I do love being older. Having more time. Not worrying about absurd realities that I know I cannot change, nor that they can change me. I love reading more, resting when I feel I need it, getting a senior pass for rail travel (in some countries), for air travel (on some airlines), and for theater entrances. I love not being responsible at times, not caring about long term effects of this or that. Hey, I even love using face creams! All my younger years I worried about "breaking out." No more. This morning I applied a tonic and a cream -- total indulgence! I love that I can temper the worries of the younger generation, that I can hug grandkids even when they're older and past the cuddle stage, that I can tell stories from several generations back, when things were really different!
But I'm not too crazy about having to get up early, so that morning chores had to be done at a clip...
Including the gathering of peaches...
And I even had to eat breakfast alone, because Ed was busy with a Zoom work call and I could not wait...
All because I had to show up at a podiatrist's office to get toe surgery done this morning, postponed from earlier dates when I believed it to be too inconvenient. When I was young, I didn't even know what a podiatrist did. Yes, take care of feet. Maybe old people's feet? Oh, right, I am that person!
And now here I am, scrolling through amazon, looking for espom salts. Epsom salts! Sounds like something my great grandmother would have used to soothe frazzled nerves or constipation, no?
Elevate your foot! -- my doc warns me. And what do I do with that elevated foot back at the farmhouse? Well, what else can I do... read a book, take a nap. Old person stuff.
But by early afternoon, I'm ignoring my doc's advice: I need to try out this new school pick-up routine. First comes Sparrow, having had a fine day today!
I take him home, his home. A snack, a pause, and we're off now to pick up his sister, who also had a good day.
Trying to have a sensible conversation with my surgical tool manipulating doc, I had asked her about her kids. She has a daughter just a year older than Snowdrop and she moaned and groaned about how much small social slights bothered the girl (and seemed to affect a slightly older son not at all). All morning long, I had to address one issue after the next from her long list of social worries. Snowdrop takes these things in stride and yet, she is quite aware of playground dynamics in ways that her younger brother is not yet noticing. But Sparrow, too, can be sensitive to slights and corrections. My teacher gives bad comments to the good eggs in the class and good comments to the bad eggs in class. I suggest that maybe she wants to motivate the "bad eggs" to change their ways. It doesn't work -- he assures me.
All this is good fodder for car ride conversations as I drive first one, then the both of them to the farmhouse.
And after they are returned to parental care, I am back on the couch, foot elevated, waiting for my epsom salts to arrive, thinking a cup of tea would be nice. Maybe with a biscuit, while I smooth back my graying hair?
with love...
