Routine tasks keep us healthy; at least that is what CHRIS BENNETT thinks.
SOMEBODY once said that growing old is not for sissies.
What we would do without Postnet I really don’t know. I have, on occasion, tried the post office, whatever it is now called, but the experience is a bit on the dry side.
For various reasons this year I have entrusted Postnet at the pleasant and friendly Hibiscus Mall with some pretty valuable documents, and they have responded magnificently. This week it was the turn of the passport. It needed renewing.
I downloaded the appropriate forms from the web and printed them out. The instructions were clear and unambiguous. Except for one bit that said I should forward my present or recently expired passport with the application. All of which is fine, but what does ‘recent’ mean? Yesterday, last week, last month, last year?
What these good people fail to grasp is that for most of us surfing our way to seventy, anything that took place after the
Anyway I assembled the forms, the photos and the deceased passport. Off to Postnet.
One of the things that always surprises me about their service is their willingness to explore all manner of getting things from A to B. They even offer a hand-held delivery, reminiscent of the runner with a cleft stick. This is the 21st century at its best; as is the cost of the more hand-wrought services.
But, as usual, we found a good, reliable way of getting the papers to their destination, along with a fair measure of peace of mind, all for a reasonable price.
Talking of piece of mind: of course I, and many others like me no doubt, have to pay the price for enjoying the growing old process. I have good health and read about four hours a day. I spend a lot of time researching things that would bore most people stiff, using my splendid new Google Chrome browser.
However once inside a shop, be it the chemist (although they seem to be improving), the hardware store or even Postnet, I seem to inspire an ‘ag, shame’ reaction. I am old (elderly, actually; old is about 95), not thick. Help is always welcome but not condescension. This brings out the worst in me, and I am probably not alone in that.
As is usually the case with most of us age has brought about a capacity not only listen to the little voice inside, but also an ability to handle the smart-Alec responses of the other little voice inside. At least there is never a dull moment.
One of the best things, to my mind, is that as you grow older you need less sleep. This is very sensible because I now find I have so many things on the go, what with the column, the blog, the cricket, the walk on the beach, the building programme, listening to as much Bach and Haydn cello music as possible and maybe making a pâté or an aïoli, the day is a bit on the short side.
Much of this column came to me at about 3am, a good time for writing; it is then a matter of simply jotting a few notes into Ariadne (the iPhone) and the rest will take care of itself.
As the man said, growing old is not for sissies.
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