Who knew it would take me all morning to stumble over the words I have in my head for you. Let alone get them down in print?
I’m concerned you may not be as comfortable in that skin as you once were. I’m worried that you won’t have a companion cat or dog because you would spend endless hours every day fretting what would become of them when you spin of this Mortal Coil.
I would like to be there to hold your hand and look deep in your eyes, and feel how your heart is holding up.
You will not be best pleased what ageing has done to your physical appearance. Not in the vain ” ooh aren’t I pretty” kinda way, but in a ” yes, I can scrub up ok” when I try.
You will have done your best to keep your eye on the ever-changing landscape. If you have a device on your lap, that would be wonderful.
Someone to give you a hand and chat to if you need that. The ability to get out into the fresh air and light, maybe a short stroll. To enjoy fresh food.
As I write this today, my very being is full of hopes for you. Remember Emily Dickinson’s Hope is a Thing With Feathers? Do you still enjoy poring through poetry books? I’d like to think so.
And now it’s time to close.
It’s March 10th 2026. It’s cold out there, but the spring flowers are doing well, and today, there’sĀ not a cloud in the perfectly blue sky. There is even a little warmth in the sun.
May you find a ray of sunshine to sit peacefully in each day. May your sight be clear to see the natural world. May all your senses be your friends.
Wow! You fellow bloggers here on WP answering the DP. What an inspiration you are. The letters you have written to yourself are magnificent.
When I read what we had been asked to write about this morning I really wasn’t sure how to approach the subject, at all. Let’s face it, ageing sucks. Well, in my humble opinion and from what I can ascertain, it’s not going to be a bed of roses and that’s for sure.
Already I get annoying aches and pains that come and go on whim. Weird sensations and moods with a mind of their own. Making it impossible to know if the next day will be fabulous or not. What a stupid thing to say. None of us know if even today is going to pan out ok.
The uncertainty of when sleepiness or a want for activity will arise. Night or day, it’s like being taken over by an alien. And don’t start me on how ageing affects your face! Who is that person in the mirror? I was never a natural beauty, or an unatural beauty, come to that. But I could ‘scrub up’ quite nicely, enjoying putting outfits together and fixing my make up. But those were the days when make up was a thing. I’ve lived through some exciting fashion eras with the cosmetic enhancements to match.
So, how is my 100 year old self with hopefully a shred of vanity ( as not to wear food stained clothes and hair a mess, to have whiskers a go go?) Going to cope. What do I say to you? I hope you are okay, that nothing hurts and you don’t feel ill or lonely. I hope you are not yearning for the end That you have company when you want it and help when you need it. I would want you to have a little dog at your side, but I know you would constantly worry what would happen to it should you slip away.
At the present time AI is pushing through. I know you will be interested in seeing where it all goes. I know for a fact you would like to see World Peace in your lifetime, but we don’t think that will happen, do we? Too much money to be made from it.
You are naturally observant so maybe you are still looking at and feeling the world around you and writing about it. Yes, the picture I have in my head is you sitting at a desk with your chosen device, putting pen to paper. Happy, healthy and content. Your reward.
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Warning, written by Jenny Joseph in 1961
When I am on old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat, which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not shocked or surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple………
IN THE BOOMER PIGEON HOLE? 
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