contemplations on aging

Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.” 
― Yoko Ono

I never thought much about aging until my 49th birthday two days ago.  I suddenly felt like I got hit by a Mack truck.   One day my mother will die.  One day I will die.   What will my kids do?  What do I do if my mother becomes incapacitated?   If I do not find companionship, I need to make a plan so that if something happens to me, someone would find me before I turn to dust in my own home.  (Hey, it happens).     The big questions about death of course, are perhaps unanswerable–where do we go when we die?  (I think we go to someplace good, with so much love that it is almost too much). Do we get to come back?  (Maybe, if we want).

The aging, though–that comes with its own set of adventures.   You’re exercising as you always do.  Suddenly, some ankle bone you’ve never heard of before starts mysteriously hurting.   You bend over to pick up something and suddenly you can’t get back up.  Knees go out.   It hits you like a ton of bricks you aren’t 29 any longer.

Some of us go through a mourning period.  Perhaps this is what the midlife crisis we all joke about is.   We buy things thinking it will make us more cool, more relevant.  Less old.  Kids start asking us what life was like in the 80’s.    Maybe, for some of us, enjoying the companionship that mellows after years of being together.  Maybe some fears about your spouse going before you do.

Maybe you’ve got your ducks in a row now.  Maybe, you no longer care what people think of you.  Maybe like the woman in the poem, you now wear purple and you spend your pension on brandy and the dime slots in the casino.   Maybe you’re no longer insecure.

I’ll leave you with this poem and perhaps now you’ve found your niche, maybe you’ve found your home or maybe you never needed to leave it.   Don’t let your mind age.  Walk often, even run.   Resist the marching onward of time as best you can.  Love yourself.

“Prayer of an Anonymous Abbess:

Lord, thou knowest better than myself that I am growing older and will soon be old. Keep me from becoming too talkative, and especially from the unfortunate habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and at every opportunity.

Release me from the idea that I must straighten out other peoples’ affairs. With my immense treasure of experience and wisdom, it seems a pity not to let everybody partake of it. But thou knowest, Lord, that in the end I will need a few friends.

Keep me from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.

Grant me the patience to listen to the complaints of others; help me to endure them with charity. But seal my lips on my own aches and pains — they increase with the increasing years and my inclination to recount them is also increasing.

I will not ask thee for improved memory, only for a little more humility and less self-assurance when my own memory doesn’t agree with that of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.

Keep me reasonably gentle. I do not have the ambition to become a saint — it is so hard to live with some of them — but a harsh old person is one of the devil’s masterpieces.

Make me sympathetic without being sentimental, helpful but not bossy. Let me discover merits where I had not expected them, and talents in people whom I had not thought to possess any. And, Lord, give me the grace to tell them so.

Amen” 
― Margot Benary-Isbert

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Home at last

For the last two months ive been living in a construction zone. You’ve shared the story of the reconstruction of my camper and my life and youve been so uplifting to me. The new is….

I’ve finished the other end. The end I had to reframe. Here it is.

Its bigger than the place I had been sleeping for the last two months, and I have my breakfast nook and table now.

The whole place seems bigger. There is all kinds of storage space for my books and dishes and food. It was such a joy to have someplace to sit and write tonight instead of going to a restaurant like Arbys. Such a joy to play music and sit comfortably and write, and read. I also found my Himalayan salt lamp, which casts a warm glow through thr whole place.

This is my home. It is insulated properly. All the dead wood is gone, replaced by new 2 x2 studs. It has new curtains and as I go along it will have new rugs, new wall hangings, and continue to change along with me. It is the first home I’ve ever owned.

I love my tiny home and I live in the best place on earth.

I am really home. I am home within myself, I am whole within myself; I need no one, because I am complete inside myself, but choose to be involved in this thing called life.

Life is a wonderful thing. If we blink, we miss it. I go to the water and spend my days gazing at the vastness of it and know I am exactly where I am meant to be. I am blessed.

A rainstorm, a cleansing

I have written a lot about grieving and how ive carried it for years, deep down in a dark and quiet place because it was not possible to share such a thing openly. I had a husband. I had children. Nobody knew him. I was alone. I buried it and went on.

Until I came home. I have written so much about this. You have patiently gone along with me as I rebuild my camper and my life. This blog is as sacred as the confessional. I start from the bottom and work upwards.

Today it rained. It rained as it needed to rain and the water cleansed the smoke from the wildfires in California and some say Canada. Lightning strikes hitting the ground were impressive. I sat in the vehicle I was driving and waited for the deluge to stop because I couldn’t see. I listened to the pounding rain on the roof of my car and watched the rivulets of water streaming down the windows. Rivers of water. All I had cried through the years and now since I’d come back.

In the aftermath of the storm there is peace. The world is different for the change but it finds peace.

So will I.

I am not dead. I am still here. Still blessed with good health and children I love and a home and a job and the ability to do work I love through writing or Tarot reading . My life is not over. It is filled with possibility.

Coffee shop

This is the Daily Planet in Buffalo, NY. I go there to relax and listen to live music…today it was a young man playing Spanish guitar music. I wrote and observed people and had dark coffee with a giant chocolate chip cookie. I like to observe without being observed. Especially when I am planning out the next major move in my life accompanied by the smell of coffee beans and panini.

Someone was well meaning doing the chalk board. See if you can find the mistake.

Help your local independent coffee shop. These folks work hard to make your stay comfortable and the food is gorgeously fantastic, homemade. And the decor is wonderfully kitschy and makes me and a whole lot of other folks feel right at home.