Archive for the '55 Years Old' Category

Fifty-Five Year Old: Eugene Henderson



What made me take this trip to Africa? There is no quick explanation. Things got worse and worse and worse and pretty soon they were too complicated.

When I think of my condition at the age of fifty-five when I bought the ticket, all is grief. The facts begin to crowd me and soon I get a pressure in the chest. A disorderly rush begins – my parents, my wives, my girls, my children, my farm, my animals, my habits, my money, my music lessons, my drunkenness, my prejudices, my brutality, my teeth, my face, my soul! I have to cry, “No, no, get back, curse you, let me alone!” But can they let me alone? They belong to me. They are mine. And the pile into me from all sides. It turns into chaos.

Saul Bellow, Henderson the Rain King

Published in: 55 Years Old | on November 15th, 2011 | No Comments »

Fifty-Five Year Old: Mrs Jane Donaldson

Mrs Donaldson was not vain. She had never thought she was all that much to look at while at the same time recognising that she was probably more attractive now than she had been when she was younger. She was not petite and quite sturdy in fact but she had good skin, nice crisp hair that she kept neat and well-curled, and it was not surprising (and she was not surprised) if she appealed to men of her own age… women too maybe but she had no means of knowing that nor had any inclination to find out.

Still, she was fifty-five, an age when should she take her clothes off full light was to be avoided, hotel bathrooms always dangerous places.

That the young people had not minded having her in their bedroom even from economic necessity meant a lot to her though had she had to participate, a wild speculation she these days entertained more and more, she would have been grateful for the candles. Fifty-five or not it had reassured her that she wasn’t wholly repellent to look at.

Alan Bennett, The Greening of Mrs Donaldson

Published in: 55 Years Old | on November 15th, 2011 | No Comments »