Anti-wrinkle cream in our DNA

Jean's Journal with Jean Farrell

Last week I was at a family gathering, in Carrick-on Suir. We were there to celebrate my aunt’s 95th birthday. She is my mother’s sister and it is a pleasure to be in her company. Her older sister, aged 98, lives in Dublin. I sincerely hope I have their genes, for we know the saying, ‘If you want to live a long and healthy life - pick your parents carefully!’ My mother and her mother died in their ninetieth year.

I hope I have her genes for other reasons too. My aunt has hardly a line on her face. She has beautiful skin. My own mother had the same. One cousin remarked, “Isn’t it wonderful that we have anti-wrinkle cream in our DNA.”

I have quoted the following here before, ‘Our ancestors sleep in our blood and brains, their packets of DNA neatly arranged pretending not to matter, but oh how they do!’

My aunt’s mind is perfect and she said, sadly, “There is no-one my age anywhere I go, anymore. All my friends are dead.”

However, she is not a sad person at all. She enjoys every day and enjoys everyone’s company.

As I sat with her I thought of how much life has changed since she was a child, ninety years ago. Instead of there being a generation gap between her and her grandchildren, there is a generation chasm!

Sitting beside her I listened to what relatives told this old woman. I listened to them, through her ears, and wondered what she thought of all she heard.

A grandson introduced her to his husband and said that they were expecting a baby soon.

Another relative’s wife was showing off her new hand-bag. “Is cost over €1000,” she boasted, expecting my aunt to be impressed.

‘I am gay,’ proclaimed a big badge pinned to the bosom of our cousin Bina. “Hello Gay,” said my aunt, kissing her warmly.

Another gave us an account of the only two things her child will eat. “Jake won’t let any other item of food pass his lips,” she said.

A couple of teenagers sat near us, glued to their phone. Their names were Riley and Taylor. Both wore jeans with big holes in them.

Taylor wandered off, announcing that she was bored and depressed. Biddy laughed and told me she remembered once telling her mother that she was depressed. "Why don't you go to The Devotions?” was her mother’s solution. We decided that this suggestion wouldn’t solve Taylor’s problem!

Riley approached us then and announced, “I laid an egg a fortnight ago and now my body is violently ripping off the walls of my womb.” Her mother told us that Riley meant she had her periods. My aunt told me that when she was young, they whispered about ‘Lady Pains.’ And she added that her mother would turn in her grave, if she was alive, at the advertisements on the television for sanitary towels.

A cousin, heavily pregnant, came over to chat to her. She was wearing a skin tight dress, with her huge bump very visible, so visible that we could see her navel clearly. She told her grand aunt all about her ‘gender reveal party’. They had to go home to take their dogs out of the kennel. She mentioned how much this was costing and I could see real shock on my aunt’s face.

When the heavily pregnant woman left us, in her skin-tight dress, my aunt told me that when they were young, pregnant women stayed at home. She said it was almost considered shameful to be seen in public.

Another relation was hurrying home to take her son to the doctor because he had a ‘slight cough.’ My aunt told me that they never went to the doctor when they were small. “My mother used to say we couldn’t afford to be sick. And my father’s opinion was that when you went to the doctor he only found something wrong with you.”

During all this socialising I realised that my aunt was cold. I asked an employee could the fire be lit. “Certainly Madam,” the young man replied. He took a remote control from his pocket, pointed it at the fire and it burst into flames. “Magic,” laughed my aunt! “Imagine what my father would think of that.” We recalled the huge amount of work, on the bog, involved in having a good fire. Everything seems to be available at the touch of a button nowadays, we agreed.

Two cousins, sitting near us, were looking for husbands, at a touch of a button. They were on Tinder, using their mobile phones. One cousin showed us a photo of a handsome hunk.

My aunt told us about a father, who lived near them long ago. He was keen to marry off his daughter. The man admitted that she was no beauty at all. He decided to have her married before he got the electricity in. “She don’t look too bad in candle light,” he said.

“What should we be looking for in a good husband?” one of the girls asked our aunt. As I have been writing about the search for Mr Perfect here, I listened keenly to what this wise experienced woman would say. She thought for a while and then said, “Kindness. Pick a kind man.”

So, let’s appreciate the kind good men we have!