But, then again . . . . .

By TrikinDave

Growing Up.

Some years ago, an elderly couple moved in to the bungalow over the road, they needed somewhere without stairs as the husband had recently had a stroke and was paralysed on his left side though, fortunately, he retained his speech and the use of his dominant hand.  He had been a blacksmith, a skilled craftsman, and missed the ability to use his left hand for such work, but he did take up painting and became quite a good artist. They became good friends with us as Jnr’s best pal was their grandson and so the two lads spent a lot of time there. Unfortunately, the husband contracted pneumonia and died in hospital a week or so later, and his wife soon moved into a care home as she was developing dementia. Sadly, the last time I saw her, she was in a wheel chair in the street and didn’t recognise me.
A young couple moved into the vacated house – it only seems like a few years ago - and, although I wouldn’t class them as friends, they are pleasant enough and we wouldn’t pass in the street without a smile and a greeting. A first daughter was duly born and quickly grew into a bean pole, then there was a second, and I was shocked a couple of years ago to be informed by the lollipop lady that the first born had started secondary school. Then, the other day, to my amazement, I saw that first born gingerly driving this car up Main Street with her mother smiling unconcernedly in the passenger seat.
I really have difficulty keeping track of the years these days and feel that there should be a statutory speed limit governing the rate at which they are disappearing.

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