THE LAZY FLOP ON THE COUCH ... and more !

THE LAZY FLOP ON THE COUCH .. and more !

“Oh is sooo good just to sit - actually flop and enjoy the view out the patio window and watch the trees swishing in the wind beyond the railing” says 70-something Vermont Issacs to herself.

“Oh, I forgot how nice it is just to flop and do nothing” Vermont word-thinking to herself once more as she melts into the couch.

Vermont just realised she never gives herself permission to do just nothing; not needing the TV to stir up emotions with in-the-face horrible overseas news - which ain't relaxing; or flicking through the channels to be suddenly confronted by a passionate love scene that makes one realise that stripping naked in front of hubby for 'a hot roll in the hay' these days is not much chop for either parties.

She breathed heavily to herself as she dissolved into the softness of the couch, and was by now camouflaged as a patterned throw-over rug ... “Just the sound of silence is oh so very wonderful when you are 70-something”

“Mind you” Vermont thinks on as the puffy cushions cradle so deliciously her stiff neck - “When I was in my 20-somethings the last thing I wanted to do was sit – it was all 'go go go' for me and my friends. Only grandmothers sit; and even 40-somethings sit. At 20- something I thought being 40-something was having one foot in the grave and I was cautiously waiting to hear that my parents had dropped dead from old age. Oh but 70-somethings should have at least some well-earned wisdom at least ! But the age of wisdom comes far too late I fear. If only it came upon us at birth !! If only we were smart and sensible and wise as a final gift from God as we emerged from the womb of our mothers into the big bright new world. If only we had a second go at life too ! If only we didn't stuff so much up. If only I married that guy I was head over heals in love with in Year 7 and not what now seems my 'desperate choice' so I could get married like all my friends were by the time they were 25. That awful feeling of being left on the shelf haunted us in our 20-somethings.

In her wiser years of 60-something Vermont wrote this poem. She thought it summed up all the 'if only-s' she now ponders on (just occasionally) in her 70-somethings -

If only the sky was blue each day.....

If only the sun came out, what may !

If only love lasted a whole life long

If only we had kept singing our song !

But ‘if onlys’ are never meant to be

They are just our wishes – I can now see !

This life has no easy roads to tread

With the trips and falls wherever we’re lead !

Peace comes and goes like a twinkling star

It’s one step forward, then back so far !

But one day there will be that peace unknown

When I walk from this earth, be it all alone !

But ‘if only’ was something never said

Then we would accept wherever we’re led

And then our today's and tomorrows too

Could be wonderful, if only we knew !!

As Vermont scans the glass of the window wondering whether it needs a wipe over when she eventually decides to pluck herself from the couch, she notices the finger marks of her two youngest grandchildren on the glass as the sun moves around the room picking out spots and marks on the glass, and suddenly her heart warms. Those lovely little fingers with chocolate and icecream imprints are like life itself - on a page in the tapestry of their lives. Little fingers mean that at 70-something I have produced a child and now grandchildren to carry on the 20-something me lost forever.

At 70-something the mirror into her life tells her of those past years - of growth, lessons learnt, joy and sadness, love and hate - which are all now etched upon her face. In the corner of the lounge-room is a photograph of Vermont at 20-something. The long brown hair, the wrinkle-free face, the tight neck, the flat tummy in the bikini. “Was I really a good-looker then? she thought to herself. I didn't think I was. I was always wanting to be as cute as Diane Harper, as good looking as Vanessa what's-her-name, as liked by the boys as was Bethany Norris (or some name like that)”.

Vermont started to think more deeply as the sun moved right across onto her upper body – it felt warm and cosy on that couch and worth a bit more time out. “Were they wasted years, were they years I made the most of or did I have no higher aims than the other kids in class 9B – kids like me with just normal intelligence, who left school and didn't want to be a brain surgeon or an astronaut – just get a job, make money, have respectable boyfriends (and not get pregnant), do a course to improve job prospects – and who eventually found a version of Mr Right, had babies, went back to work and had a nice house with a nice garden and just got on with life”.

Vermont quizzed her inner-self even more - “Is that enough ? Is that what we are here for ? Have I wasted 70-something years by being just ordinary. Did I do a good job at life, did I make others happy in the process, did I hurt many people, did I apologise if I did hurt anybody not meaning to, was a good mother and a good wife, and am I a good 70-something now - being useful and not just a face in the crowd with a limp from my sore arthritic hip, which certainly speaks louder than words as to my age ?” All this flooded through Vermont's head and in the end she had to stop questioning. She was there for a real bludge for a change, but ended up being very busy in her head. Too busy !

Vermont found herself slipping into a dream state as the sun now crossed onto her face. It was so pleasant, it was as if her face was being bathed with a warm cloth, washing away any negativity that lingered in her mind. Then it was like she was floating from the coach and into some heavenly peaceful sphere. Somewhere just so perfect, but the coach continued to cocoon her in softness as well. She had a vision of herself walking up a staircase, maybe into Heaven, she didn't know ? There were clouds surrounding the staircase, more and more surrounded her as she stepped higher and higher. As she moved upwards she felt and saw herself being shed of layers of herself – outer layers – layers just leaving and falling below. It was as if she had on ten layers of 'clothing' as she climbed the stairs, and the higher she moved up and up the more of the layers fell from her. They were like sheets of paper falling away from her being, and floating down, ever downwards until she stood naked in the purest sense at the top of the staircase. Naked but cleansed and without blemish and best of all as herself in her 20-somethings. A dream ? If it was it was brilliant !

“Oh !” Vermont woke up with a fright when the doorbell rang. She realised she was still lying on the couch with her 70-something body now trying to move to answer the door, with all the aches and pains returning in the effort to get off the low couch.

“Where did I just go ? Where am I now ? Oh yes, back here, and that must be Joachin at the door … he is in his 40-somethings – he is my son – he is far too young to drop dead !”