WIE IS DOOD?

Die hatch-, match- en dispatch-kolom of die cradle-, altar- en tomb– kolom – so is dit by Engelse koerante bekend: die kennisgewings van geboortes, huwelike en sterfgevalle.

Lesers blaai graag daarheen, om verskeie redes. Die lotgevalle van medemense is boeiende leesstof. Trouens, tydskrifte oor mense is voor in die sikulasiekoor, en ‘n tydskrif soos “People” glo daardie drie onderwerpe bied die beste temas vir omslae wat die lesers lok.

Vir “People” beteken dit watter glanspaartjies verlief is, watter bekendes se babas op pad of pas gebore is en wie in die openbare oog langboompies toe is (verkieslik op ‘n buitengewone wyse – hoe buitengewoner des te beter).

Ouer mense soos die uwe (moet ek weer herinner dat ek op 3 Januarie 70 word?) lees veral die “dispatch”-gedeelte. In Afrikaans sou ‘n mens dit ook vir ons generasie kon noem die “byl-in-my-bos”-kolom, a la die titel van my vorige boek.

Dit is opvallend dat ouens wat in daardie kolom opduik, dikwels jou model is – soms selfs later modelle. Dit boei jou op ‘n morbiede manier om die geboortedatums deeglik deur te kyk.

‘n Ander rede waarom gryses kennisgewings van sterfgevalle graag lees, is aan die hand gedoen deur die anonieme digter van die volgende vers, wat met ek met die verskuldigde apologie aanhaal:

There is nothing the matter with me. I’m as healthy as I can be. I have arthritis in both my knees And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.

My pulse is weak and my blood is thin. But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in. Arch supports I have for my feet. Or I wouldn’t be able to walk in the street.

Sleep is denied me night after night But every morning I find I’m alright My memory’s fading, my head is in a spin But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

The moral of this, as the tale I unfold That for me and you, who are growing old, It’s better to say I’m fine with a grin Than to let folks know the shape you’re in.

How do I know that my youth is all spent? Well, my get up and go has got up and went. But I really don’t mind when I think with a grin Of all the nice places my get up has been.

Old age is golden, I’ve heard said, But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed. With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup, My hair on the table until I get up.

Ere sleep comes over me I say to myself Is there anything else I could put on the shelf? When I was young my slippers were red. I could kick my heels over my head.

When I grew older my slippers were blue, But still I could dance the whole night through. Now when I‘m old my slippers are black, I walk to the store and puff my way back.

I get up each morning and dust off my wits, Pick up the paper and read the Obits, But if my name is missing, I know I’m not dead, So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.

Ja, natuurlik, die lees is ‘n soort ontdekkingsreis as ‘ t ware!