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lundi 22 juin 2015

THOSE WERE THE DAYS ...


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Today, I'd like to attract your attention on a question form which can give you a key to understand British mind.

When you want to know about someone's age ( which can be straightforward and rather tactless, anyway), you've been taught to ask " how old are you ?".
Haven't you ever wondered why " how old" and not " how young " ?
  
I guess if we were asked " how young are you ? ", we would feel immediately more optimistic and energetic, whereas the phrase " how old .." make us feel the burden of our years !
It is the same thing with the weight ! The question " how heavy are you ? " makes most of us flee far away from the bathroom scales,doesn't it ? Sure 
" how light are you ? " would make our bodyfat leaner !

But let's get back to the question of age. How old or how young doesn't really matter as long as you are young in spirit. It is a common saying and I think it often turns out to be true. Staying young is a matter of body, I don't deny it of course, but it is mainly a matter of mind or spirit. Crow's feet ( laugh lines is a sweeter word) just mean the corners of your mouth often go north and that life is enjoyed to the fullest, period, end of the sentence !
I do believe that as long as we smile, we all belong to the same generation !!

Unfortunately last Tuesday proved me somehow wrong ..

I went downtown to get some special tea ( with cardamon,cinnamon, fennel seeds and ginger).
As soon as I stepped into the shop, I felt I knew the girl behind the counter.I was quite sure we shared a lot of Summer holidays memories. I would have staked my life on it !
To my casual " Hello ", she replied with a formal " Good morning,Madam " which made me wonder.
First I thought she had not recognized me.After all, some people don't have a good memory for faces ! But a little voice inside my head was already humming the lyrics of a chart-topping hit in the late sixties ( ..those were the days my friend,we thought they'd never end ..) which deals with the reminiscence of youth and idealism.

I swept away all my dark thoughts about time flying ( time and tide wait for no man), put on my pink glasses and racked my brain to find out who the girl was. She was still in the back room when it came back to my mind :
The same blue eyes, the same freckles, the same high cheekbones, the same dimples. Of course, she was Fred's sister ! I could not be wrong !

When she came back to the counter, I couldn't help asking her point blank :

"  I guess we know each other.You're Fred's sister, aren't you ? "

She replied gently :

" No, Fred is my father. "

What a shame ! That's why she greeted me so respectfully ! Privilege of old age ? I was floored !!

To crown it all, when I came back home and told my husband about my misfortune, his derisive comment finished me off !

" Lucky you ! Fred could have been her grand-father !".

I shrugged my shoulders, went to my study and decided to browse through a book which could be my bedside book from now on 

the portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde !

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