cranky pants

I have just been reading one of my blogs, under cranky pants/age.  I decidely stated that I am not losing it and if I am vague it is because I am multi-tasking my thinking.  That is all very well but I seem to have been confused about my age.  I am not 66 going on 67, I am 66 this year.  At this time of my life it is important to actually know your real age.  Horror of horrors I am turning into my mother.  She thought she was born in 1908 but in fact she was born in 1905.  That meant that she soldiered on working for another three years after she needed to. 

Mum was so suspicious of the Government that she did not want to give them any information about herself.  If she was being asked questions about when and when she was born and when she got married she just sat there and nary a word she uttered.  My lovely mother-in-law had to take her to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital once and mum just sat there and poor Madgey had to answer for her.  Madge was not well herself at the time and mum's refusal to answer questions resulted in her having to lie about any of mum's real information.  E.g. name of husband, where she was born and so on.  In fact she knew that the old bat had never been married and where she was born.  As far as  I can work out, Mum got pregnant on June 15th 1945.  The celebration for the end of the war must have been a big night in the old Adelaide. My favourite thing is that when I came back to South Australia and I had to take the silly old moo to the hospital I was able to say that she was born in Penola.  She got such a shock when I answered the lovely nurse.  I had finally bothered to go in and get the full copy of my birth certificate and found out that little snippet of information.  I also found out that my father was Mr. Not Stated.  I have found out that a lot of people are related to me as my sexual super hero fathered hundred of us.  Talk about testosterone!!!! 

I also remember that when Mum had saved lots of her pension money she thought that the Government would stop her pension.  I think she had about $600 but that to her was an absolute fortune.  I tried in vain to tell her that she could own a house and a car and have a healthy bank account and still get the payment, but she refused to believe me. 

As I write this I am thinking that in a lot of ways I am a carbon copy of Mum and that pleases me not.  When I start thinking that the neighbours are searching through my things and painting my window ledges I will know (or perhaps not) that I am finally losing it.