Most of my new friends here are quite bit older than me, in some cases many decades older. I guess that's what comes with mixing in booky, crafty, textile art circles and living in this particular neighbourhood in this particular city. These women are as sharp as tacks, involved in everything, voracious readers and take some keeping up with.
But there is one grand dame I have given up trying to keep up with. Her real name is Tammy but Australians like to give things nicknames so in following local custom we now call her "The Tamster". (My son, the chief dogwalker, is known as The Tamstermeister.) Her owner scored her from the dog rescue place so isn't exactly sure of her age, but she is at least thirteen human years old. Nobody believes us when we say how old she is. This summer was so long and hot that she ended up having to have two haircuts (she usually only has one a year) which made her look even younger.
Before we met her Tammy hadn't been for regular walks for quite some time. At first we took her for shortish walks around the neighbourhood, then longer and longer ones. Now she has decided that what she really wanted is runs. Now I love walking, but running, not so much. That is a job I leave for the now quite tall people I used to call TheShortFolk.
But the most fun we have with The Tamster is when we take her in the car to the beach. Last time we went was a beautiful evening and she sprinted down the beach then leapt around in circles like a great big puppy. In the car on the way home she kept slobbering on my neck as I was trying to drive which is apparently how she says thank you.
She has so much energy and such a zest for life that it is like she is taking some kind of youth serum. When I'm her age I hope I'm just like her. Only I hope I can resist any urges to roll in piles of rotting seaweed. And maybe not so slobbery. And definitely not so hairy.