An old man

No pictures for this one.

This was going to be about the Malvern flower show, but it will wait until I clear this form my mind - been there since this morning.

I visited a bookstore this morning to check a couple of titles I have been contemplating. They have a nice cafe, so I decided to sit and read a bit more of Reacher #19. There was space; it was quiet; and I had time. And I had Reacher #19 on my kindle with me, so this is not really about me (at least not directly). It is about something I observed that moved me to shed a few tears; not bad, or sad necessarily; more of an observation of a reality ... one no doubt all too easy to observe when you have time.

I chose a table for two. Just me. One seat for me, one for my camera bag and jacket with the table top for the tray guarding the coffee mug and pear danish. Wooden table, straight back wooden chairs. Two old hardback volumes provided on the table supporting a vase of flowers and the sugar if you needed something to browse. Started to read, enjoy my coffee and savour the fresh pear Danish ... quartered to offer a suggestion it may last a little longer. It didn't last long.

On my right, imagine another (much) older man who had made a similar choice but earlier than me. He was about to leave. He had been having a cup of tea - the label attached to the bag of leaves was hanging out of his empty cup. He had been reading the newspaper, not Reacher #19. He had the unread (second) section of his newspaper on the opposite side of his table. He was getting ready to leave.

If you are thinking I could not have been concentrating too hard on my reading of Reacher #19 you are absolutely spot on. My attention was diverted to the (much) older man at the table to my right.

I was thinking to myself (silly thing to write really ... who else would "I" be "thinking to"??; like someone prefacing their comment or question with the ubiquitous "listen ... "). This is what you do when you have time. You can think and be very random about it. It is great. So I was thinking if this was a daily ritual for the (much) older man? How good, I thought next, to have a routine that took you to a cafe in a bookstore each morning (even a few mornings a week) to read your paper. Why not? Sure, you can do it at home ... or wherever you choose ... so why not out and about sometimes?

I had an inkling he was preparing to leave because I watched his slow reach across the table to retrieve the unread section of his newspaper. Even slower was his progress with the additional weight of the newspaper section in his bony fragile hand. I noticed that because it extended from his tweed jacket sleeve on the reach and remained protruded from the jacket sleeve because he was holding the newspaper section. He didn't try to read it. Just put it down on top of the more crumpled read and folded differently section. Then he half turned away from me, to his right and retrieved his green and brown satchel. He twisted back to face the table and as slowly and deliberately as he had retrieved the unread section of his newspaper, he lifted the flap of the satchel. (If this was a Reacher story, that would all have happened "in one fluid movement" ... it did not; this is quite a different kind of hero :). Again, very slowly and deliberately he picked up both sections of his newspaper and slid them into the open satchel. Efficiency of effort. He brought out a black cloth cap for his head - the design of a skipper's cap, but just plain black cloth. He placed it on the table where the newspaper had been waiting. It took two more very slow movements top complete this part of his routine; one to drop the flap (no effort to secure it) was also deliberate; the other less deliberate and more onerous. He had to lift the carry strap up over his head and shoulder. He made it. It took a little while and the use of two bony fragile hands that protruded, one from each sleeve of his tweed jacket. Then he placed his plain black cloth cap on his head, adjusted it a few times until it was sitting comfortably. Efficiency of movement again - did not happen until the satchel was already over the head and shoulder!

Normally I would not notice any of this. So I would not be able to describe it. I would not have waited and observed. But I had time. So I did. I wondered if he would be OK getting himself up and away. Reacher #19 was safe on the kindle, it wasn't going anywhere. He was ready to be on his way. I'm sure he knew I was observing ... but he got on with it ... probably thinking "another young 'un who may get to this point before he knows it!" ...

A bit of a wriggle to straighten the back, plant both feet in his black soft leather walking shoes firmly flat on the floor and grasped the square edges of the table with both bony fragile hands. This looked like a well-practiced process. No less slow than any earlier part of my observations, but clearly more onerous. A half glance at me through a red left eye ... it looked like it had witnessed a lot and been one of the windows to all the experience he was now putting to use; still checking things out. One simultaneous push with the bony fragile hands up through the shoulders and the feet through the hips. About an inch before settling back onto the chair. Same thing on the second attempt, but with a slight sigh of frustration (I was imagining by now that if this was me ... the sigh would be much more than slight).

After the second attempt (I recognised it was not an unsuccessful one, or a failed one ... just part of the process) I contemplated offering some assistance but I thought "no, I bet he comes here regularly and sees this a very important part of getting through each day". So without much more time taken to make the second attempt, the arms straightened more or less simultaneously with the legs, the knuckles went a little paler, he was up on the third attempt. There was a shimmer before final steadiness; a shrug to get the satchel comfortable over the hunched shoulders covered by the tweed jacket. He stepped to the left of his table. He WAS ready to go. And he did. Well, he started to ...

He realised after one shuffle that he needed his stick. He paused ... looked down at the table again ... sighed more audibly this time as he noticed it was across on the right hand side. Not part of the process ... I was thinking I bet that sigh really means "oh %$^# it, its way over there!". He leaned his hunched shoulders over, reached out supported by one fragile bony hand on the table and was just able to slide the (aluminium) stick with two of those bony fragile fingers around the table to get a better grip for improved stability. Shuffling was much easier thereafter. He made a point of pushing several chairs back under their tables as he navigated his way back to the bookshelves with his steady shuffle off to whatever else his morning held.

I was left effectively composing this.

I guess I saw myself down the track (and I do not enjoy face time with mirrors) - then, I thought, well wouldn't it be good to think I will be able to do all that when ... thinking, thinking ... IF I get to that age. Who knows. I thought of Joe (an uncle) who often commented the worst thing about getting old is not being able to do the things you have always done. I thought of Father (my paternal grandad) who prospered for many years in some ways despite a debilitating stroke but did not get to enjoy the experience I had just observed. I thought of mum & dad and how fortunate it is to be able to enjoy coffee and meals with them ... out and about and not just at home. I thought of cousins & friends who no longer have that privilege. 

I thought how lucky I have been to be able to enjoy another trip with Deb, to share the arrival of another grandchild, to celebrate my best mate's 60th birthday with him, to see spring as I have never seen it before (and really see it). All in a single trip. I also thought about my hard working colleagues covering for me while all this is happening - it was Thursday morning tea afterall!

There were a lot more thoughts too ... but you get the idea. But now you also have a clue why I shed a few tears (yes, OK, as I wrote this too!)

By then, I knew how lucky I was to be able finish my coffee and read another chapter of Reacher #19. I met Deb & Belinda and Maggie for lunch (they had been to a movie). Then I read another 2 chapters of Reacher #19.

And if you have persevered (I know Mum, this is a LONG one!) I'm sure you will know I'm OK. Atleast one more chapter before the light goes out :). And I promise the next post will be the Malvern Garden Show ... you need the colour and brightness after this!

And if you have no idea who Reacher is ... Google it :). Great reads.