Wendy cubed!



I can’t believe it’s the end of August. Where has summer gone? How many times have I heard the phrase ‘Time flies, the older you get’? It seems true.

In some ways I am feeling my age; this month makes me another year older and this very special August brought the gift of a new life in my life – an exquisite grandchild. I am now proud Grandmere to the very tiny, beautiful Scarlett Wendy. It is such an honour to be named after. I never for a moment thought of it and now I feel quite dynastic. Rather like a Russian novel,  or the American way of same name different number. It is not, of course, my family name in perpetuity, it is my personal name and that of Scarlett’s other Grandma.

Scarlett’s a lucky girl to have two Grandma Wendys. As my Canadian friend Wendy said, ‘there are not enough Wendy’s in the world’. I agree! The Scottish author J.M. Barrie created the name for Peter Pan’s friend. If Peter is the boy who never grew up, Wendy is the girl who didn’t/doesn’t either. I love being called Wendy and even more so now that I have such a precious namesake.

It is a new way for me to define myself as a woman. I am now a daughter, mother and grandmother. How old does that make me feel? I can’t begin to tell you. I always thought/think of my own grandparents and everyone elses as ancient, kind of one foot in the grave, the other on a banana skin, kind of people. Not any more! I am quickly revising my opinion. I am not that old. No Ma’am! I don’t have false teeth, a blue rinse perm or zip up the front slippers.

I, like my Scottish counterpart, Miss Jean Brodie, am in my prime. I’m quite newly married, I feel fitter, sexier, smarter and more content with my thoughts and body than ever before. I think many women in the F decades do and we are celebrating the fact.

We live in a society where we are bombarded by media images chosen to feed our insecurities and to make us part with our money. We see carefully airbrushed faces of yesteryear, looking fresher and more gorgeous than in their heyday.

We are constantly pressured to buy creams and potions that blithely promise that if used we’ll wake up looking ten years younger. And that’s the less extreme end of the beauty, anti-ageing market. Maybe it’s time to put my portrait in the attic and hope for the best. I don’t think so, I’ll just remember my name and although my appearance may age, inside I’m still the best friend of Peter Pan.