A Morning in the Life of Many Ordinary People

One - George

I wake up to darkness. Same as always. I always seem to get up much too early these days.
When you're old the days seem to grow longer and longer. As a young'un life would pass me by in a flash and you'd blink and the day would be done and it would be time for bedtime whether you liked it or not. But now, no. Days drag on and on. God, when did I get so morbid. I swing my legs out of bed, slowly, sluggishly, sleepily sliding my feet around trying to find those damn slippers that always seem to end up under the bed just out of my reach, but today I can't find them. Damn that dog Lucy, always hiding things away when I'm not looking. I glance over and spy my slippers underneath the armchair on the other side of the room. Muttering unspeakable things under my breath as I heave myself out of bed, I trudge over to them. I know I'll forget they're there if I don't fish them out now. Besides, my feet have a terrible tendency to become blocks of ice these days, especially since it's November. My circulation isn't what it once was.

I gingerly pass into the hallway, hands centimetres away from the wall in case my legs give way
underneath me. That's the trouble with getting old, you never know when your body will just decide to give way and give up on you. But still, you have to keep on. I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, slowly but surely. That's always the way nowadays but I can't complain because at least it gets me there. I sit down to rest, I need to rest quite often, my legs aren't as strong as they used to be, and the rest of me isn't much better. I think about breakfast, what to have, what do I want, what would be good for me. What I want are crumpets smothered in butter and strawberry jam oh yes that would be simply marvellous, but the doctor said I really should cut back on my cholesterol, so I suppose I'll have some cereal. I'm not usually one for trying new things, but the other day my daughter in law picked up this new-fangled cereal for me, cheerios I believe they're called, and I think that they're rather good, so I pour myself a bowl of them. Here's a little tip from me, the honey nut ones are the best. None of that whole grain mess, no, that's not the life for me. I may be getting on but I still like my sweets, and there's sure as heck nothing wrong with that. 

I sit at the table in the kitchen opposite my big window, it's quiet except for the birds tweeting and singing away out there. I see their shadows now and again flitting here and there.  Always did love birds, me. For my last birthday Harry got me a birdfeeder. He knows me well that boy, I'd never ask him for a thing but he's got me sussed. I should show him I care more, for a father I was never very good with all that sappy stuff. I think my old age has made me realise a lot. Fifty years ago I'd never be caught dead listening to birds sing with a smile on my face, watching the sunrise. But look at me now. Perhaps ageing has changed me for the better. If so I think I can live with a little stiffness in the mornings. Watching the sunrise is the best part of my day.