderline collie with unlimited stamina and the will to run, and I am a rather exercise-averse but longing to be outdoors dog-owner.
I presented my idea to my son, whose only reaction was: Do you see any other 60-year-olds on a skateboard? Me: No. Son: I rest my case.
Now isn’t that just typical, bringing age into it. Age is just a number. I haven’t got used to being older than 23 yet. I’m still practising being a mother and they are both over 30. These things take getting used to. My favourite music is still Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin. I can still feel the vibration in my bones from listening to them too loudly in the den at my friend’s house, and my mother saying how awful they were.
My kids see me in a different light. They only remember the complaints about a painful knee when I walk down steps, or the fact that the fingers in my left hand are losing all feeling and will need to be operated on in the not-too-distant future. If I am out of phone contact, they panic and want to send out search parties in case I have fallen on the rocks at the lighthouse and broken my hip. I ask you. But at least they care.
They have visions of me coming home after a skateboard dog walk in an ambulance with a bandaged head and broken arm at the very least. They could be right. But I still fancy the idea.