In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now in my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
It felt like Christmas in our garage today. Good friend L was putting up fiber optic trees and Christmas sculptures that she’ll be selling at our yard sale tomorrow. Sparkle, sparkle. She also made sure a bear and small reindeer were twinkling brightly. That was cool to see. I generally don’t pay attention to the wintery holiday season until after my birthday, wouldn’t you? I’d rather have a birthday two weeks before Christmas than share the same day with a sibling. Or, maybe not. There could be joy in that, but more likely in another dimension for my brother and me. Nobody explained Christmas to me when I was a kid—why you put up a tree, give presents, and go to church at night, and so on. And, what was with that old man with the beard in the funny red suit prowling the five and dime store. Whenever I saw him coming my way, I quickly ducked away. In first grade, I was assigned the role of Mrs. Santa Claus. How can you tell your teacher that you do not want to be Mrs. Santa Clau
Ugh! On this fifth day towards becoming 70, I woke up with another glaring owie. This time, it was my right knee shouting, “You overdid it, Palsy!” A month ago, I joined a weekly yoga class that focuses oldsters on stretching, loosening up our joints, and building up our balance. Probably all that bending I did at class on Tuesday would’ve been okay if I hadn’t done a bunch of bending yesterday clearing out the geraniums. Ouchy growl! Until this morning, I forgot that my poor swollen right knee, called Song, is still the bad knee. She has done quite well keeping up with Sing, the left joint that was totally replaced last year, which was my gift for turning 69. Poor Song. Hopefully, I can find another compatible, trustworthy surgeon to fix her in 2024. Sing’s surgeon retired. He was amazing, even straightening my leg when he said he couldn’t. The poor Husband. He kept running over to see why I was suddenly groaning, moaning, cursing, or growling so very loudly. Song did not like
I liked how today went. I did a load of laundry in our new washing machine and gave succulent cuttings homes. The Husband and I packaged and mailed persimmons to friends and cousins, got Chinese takeout, and went to an exercise class that focuses on balance for old people. At the post office, I talked with a happy guy who was there to get his passport in order because he was moving to Italy. He had sold his business and his home to live in a house he inherited that he didn’t know existed until an attorney got hold of him to ask if he’d like the house. The happy guy gladly said “Yes” before even hearing where it was. The house belonged to his grandfather or great grandfather and somewhere down the line family stopped living in it. Now the house was his. So very cool! The best news today came from the happy nurse at my doctor’s office. The results of my chest x-ray were negative, which (after she told me that was a good thing) I took to mean my lungs were clean, intact, and in pla
Mama visited the ophthalmologist twice a year. She begrudgingly went with the hope that the doctor would miraculously get her to see well enough to pass the DMV eye test. That was not meant to be. Her doctor was a charmer. He liked to engage with his patients, to put them at ease. He never failed to ask Mama for her secret of looking young. Sometimes, Mama would answer, giggling and smiling, “I eat rice.” Other times, “I like to eat fish.” Whatever she answered, he’d follow up with other questions, such as “How often do you eat rice?”or “”What kind of fish?” He sincerely was interested, so I observed. Another thing he never failed to do after the initial look at Mama’s eyes was to turn to me and say, “Thank your mom for your good genes.” I appreciate that I have Mama’s genes. Mama was a super ager. She lived to a resounding 94 years old before her body hit the wall. That’s how her doctor described it. Mama fell a lot that last year. A lesson for me to build up my balancing skill
Scratch out words, string sentences, fill out paragraphs. . . .Today someone told a roomful of people that I was a writer by trade. I love that. It sounds like I put in long, hard hours getting words to convey ideas precisely, clearly, and succinctly. It’s nice to know your work is appreciated.