Some people called round this evening with china for the next auction – the last, we’re now full. John asked how long I’d lived here, which made me think of the date. It will be 33 years tomorrow. I have lived here more than half my life. That has made me stop and think about it for a bit.
I tend to work things out numerically, just for the sake of it. Like when I was exactly a third of a century – I acknowledge that I didn’t work out all the leap years of my life, though the year in question happened to be a leap year; so 33 years, 122 days was not too hard. I also knew the day I’d outlived my father’s age, which was 59 years, 6 months and 2 weeks. And so on – I was surprised to discover that not everyone does this sort of thing. I remember when I was a child, counting up exactly how old I’d be on the 1st January 2000.
But anyway, 23rd July, 1986. The day before Ronan’s second birthday. I’ve probably reminisced about the move before, but it may just be that I’ll do it again.
Wish I could do that, but I’m rotten at maths – and I seem to be getting worse at remembering dates (which I’ve never previously had trouble with – must try harder Horner).
I need a reason to remember a date, or any number. For instance, I know Eloise (daughter) is 20 years younger than me, Alex is 2 years younger than her and Ronan is 10 years younger, so as long as I know one, I can work the rest out. Similarly with grandchildren, where I’d get really confused otherwise. And now, with dates, it’s before or since Russell died – or, more cheerfully, before or since Tim and I got married. But I do think about this sort of thing quite a lot, thinking up links and testing my memory So I suppose I try quite hard too!