I did not realize how long it would take to settle-in and feel comfortable in our new home. Being in a retirement village meant there were many things to learn about the management and routine of the place, new neighbours to meet and a time-table of weekly activities in which to participate or bypass.
Ten weeks on and it feels like we belong here with many new friends and helpful staff as part of our ongoing life. Writing has just been swept aside by other priorities – unpacking, arranging building adjustments and additions, cooking, washing, cleaning, attending community functions, and sharing tea with visitors coming to see our new abode.
Yesterday the village had its own ANZAC day service, a culmination of an excellent week-long display of war memorabilia plus daily performances by visiting artists. Only today have I found time for sitting at the computer and expressing these few thoughts. In old age life tends to go on rolling over us with a feeling that all control is so easily lost. Writing becomes more of a task than a pleasure.
Outside of our sunroom in the morning the birds often brighten up our day and although the crows can be quite raucous, we are alway glad to hear them knowing the bonus of another day has has arrived for us.
Sitting in the sunroom for breakfast one day last week I jotted down this little verse:
The butcher bird’s morning song ends in a ‘chu’.
It sounds like a bicycle bell ringing out ‘shoo’.
The bird sings as compare to each new-born day,
this Earth-world is a beautiful stage for a play.
Lorrikees screech and honeyeaters chirp,
They are also songsters in our natural church,
In the background I hear the cawing of crows,
Why they have laryngitis, nobody knows.
Like grumpy old men they have plenty to say,
For me I wish they’d take their complaining away.
Not everything in life is wonderfully melodious,
But weighing it all up, there is not much that is odious.