Living at 88! Could be good. Could be hell. Anyway won't know for a few years yet as I'm 47 years old. My mum is 88 though. She lives in a residential home and I visit her almost every day. I suspect she'd say life is hell at 88. But more of mum and a real life at a real 88 in later blogs. In fact, I live on the evens side of a tree-lined street, presumably the 44th house along, just outside Manchester. My posts will reflect life in the middle age that 47 is, living at a house, numbered 88.
That is I am assuming I am middle aged. If I double 47 I get 94 which probably makes me passed middle age into 'middle age plus a bit'. Perhaps I should have called my blog 'middleagedplusabitat88'. I am married, have a 5 and 7 year old, am an ex-librarian, am into towers, charity shops, cooking, gardening, jewellery-making, writing, islands. My dad died 4 years ago at 88 (there it is again) and my mum broke her hip 18 months ago which turned her world upside down literally and metaphorically. We are having to sell the farmhouse in which my parents lived and farmed from for nearly 60 years. I am in a period of reflection and want to reflect on my reflection. That's the long reason for starting to write a blog.
The short and has to be said mercenary reason for starting a blog is I am trying to get my jewellery business off the ground and get into feature writing. The children are in full time education now and I need to earn some money and exercise the grey matter. Words from my 20-something nieces and nephew is that blogging and facebooking and twittering all help get me out there. So here I am in my forties and living in the eighties, trying to get out there.