Rosebuds

We went over to Fife today to have lunch with Mr L's cousin and her 100-year-old mother - Mr L's aunt by marriage. This is the view from the restaurant. Aunt J is really amazing - no sign of dementia - but in the last year or so her eyesight has been going and she needs a walker for balance. This must be so trying for her. She was a doctor and still lives in her beautiful house but can no longer really go into her lovely garden because it's on a slope, and anyway she can't see the flowers. Fortunately she has help with the house and garden, and also has her daughter, who lives in Edinburgh but nobly spends every weekend with her. But Aunt J says that she enjoyed her 90s much more than her 100s, and I can see what she means. 

Oh dear, old age. 

Meanwhile there's no use thinking about one's own ageing (we're merely in our 70s, after all, and in reasonable nick). 

I've been back at the archives, and by the simple change of moving things into the reasonably large sitting room instead of spreading them out on a bed, have made progress. The piles are no longer in danger of collapsing into one another. Going through my parents' papers is rather sad, though. We made a book for my mum's 80th birthday by writing to all her friends and asking them for reminiscences and photos. We got an excellent response, but while it's very heartwarming to read about what a lovely person she was, it's also sad that not only she, but most of the contributors, are no longer with us. Ah me!

Gather ye rosebuds... And meanwhile, the grandchildren are very cheering. They're now nearly 13, 11, nearly 8, not far off 7 and 5. And very lovely!