The dominos of an interconnected society

We have a wonderful local bookshop in Clare, where Kate welcomes visitors, recommends selections, offers to gift wrap presents, and offers hot toddies at Christmas. Walking past the other evening, though, we noticed she had set out a row of books like dominos on the shelf in her window and, like dominos, one had slipped and knocked over all the others, some tumbling onto the display below. Such is the nature of modern society - rows of tightly bound units in which one fall brings all down. Edwin and Andre returned from three weeks in Brazil to the chaos of rail strikes, the August bank holiday traffic jams,  and a UK-wide failure in air traffic control (ATC), with routes falling like Kate's domino books. We learnt of the failure just before setting off to meet them, but it had occurred when they were over half-way across the Atlantic with no possibility of return, so they were one of the flights prioritised to land at Heathrow. Waiting for the boys at Terminal 3 we were among a crowd of people sitting on cases or jamming the cafes whose flights were cancelled or delayed when the ATC people had to land planes more infrequently under manual control, and their flight wasn't delayed by even five minutes. 

Mary-Anne is exceptionally busy these days, working as postmistress plus having to ferry two teenagers to Bury or Sudbury for work, or college, or to visit or stay with friends, and she likes to spend time at the weekend with Sam and the girls. Although she only lives a ten-minute walk away, we hadn't seen her for over five weeks, but Ann had asked if she could look in to let the dogs out during the day,  if she had any free time in the afternoon. Ann was still in her nightie to clean the house before getting dressed when MA phoned to say she was out walking her dogs and would call in now before we left. I was out getting the car emptied and checking oil and water ready to get the boys, so Ann had to rush to get dressed leaving the hoover in the middle of the floor and nothing done, but it was lovely to see MA again. 

Getting old definitely requires a change in outlook. I have to pace myself even for small jobs such as cleaning the car and checking the tyres. Doing even a limited amount of work demands I sit down for a regular break and have to carry things out in small stages. Walking the dogs, my route seems to get shorter and shorter, and favours routes where I know there is a bench so I can sit half way round to recover. Luckily, Byron will often find a ball lost in the bushes, so I can kick it for him to chase. Bronte merely follows wearily at my pace now, so she doesn't need much exercise and prefers lying down all day. They say people grow like their dogs; certainly, Bronte and I seem to be on convergent paths.

Another profound change is the need to wee at night. Every two or three hours, I wake feeling the urge, and though not much is produced, I have to make myself go "just in case". I sometimes dream I need to wee and am in a building somewhere in an embarrassed state, wearing just a shirt or pyjama top, desperately looking for a toilet. These dreams wake me very quickly. Even worse, the rare times I dream I am actually weeing, either in a toilet or in a pile of sand or mud somewhere. Such dreams are frightening as I dread the thought of incontinence, and I instinctively reach down as I wake to check I'm not soaked; happily, it is not happening yet, but I have a box of man nappies in the cupboard ready should I need them. Bronte, too, leaks now during the day and we have to make her wear doggie nappies now in the house. Luckily, she quite likes them and stands happily to let me pull her tail through the hole and Velcro them on. She parades in front of Byron as if to say "look what I've got," and he looks wistfully thinking we're favouring her. They probably make her more comfortable, as they keep her legs and fur dry, but even in this way we are converging.