Kia ora Koutou,

I have decided to nominate this Wednesday as Merry March Moaning Day. Merry March Moaning Day is the one day in the year when we can moan about trials and tribulations and not be thought a grizzle–pot. Just the reverse. On Merry Moaning Day I am encouraging you to moan. The more the merrier. As everything in the news is scary or contemptible we can take those things as read.

So here I go…

Having Macular Degeneration deserves a big fat moan. Yes I know I’m lucky in all sorts of other ways but having to peer to find a power point or a particular spoon or fork, the salt cellar, not be able to see if my jersey’s clean, or if I’ve put my shirt on inside out is a pain. Peeling potatoes is particularly exciting.

Jar lids

Every new jar (jam, honey, marmite, you name it) has its lid on so tight there is no way I can open it unless I plunge the vegetable knife into the lid. This does the trick because the lid will then let me unscrew it but its probably not a good thing for a 92 year–old with poor eyesight to do — what if I miss the lid and jab the knife through the bench?

Arthritis

Yes I know everyone in the entire world and quite probably on Mars gets arthritis and they bear it heroically and uncomplainingly, but this is the annual Merry Moaning Day so just shut up. 

Exercise

I’m exceedingly tired of people on RNZ telling me that old people should exercise more. Most of my exercise used to come from gardening eg digging, pulling, cutting, bending, dragging the rubbish to the garage. And I loved it. I might have sore muscles now and then but ‘doing the garden’ was satisfying and made me feel great. Add washing and cooking and baking, cleaning windows or even dancing around the house to old pop songs like You Never Can Tell sung by Chuck Berry was exercise. I have made up my mind I won’t get too dramatic about walking from the bathroom to the bedroom, realising when I get there that I’ve forgotten my slippers or my pyjamas or my glasses, walking back to the bathroom to collect whatever it is, then back to the bedroom and then discovering I’ve left my phone on the bathroom window-sill. I shouldn’t jump up and down and swear because hey, its a cause for celebration, right? I’m being active.

That’s the end of the moaning. One good thing about failing eyesight, possibly the only good thing, is that I can’t see dust. Although to be quite candid I didn’t take much notice of it even when I could see it. One thing we can all be sure of though — dust fell yesterday, dust falls today, dust will fall tomorrow.

Renée