aunty is ninety

My auntie is 90, [my mother, her younger sister by three years - middle one, explains a lot] organised a birthday party for her.
The youngest sister [by another three years] came over from Canada, aunty's son managed to dredge up in time, neighbours gathered, friends and family descended on the parish hall and a quiet time was had by all.
The three sisters circulated gravely, two husbands in tow. Elderly dinghies comes to mind, they are used to bobbing in the wake,though they would probably prefer to be thought of as tugs, bravely battling through - bringing the willful liner safely into port.
My father was more of a corvette [he was a torpedo man in the war, and that is not sexual innuendo, however appropriate in his case] smashing through the rough seas and dying off early.
My grand parents despaired for a son, and instead won three male grand children and me. Our parents each had one child [youngest sister married twice], which again says something about being bought up as one of three - sisters.
We four cousins gravitated to one table and circled the wagons against the wrinkles of time lapping at our beach.
Each of us has been divorced at least once, our parents not at all. I was the first of this generation, very embarrassing, but now with the Royal family adopting the technique it feels more acceptable, perhaps, to the aunties and uncles.
My uncle is 90 in nine months, I doubt he will get a party thrown for him. He did play Happy Birthday tho, on the piano, we all sang - auntie beamed.
It was as it should be.

ghost writer

Obviously bread pudding is essential to recuperation, as I still feel wobbly, not quite in focus.
I must wobble up to the shop in a mo and see if they have some.
In the meantime I shall blog, which will reassure me that I do exist.
Maybe blogging is an alternative to appearing on the television - the ultimate endorsement that one is really here?
If so - what has television, blogging etc. replaced ?
Perhaps, once, people were more secure in their own place in society, - you knew where you belonged. Maybe - these days - [probably not a phrase we used when we were younger] a good proportion of youngsters just feel even more alienated from that feeling of belonging
Now we are led to believe young persons just want to "be famous", which no doubt makes some of us feel very smug and virtuous. Especially when the rider is added - "or infamous, tho i doubt they know the difference"
Cultures do move on, I always thought i would be in touch with the zeitgeist, I think am curious, empathic, fairly adaptable and most of all creative, which always supplies the itch to move on, explore further, never be satisfied.
But here I am sidelined and in the main, preferring it. I don't want to take on windmills any more, just photograph them, and then niggle away at the frustration of making something individual of the image in my mind.
Dunno why, should stick to gardening really, but looking at the jungle that has shot up this week while I have been out of it, I understand why gardening is not enough. I want to make things that stay where I put them.
Ceramics is even annoying as the bloody things get knocked over and break.
I want to stay where I am, my utmost creation, never broken.
Silly girl.
So, to stagger after a thought, long since cruising over the horizon, as society gets faster, more diverse, fragmented, all those things which make me feel I never catch up with myself - do ambitions get more ephemeral?
Maybe younger persons feel being famous [in the media] makes one part of the rush, integrated into the glitter.
Whereas old sods like me, just see the negatives. But for the bulk of the ill educated poorly paid, career-less young - there is no chance of making it in the present society we flourish smugly in their faces.
Or do I just need bread pudding?