Two Bits

My father died at 54 of a heart attack, and I always wondered if I had inherited his genes.
None of his siblings got to much more than 60, which confirmed a short term on earth, but then none of them did any exercise, worked long hours and smoked and drank shall we say, generously. On my mother’s side, the whole family lasted well into their 90s and had to be beaten to death with a stick. Although not blood family, I have an aunt who will be 100 next year. Last time I saw her she gave me a jar of lemon curd she had made!
Maybe I have a little longevity from my mother’s side of the family. When I was 30 and 40, I never gave much thought to getting older, mainly because I was still 20 in my head. There is no worse preparation for adulthood than having been a child. While I tried not to make a career out of my childhood, I gave no serious thought to becoming ‘elderly’. On second thoughts, that can’t be a bad thing, really. There are enough trying things going on every day without encouraging an early onset of full-blown depression.
I spent my 20s learning this trade of newspapering and travelling as far as I could afford, because that’s what my heart wanted to do. Seeing all the wonders of Europe and the Middle East, followed by rough and ready, but fascinating South America – climbing the Andes and sailing the length of the mighty Amazon River – and a few spots in between, as well as working for three years in Fleet Street, London, rubbing shoulders with some of the best journos in the world.
Then it was time for shoulder to the wheel, and the next 30 years have been spent building this company, Wordsmiths. If life’s a game of chance, what a lucky spin of the wheel to have chosen a spot that has gone from rural backwater to the fastest growing region of the country.
A few weeks ago I reached the milestone of 65 years. This is the time when most people gratefully put their feet up and spend time with their grandkids. And we’ve been lucky there, too, because we have a delightful grandson. My wife tells me he’s a cleverest grandchild in the world, and she’s always right!
But the question that has been nagging at me is “What now?” More golf? Not the way I’ve been playing recently, no thank you. I could clean up my workshop and restore some furniture that I’ve been meaning to fix up forever, but that’ll only take so long. Then what? I’m busy learning how the stock market works and that’s an interesting diversion, but too many figures make my head spin. Should I take up fishing?
When you’ve been working for, what’s it, 46 years now, it’s hard to imagine not having an office to go to, things to do, targets to set and meet, watch projects blossom, even sometimes fail. Blossom, that’s an interesting idea. Tend to the garden? Neh.
Luckily my financial advisor pinned me down very early and buckled me into enforced saving, otherwise I might be looking at a very bleak retirement. Claude’s old Mauritian stock, and the Frenchies can teach us all a thing or two about getting full mileage out of a rand. Very, very careful with their loot, they are.
Still, I don’t think I’ll take retirement just yet. I just have to work out a way of going into the office less often. That’s a joke – two years ago I promised myself I’d work a three-day week. That scheme lasted about a month.
Perhaps I should switch careers. Enough with the newspapering, what about reinventing myself? Take a nice, easy job, say working for the municipality. Start at 8, knock off by 3, ignore the phones if you want to, Wednesdays and Fridays disappear altogether, go on strike a couple of weeks a year and still get a good salary. That’s a thought.
Or an artist? There could be a hidden Leonardo hidden inside me. Da Vinci, not the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. At first glance I have absolutely no talent, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped half the so-called ‘artists’ of this world. Have you seen some of the stuff with R50 000 price tags out there? Ten-year-olds in a food chucking contest could do better.

What about film star? De Caprio, the other Leonardo, has proven that you can get to the top with little more than a smarmy sneer. My mother-in-law suggested Village Idiot, but there’s too much competition out there. Nice try, anyway.
No, unless I can come up with a really good idea, it’s going to have to be a little work, a little golf, a little woodwork, and little grand parenting, a little travelling. There are nearly 200 countries in the world and I’ve only visited 30 of them, so make that a lot of travelling.
Whatever. Come to think of it, it’s not the end. It could be the beginning of a whole, new, interesting phase of life. And if I get to my 90s and the gaga sets in, there’s always the family stick.
* * *
While sitting at the bar in the clubhouse after a game, Vaughan remarked to a fellow club member, “I’m not going to play golf with Malcolm anymore. He cheats.”
“Why do you say that?” asked his friend.
“Well, he found his lost ball two metres from the green,” replied Vaughan indignantly.
“That’s entirely possible,” commented his friend.
“Not when I had his golf ball in my pocket,” retorted Vaughan.