Teetering on the edge of youth

Yesterday three things happened. I got a friend request from a dead friend. A friend who is alive sent a note to say WHO has declared 65 as still young, and I took my husband to a concert wearing my new Birkenstocks. 

 

You might wonder and rightly so, how all these things are connected- the request from the dead friend was jolting in a week of medical check ups. A painful reminder she was no longer there except in the hands of a bot. A gentle reminiscence of what a wonderful person she was. How dare FB do this? Do hackers have no respect ? 

The thought that I was still marginally on the young side - 64 when middle age, is now set to 66 was  somewhat heartening and dressing hastily to get to the venue I realised that my Birkenstocks were by far the most comfortable shoes to wear and best for my heel pain. So ballerinas and patents dismissed. 

And suddenly I was looking down at the floor and noticing all the footwear. Older - (read youngish women)  in sensible shoes that grip the leg in every direction, some youths in thongs and a vast majority of very young things teetering on the abyss of a heel. It made me feel distinctly old and for the moment the elation of the WHO configuration was lost in the fug of sensible and supportive. 

But the concert was all about a mum Katie Noonan and a teenage boy, her son Dexter, and it celebrated youth, hers and his, and how when she gave birth to him 16 years ago, not in a million years could she ever have imagined herself playing on a stage with him. She beamed with delight and had composed music that elevated his drumming to new levels. It was such a bonding, heartening show. They both gave it their all and are so talented it swept me away as I tapped my Birkenstock toes to the upbeat rhythm.

Perhaps 64 is the new young after all.