First let me say mine is a small, humble dwelling, though of infinite variety.  If I further divulge that one source of variety is the incidence of different door designs I may provide a clue concerning my week’s activities, and possibly be drawn into admitting to one of the challenges of advancing age.

Doors various – below stairs (that’s the ground floor, of course, but I like to imagine I have servants and that’s where they live) the internal doors are all of glass panels, the frames of which, though naturally finished, fail to meet any standard of uniformity, although I have endeavoured to standardise the handles (in brass, I fitted the last one just in time to be told that brass had become ‘so last year’).   Upstairs, and yes, I promise I will use the proper term ‘door furniture’ from now on, there are four internal doors in four patterns, none of which are glass, and none of which bears even a passing resemblance to its siblings.  Siblings???.

Gripping, so far, isn’t it?

Irreproachably, the Memsahib gave notice that conformity needed to be established, so I ordered three doors of identical design to the last one I fitted.  On Saturday, after keeping vigil before my tools through the night, I set about preparing Door One, which incidentally is the door to my ‘airy nest’.   The Vale of Despond yawned open before me, but undeterred I removed the old door, used it as a pattern, and trimmed its replacement neatly to size.  Then I cut recesses for the hinges into the new door…

Yes, I cut them on the wrong side.  I swear I studied all the possibilities for an hour before I made the first incision, turned the patient – sorry, the door – over and over in my mind, but I still got it wrong, and I still don’t know why!

It’s a spatial awareness thing, I know that; the condition of being unable to reverse images and angles in the brain – but I never used to suffer from it:  where did it come from?  Oh, and the door doesn’t fit, in spite of all my careful trimming, but that is down to latch revenge, and a separate issue.

So, in summation:  there are those who will persuade you that old age has not affected their abilities, or impaired their mental function.  Maybe they are lucky, or maybe they are delivering a brace of testicles, but I do not count myself among their number.  I can measure my deterioration in units of door.  A task I could achieve comfortably in a couple of hours not many years ago now detains me for one-and-a-half days (two if you count the afternoon I spent sitting here with an ice-pack on my head, muttering incoherently).  The thought that two more doors await me before I can claim to have performed my mission fills me with dread.  I may need counselling.

 

 

 

 

21 Comments

  1. I know the feeling. I used to move with the grace of an antelope – now I am a stumblebum and routinely crash though any and everything. I tell my sons to take my life as a warning as I have “gotten old quick and smart slow”

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Yes, that’s a great way of putting it! You don’t see old age coming, do you – one day it just slips up behind you and bites your arse. I have the toothmarks to prove it, but I try to avoid putting them on show too much – pride, I guess.

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  2. Wrapping you in love and sending you sparkly energy. I had an order recently and made half of it in the wrong flippin’ colour. I swear I read the instructions several times!! I feel for you… Hugs on a ‘let the job be done soon’ breeze.. xxx

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you Jane! Since this post I have also made a sporting attempt at cutting off a finger – the first power tool injury I have had in twenty years. I think someone is trying to tell me something, don’t you? Hugs as ever, of course!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Mmmmm, ‘you can’t keep a good man down????’ Fred, you are a stalwart and I know you’ve got this covered and hopefully, you;re not covered in blood! Sending you hugs and much supportive energy. xXx ❤

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Amy, that’s quite a benefit. Frederick, there’s wisdom of experience that can be passed along to others — the fact that we don’t always have to do everything ourselves lol

        Liked by 2 people

  3. I have been working in the garden today for about 5 solid hours, and a lot of it took physical effort. Even after a shower, I am sore & tired, and I will still be both tomorrow, even with a good night’s sleep.
    It’s hard getting old, and it seems to come on suddenly. Before I turned 70, I could do almost everything I’d done in my forties. Since then, I am weaker, have far less stamina, and I forget such a lot of things. 😦

    Liked by 4 people

    1. I certainly don’t recover as quickly – and yes, I, too, forget things. I hope you are dealing with the heat OK – all we seem to hear about Australia now concerns heat waves and drought, either one of which would be the finish of me!

      Liked by 1 person

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