Someone -- a famous news correspondent who is now in her mid eighties -- was asked this: which was your favorite decade in life? She said, with little hesitation -- 50s. I can see the allure. If you have a family, you've done your grunt work. No more nose wiping and stuffinga reluctant little one into snowpants in the wintertime. As for work -- chances are you're stuck with a chosen career path and so you either like it and feel in control, or you're looking forward to retirement, which isn't that far off. On many fronts, life is stable (assuming no great upheavals like cancer, hurricanes, wildfires and any number of other tragic possibilities that can wreck your life). At the same time, you haven't reached the decades of Many Doctor Visits yet. An author of books on aging (of course I can't remember his name) wrote that he is lucky at 85 to have only five specialists who routinely check in on various organs of his aging body. Apart from the occasional special encounter for incidental questions and issues that come and go, I have only three, and one is my primary care physician who basically oversees the entirety, to make sure it all stays afloat. The other two? A cardiologist -- new, because I've lived through two already who have retired, and a pulmonary guy (lungs, for the medically uninformed) -- whom I saw today and who, too, told me he is retiring this summer.
You'd think that's pretty cool -- only three! And neither my lungs nor my heart are deteriorating at any clip pace, so it's all rather measured -- needed bandaids rather than major interventions. But in fact, these visits do take time, because the docs are chock full of ideas about new tests I should have done to make sure I wont collapse say on the next mountain hike in Switzerland.
All this to say that early this morning, I had my pulmonary check up. I pushed off all this stuff 'til April, not wanting to bother with it before my big trip and now I am stuck with appointments, one after another.
Feeding animals? Quickly. And very early. (Still time to pay attention to what's blooming out there...)
And at 7:40, I am at the clinic, where I remain for a good three hours, because, well, these things take time.
I'm telling you this for a reason: I love each decade of my life even more than the one that came before. But to maintain that love for the present, you have to think of it in new terms, using new parameters. Being in my 70s is different than being in my 50s in a million ways. It requires greater patience. And in my opinion, you should not compare. For all the quirky aspects to life now, for all those rotating clinic visits, there are such great joys to being alive, and in your seventies, and retired, and free to fashion a day in a way that suits you. You have the ability to dedicate a whole two hours to extricating your granddaughter's summer shoes out of customs, for example. Or, to sit on a bench outside and survey the garden, trying to remember where you intended to put in the rose bush that is arriving at the end of this week (gulp!).
Breakfast? Alone again. Ed is gone by the time I return from the protracted doc visit. That's okay -- I wanted a moment with my granola! (I purchased it in Paris, with my daughter, on a quick run to the bakery on the other side of town.)
It's cool outside. Not even close to the warmth I was lucky to have on the other side of the ocean. But, the perennials are coming on strong. If only the chickens would quit digging up the flower fields, I'd be happy.
(yes you!)
In the afternoon, I pick up the grandkids.
One more day of heavy duty homework for the girl (she is extremely good natured about it, in ways I wouldn't have been at her age, since I regarded homework as a Great Evil Interferer into life as I wanted to live it then).
Sparrow is happy to return to his Legos and his apples and croissants and pieces of chocolate chip cookie.
In the evening Ed is still working on his machining project. Me, I take a walk. It's my time of peaceful reflection. On the day's joys and good moments. But, too, on how tragic the unraveling of this country has been, all at the hands of the few who cannot see beyond their own well being, or what they imagine will preserve their own well being.
We sit down to a soup and salad. It's late, but the light is still with us. We are, after all, entering the lightest, brightest quarter of the year. My favorite. Oops! No favorites allowed. They all have great moments of joy. (But I do so love spring!).
