Open Writing

I sometimes wonder if I'll live to be 100. What will it feel like? Do I want to?

We're told that more and more people are living longer, and staying healthy in body and mind.

I had a strange dream the other night. I had been invited to my 100th birthday party. The Prime Minister was coming. The Queen had sent a telegram. But that's odd, because, if I was 100, she would be already dead, and Charles would be King. And I don't suppose they send telegrams any more—probably an email.

I was in a large hall, sitting at the head of a big table. My children and grand-children and great-grand-children were there. There seemed an awful lot of them, and I couldn't remember all their names. I felt guilty that I had been responsible for this number of extra people on earth.

Someone carried in a huge birthday cake, with more candles than I have ever seen. I couldn't blow them all out, so the children helped me.

'Make a wish, make a wish,' they chanted. I pretended, because what is there to wish for, when you're 100?

There was a journalist there with a photographer, happily flashing away. They both looked very young. I watched her do a tour of the room, speaking to all my old friends and pointing the microphone at them to get their replies. I knew she would be asking them the same question:

'What is your recipe for such a long life?'

I could hear Fred's booming answer.

'Everything in moderation', patting his rounded stomach. 'I like a drink now and then, but it never did me any harm.'

Now and then, I thought! Never saw him completely sober all the years I'd known him.

Then it was Maggie's turn. She would be on her hobby horse.

'It's all about healthy living. Early to bed and early to rise, and no smoking or drinking. I always have carrot juice for breakfast'.

Sounds pretty boring to me, but she's happy, so that's what matters.

The journalist approached Reg and his weather-beaten face broke into a grin.

'Just keep moving,' he advised. 'You know, a rolling stone and all that. I left home at 14 with a pack on my back, and I've visited every country in the world. Think I'll be off again soon.'

It was true—he never married, never settled. The Grim Reaper would have a hard time pinning him down.

Rose was my best friend. She'd had a pretty hard life, and was bent over so far, she could hardly look the reporter in the eye.

'It's all about family', she was saying. 'I had eight kids, and then I brought up two of my grand-sons, when their parents were killed in a car crash. I never had time to think about getting old.'

The microphone was moving up the table now, with the reporter in tow. I knew Dave would be having a good look at the young body as she approached him.

'Always kept myself fit,' he boasted. 'I still walk five miles every day.'

At 93, he did pretty well, but 'five miles,' I don't think so.

Now I could see that I would be next.

'Well, birthday girl,' the oily voice simpered. 'It must be wonderful to be 100. What's your secret?'

Silly girl, I thought, she has absolutely no idea. Inside I still feel like I'm 16.

Isn't it all about genes? We're all programmed from the day we're born.

'No secret', I say quietly. 'I just keep living each day as it comes, and I'm still here.'

The noise around me quietens, the dream fades, and I wake up.

Will it really be like that?

Your guess is as good as mine.

© Wendy Ogbourne

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Wendy writes for Bonzer magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au