" Life lives between coffee spoons" said TS Elliot in a poem (or something to that effect). Life was indeed like that between coffee spoons and cigarettes in the fifties. I still have a degree of independence but that will go at some point, it must for all of us if we live long enough to complete the circle of life span. Growing old is a gradual erosion of dignity and death is the interesting outcome of all this.
"Dead or alive?"asks the teacher knocking on the coffin lid.
"Don't ask me, I'm not dead yet" replies the master.
Seems to me - but I am just a stupid old grandma - that all our vows and esoteric beliefs are just a kind of life, or should I say death, insurance giving profound comfort and guarantees of survival. So best to put it all into practice this life-time. Must go and have a coffee but I gave up ciggies years ago!