My mum is 89. Two years ago, she moved in with me, and lifes never been dull since. Every morning, I hear her shuffling about at half seven sharp. Her first order of business is a chat with the ancient family cat, Sir Whiskersher confidante and breakfast companion. Breakfast is next; shes partial to a bit of toast and marmalade, which she takes to the sunny patio with her precious cup of coffee until shes fully functioning.
Then comes the great house patrol. Armed with her trusty mop, she marches through every inch of our home (about 240 square metres, but whos counting?). She swears its her daily workout, better than Pilates, apparently. If shes in the mood, she whips up a stew, reorganises the kitchen, or does her own peculiar version of calisthenics.
Afternoons are reserved for her ever-changing beauty ritual. Some days, she dives deep into her cavernous wardrobea dazzling collection, nearly museum-worthy. Some pieces she hands down to me, others are bestowed upon various lucky souls, and a few she sellswith all the flair of a London businesswoman. I often tease her:
Mum, if youd invested all that money, youd be living in luxury now!
She laughs, I like my clothes! Besides, one day, all this will be yours. Your sisterlovely but blessed with absolutely no taste.
To keep ourselves amused (and limber), we trudge out to walk three miles around the park lake, five times a week, rain or shine. Once a month, she has her girls nighta raucous evening with her mates. Mum reads heaps and is forever pottering through my bookshelf. Every single day, she phones her sister Margaret, whos 91 and living in Brighton, and pops down to visit twice a year. (Margaret, by the way, still worksdoing the accounts for a private client, because why not?)
Apart from Sir Whiskers, Mums greatest joy is the tablet I gave her last Christmas. She reads about her favourite authors and composers, streams ballet and opera, and hoovers up every bit of news. Around midnight, I often hear her sigh:
I really must go to bed, but lookYouTubes started up Pavarotti all by itself!
Honestly, Mum and her sister really hit the jackpot in the genetic sweepstakes. Still, Mum will groan,
I look awful!
I do my best to keep her spirits up:
Mum, at your age, most people would be pushing up daisies!She usually snorts, then winks, her eyes still sparkling from whatever mischief shes plotting next. The truth is, Mum keeps teaching me that life, at any age, isnt simply about survivingits about dancing along to your own tune, picked from a playlist of possibility. Every day with her is laced with laughter, stubborn wisdom, colourful stories, and endless cups of marmalade-scented coffee. And as Sir Whiskers curls up beside her each night, I whisperjust loud enough for her to hearDont ever change, Mum.
She grins in the darkness. Wouldnt dare.
