On Aging

               One of the effects of having a nonagenarian living in the house, is looking at one's own mortality. Now that my mother is 90, I am even more aware of my own sands of time.  Questions persist regarding: purpose, retirement, bucket lists, health and vitality, romance.

              I am going to be 60 this year and I don't know how I feel about that. I was hoping to celebrate something older than I, something timeless. So, my beloved will take me to see Shakespeare's Henry V.

                My girlfriends want various things in retirement. Large houses of women living together. (My first thought....how many bathrooms?)  Cabana boys to cool us with palm fronds. More than one girlfriend wants to retire abroad. An old gal living in Paris. Personally, I think I want comfort and community.

                I try to honestly evaluate the prospects for my retirement.  I fitted my house with comfort for the body, and exercise equipment. I wonder where I'll place the investment of my time and creative energy for the next decade.  I am hopeful for work with purpose and meaning.
                 I have a recurring conversation with my young niece with whom I enjoy sharing dance stories. We understand the emotional and physical effects music has on us.    
               "There were elderly people in my yoga class."
               "How old is elderly?
               "45-60."
               "That's my age group. I refuse to be elderly.  I heard one woman say she planned to be a Maturian.  I like that. "

                I almost decked the first kid who offered me a Senior Discount.

                My kids said, "Mom, take the discount."

                Of course I'll take the discount, but how dare he think me a Senior?  I was indignant.
                A wise woman discount? A Maturian discount? Yes, that's better.

                Obscure experiences, completely out of context, and not in any particular order, pop into my mind without reason.   They seem to have happened a very long time ago. Some examples:

                I assisted a doctor in sewing up a woman who had been mauled by 3 pit-bulls when she went out jogging.  In my twenties, I almost had an affair with a lion tamer.  I bet on horses and greyhounds and always lost.
                One birthday, when I ran the ranch, after I spent the night in a hammock, I woke up to an owl staring down at me. 
                 I studied Flamenco in Spain, African with an African Dance Co., Tap in Hollywood, Ballet with the Milwaukee Ballet, Modern dance with the prima ballerina of the Metropolitan Opera Ballet.

               I danced on a cruise ship, on short notice. Thank goodness I had a piece ready.  I was 16 and later that evening, my father was freaking out when he couldn't find me. He imagined that I had fallen overboard. I was being a teenager, downstairs where the music was, flirting with the ensign. 
               Like most young girls, mojo came naturally.  I'll tell you what, as a Maturian, it takes work to keep it. 
               I do love the benefit to romance enjoyed at this age.  I love the realistic expectations and not getting bent out of shape when the other person turns out to be human.  I can look like Carol Burnett's washer woman with my sneakers and baggy clothes, and he still loves me. We appreciate each other's best qualities and try not to make too much of our worst.

                How to keep romance alive considering the 300 miles between us and calendar visits on intermittent weekends?  It's a challenge. While we're apart, we send each other 15 second phone videos,  or discuss various subject matter about the latest thing we've read, maybe send a link to an interesting TED talk, or send a joke. Just to keep us connected. I occasionally change his ring tone to Motown favorites. When he's here, it's nice to have help around the house.  He keeps the fire stoked so that we can curl up on the couch together and stay warm.  And there is pillow talk, that quiet sharing at the end of the day, made sacred by proximity, much more personal than phone calls.

               Another benefit of this age is not having to prove myself to myself. I know of what I am capable.  I know my strengths and weaknesses, my likes and dislikes.  And as long as I do my personal best in the world, I can let go of outcomes, let go of self-doubt.

              It is true that the body has limitations. But it is also true that with years of practice I can say, "No". I can reject ideas that don't work for me.
              So, perhaps I like this age. I like the history, including the revised versions that accompany retrospect. I like my self-image and the forgiveness, the slower tempo, the gift of insight and perspective, a certain personal comfort that come with 59 years of living.
              There are a lot of myths around aging in our culture. I don't have to believe them.

Countdown to Retirement

It seems that not long ago, my beloved and I were counting down from five years. I made a 60-month calendar with anticipated milestones that we might reach as we approach a day we can both be home, enjoying our lives together.

Suddenly, my brain's extensive music file has selected a Motown 45 which drops down onto the turn-table of my internal juke box: Diana Ross and the Supremes are singing,"Someday, we'll be together; yes we will."

Time, as it tends to do in retrospect, went by quickly during those first twelve months, and here we are, in January, at four years and counting...The important thing is not just to survive it. Not just to make the best of it. No, my intention is to thrive in the face of challenge. I dare myself to make it work. I double dare me.

I will journal our efforts to make a four-year separation something we will look back on with humor and with appreciation. Surely, there are other marriages which face similar challenges. Perhaps I will hear from other women with suggestions on how they withstand such trials.

I read that many marriages have endured lengthy separations. Consider Napoleon and Josephine. The day after their wedding, he left for battle. Hey, my husband left the day after our wedding too. What did Josephine do all those months he was away? She created a life for herself.

Marriage has to be one of the most difficult, yet rewarding, relationships that exist. It is to my benefit to do my best to keep the romance alive.

Did I say, "romance"? What does romance look like at nearly 60 years of life and 6 degrees of winter chill? It takes a tone of playfulness.

She:"Would you object if I wear socks to bed?"

He: "No, it's fine."

She "How do you feel about mittens?"

He: (a moment of silence)

He: "What about your cold nose?"

She: "A ski mask?"

First Winter

The first winter, in our new house, in a new town,  is a brisk, chilled, powder-white outdoors.  Inside, it is warm and cozy, with a kitchen that perpetually smells of good things to eat.  The kitchen, that true heart of the home,  beats steadily with a circulation of aromas signifying health and satiety.  Roasts in the oven, stews on the stove-top, hearty bread.  

January will be here soon. Janus was the Roman god, with two faces, who could look back upon the past while simultaneously looking toward the future. And so, it is not uncommon to look over our shoulders at the landscape of our past year, remembering the seeds we sowed in spring, the harvest of autumn, and the reflections of deep winter.  Did we create? Did we love? Did we give the world our best? And what, then, of our future? Will we worry ourselves and borrow trouble from tomorrow? Instead, let us put our best foot forward, every day, one step at a time.

My beloved's visits home are always a race against the calendar.  There is a list of tasks, the requisite and hopeful efforts to be reacquainted, the discussions of intentions and plans and dreams. And at some point, there is a realization that it will soon be over. He will depart toward tyrannies of the urgent, his work in the world, and I will resume my work, my care-giving, my offering, whatever that may be.

My thoughts, this New Year's Eve, turn toward being here now, appreciating the warmth of a fire. I think about marriage and my commitment to working side-by-side even when we're apart.

My role in parenthood is always changing. My adult children share their time with me. I have decided warm greetings and fond farewells, small courtesies, and sincere attention to their stories are my personal best at this stage.

As this year comes to a close, I release any attachments I have to clutter, mental and otherwise.  My intention is to celebrate the simple pleasures, opportunities, and possibilities of my future. 
Bring it on!

Janus looking to the future and the past.

Make peace with yesterday and let it go. Move forward today with confidence and appreciation for the strength you've gained.

A Cold November Morning

First Year.  We asked for four seasons.

We arrived in Spring to Nevada, the most mountainous state in the contiguous U.S., to an area near rivers and lakes.  I traded rattle-snakes and vultures for deer and hawks. I put plants into the ground and was pleasantly surprised that they flourished. I watched weeds grow and spread. We built trellises for honeysuckle.

In summer, we walked the streets downtown, microbrews in our cups, and listened to free jazz concerts. I traded 113 degree summers for a slight increase in humidity and comfortable nights.  I traded swamp coolers for air-conditioning.

By the time October arrived, Carson City was engaged in the fun of Halloween. New homes in the sub-division decorated their front yards.  I hadn't seen trick-or-treaters for decades; this year they came in droves. My favorites were the little lady bug, the bumblebee, and the superheroes.

Now is the beginning of winter and the maple tree, my barometer of seasonal change which I view from my office window, has lost all its leaves and the cold wind has ripped the protective covering from the tender bark. The local deer will be looking for that when food is scarce.

The rainwater clings to the chin of my gargoyle rainspout.  Gargoyles make me smile; what can I say. My rainspout is a token of appreciation for the gargoyles I saw at Notre Dame.  The ground here is covered with powdered sugar. My boots make tracks.  While not as cold as the Wisconsin winters I spent my childhood surviving, there is still some relearning about how much damage frozen water can do. We had our first shattered water pipe, an abrupt lesson on battening down the hatches in preparation for the cold.  Christmas gifts are leaning toward snow-shovels and long underwear.

You know how your computer or phone automatically updates to the most current and appropriate version of your apps? Reminds me of the Buddhist philosophy of impermanence; nothing stays the same. I've updated my life: Gave up my shot-gun for hand-gun. Work-boots for mud-boots. Dirt roads for asphalt. Caliche and sand for sidewalks. Scorpions for ground-squirrels.  People ask where
I'm from and I tell them I just left 30 years in the middle of nowhere. It was an amazing ride, but I'm glad to be making my life easier on my body, a gesture of self-empowerment.

In the desert, I hunkered down into this time of year with soups and stews, warm bread, wood fires, and good books. In this season of life and of year, I feel less like a hibernating bear and more like a witness. Observe, notice, appreciate.

That said, I think a I'll make a pot of chili and some corn bread.

ADVICE CORNER

Ways to beat the winter doldrums, seasonal affect disorder, and other cold-weather melancholia:

1. Put on some Billy Holiday or Bessie Smith and sing the Blues.

2. Tap dance.

3. Learn some good jokes and tell them while you're waiting in long shopping lines.

4. Get cozy in the kitchen. Put a stew in the crockpot, a casserole in the oven.

5. Buy some flower bulbs (Narcissus are nice) and place in a bowl of rocks and water. Set inside your kitchen or near a window. Watch the roots and green shoots get a jump-start springtime.

6. Practice self-kindness. Get a massage. Go for a walk. Curl up with a cup of tea and a good book.