Edie Ceccarelli, who passed away on Thursday, had just celebrated her 116th birthday. The whole town of Willits, California, had turned out for the party.
A dog walker and 15 dogs led the birthday parade followed by the local bin people, the fire brigade – you’d probably need them for the birthday candles – a band of moustachioed musicians to serenade the lady of the moment and another band of small children bearing flowers.
Edie was a dancer. When she was 104, she lost her dance partner but put out an ad for a new one – few could keep up with her.
With all that joie de vivre would have come a sorrow too in old friends gone. When you’re young you never think how hard it is to be the one left behind, who has to keep on going and say all the goodbyes.
Edie and her 116th birthday whisked me back to the days when I was a young reporter, notebook and pen in hand.
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I held my notebook like a kind of shield – just as a young doctor might drape a stethoscope around her neck… a sign of serious intent. My stance said: “Look, I’m serious, I have eight minutes T-line shorthand at 100 words per minute, tell me your life story fast.”
There was the small problem of my face blindness which is not good for a journalist – oh, the famous people I have failed to recognise in the flesh – but that’s another story.
As a cub reporter, I went around to various markings and interviews reciting the mantra “Who, where, what, when, why”. I asked a whole load of stupid questions.
Of course, rather predictably, I probed every centenarian I met on the secret to living a long life. They probably rolled their eyes at that old chestnut. It’s not like you get a lot of choice about quite when the grim reaper might swing his sickle. Still, I felt obliged to ask.
I used to do the Christmas babies too. I loved visiting the mothers with their newborns – all the Noels and Hollys - who arrived on December 25 or to greet the New Year.
I used to ask: “Did it hurt?” The pope is, indeed, a Catholic and they don’t give you a doughnut ring to sit on for nothing.
I have fond memories of the father who videoed the whole birth, then went home all excited and sat down to watch with the couple’s other children. Not for me, thanks. Run, run, run.
But let us return to the woman of who reached the age of 116. Edie was asked the secret of her longevity. She said it was two fingers of red wine with dinner and minding her own business.
Edie was asked the secret of her longevity. She said it was two fingers of red wine with dinner and minding her own business
Minding your own business gets tougher as you get older – age has loosened my tongue.
“You have always spoken your mind, it’s a McCann woman thing,” says our boy.
He’s right. As I have aged I find that I have lots of opinions and am only too delighted to share them. So when our boy chose Germolene pink paint for the living room in his flat, I wasn’t sure.
“If it were me…” I began.
“Ah mother, but it is not you…” he hit back.
He was right again and his is a rather beautiful room, restful as lying under a huge cherry blossom tree in Spring. I could move in… that would fairly rattle him.
As for the secret of living a long life. I’m channelling my inner Edie – I love to dance and figure I shall get back out there for a little murder on the dance floor. Barry Keoghan, where are ye?
But honestly, two fingers of red wine with dinner may just not be enough...