Wherever the Road Leads

The Nonagenarians

John Brown Shipyards, Clydebank, Scotland

non·a·ge·nar·i·an

/ˌnänəjəˈne(ə)rēən/
Noun
A person who is from 90 to 99 years old.

It was recently my Uncle Peter’s ninety-fifth birthday. Earlier on this year, it was my mother’s ninetieth. Last weekend, there was a birthday celebration honoring the two of them.

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I have been here in the US for going on twenty years. I don’t speak a lot about my family. Some know how my father died, most assume that I am an only child. The birthday celebration was planned by my Toronto cousins. The pictures provided by my Savannah cousin, Janice. This is a portion of my family…

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When Janice sent me this picture, she entitled the email, “Group Shot”. My reaction was, that’s not a ‘group’, that’s a small town. And yes, I am related to pert’ near ever’ one of them. This was taken outside the restaurant where the bash was held in Toronto, so would not include my cousins who never left the UK or the clan in South Africa.

My mother and her brother, Peter, are the two who are left from a family of eight siblings. Both in their nineties and both going strong.

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Hopefully my uncle’s penchant for cross-dressing is a one-off and not a permanent condition. (They were at a Chinese restaurant, thus, the sampan hat!)

This gorgeous ray of sunshine – pun intended – and potential future Miss Savannah, is my second cousin, Nikki… Janice and Pete’s daughter and my Uncle’s granddaughter.

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My opportunity at fatherhood, unfortunately, didn’t work out. That was two boys. Maybe I’d have been better with girls, like Nikki. Once this pretty young lady reached a sensible age to date, say, 27, I’d make a habit of sitting on the front veranda cleaning my rifle every Friday and Saturday night around 7:30. I’ve always thought Shelties were cute but I’d probably opt for a Doberman, who would be able to sprint between the front veranda and the car door much quicker than any not-good-enough suitor, growling just for good measure.
 
Below are the oldest of the group and the youngest…

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And here are celebrants of all ages…

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My cousin, Morag, pinning my Little Scottish Mother.

I consider myself very lucky to have my mother, and I’m sure my cousins Morag, Alex and Janice feel the same about still having their Dad.

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(A rose between two thorns?)

Born in 1918 and 1923, I hope I’m this healthy in five years, let alone thirty!!

So “Happy Birthday” to the Nonagenarians…

Here’s tae ye,
All’s like ye,
Damn few,
And they’re aw deed!!

Sláinte!

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