Trapped in our own skins.

Update, Sunday, March 25, 2012.
All is well. All functioning. A bit of flooding on the lakeside garden, the front driveway. No worries, though, our pantry is full, and so is our refrigerator.  If we become trapped, we can survive for days!

This is the easy part to report. The other part, the part about the running in and out of town for this procedure, this  treatment, that overnight sojourn at the hospital hilton, hours in the waiting room, snacking on crackers and cheese, that part is the real trap we have been facing.

We are trapped in our own skins, our own vast highway of sinews, blood chambers, food consumption and elimination. Lots of things can go wrong. And any one thing can send you to the hospital or clinic.

A trip to the drugstore or the pharmacy can become an excursion to hell.
"What is the best over-the-counter medication for...?
The labels are confusing, and the young assistant is way too busy.
We take turns reading, hubby and I.
"No. This says it can cause dizziness and constipation!"
We analyze the alternatives.  What else can go wrong?
"Stop.I need to use the restroom," I say, "Take a number from the pharmacist, and tell her what other meds you take."

When I return, he has bought the store. We came for one item, to relieve one simple problem, and we walk out with a bag full of stuff.

Growing old is not for sissies!
We are exhausted, and the only thing we did was go to the drugstore.

With every year...

Our evergreens  dwarf us in this photo;  my husband is reduced to a paltry size.
On a sunny January, the maple is bare, looking sad, but the cedar and the century old pine are loving the  80 inches plus of rain they receive every winter.

They look as though time has stood still for a long time in this yard.
The changes have been subtle: branches have been torn down by winds, naturally pruning dead wood.
Roots have grown deeper.


People seem to grow by spurts. As infants, as we double our size and every hair is counted, every tooth celebrated, every inch charted, our  parents fret about our normalcy. In adolescence, we take up the job of worrying about our normalcy.

We count every hair, every where, measure everything, wanting an inch here, fewer pounds there, fretting about our size, dissatisfied with how we look or how much we weigh. We have a running feud with the mirror, the scale and the yard stick.

We seem to be dissatisfied with everything and everyone, especially our parents.

Only after we grow into our fifties, we begin to accept ourselves, more and more with each year that our mirror compares us to our mothers or fathers.  Yes, as we look more and more like our parents, we begin to see all those fine attributes that were too subtle to show up when we all lived under the same roof.

I've become a better person, a better mother, and a more beautiful woman in my sixties. In another decade or so I'll forget any flaws I had in my youth. I'll even forget that I'm old.

I might forget my name too.

How wonderful to know I have beauty and normalcy in my senior years.



 

Once We Were...Now We Are...

Once, we were young and carefree, limber and full of energy.
We were hopeful and spent money as though it grew on trees; thought raises came yearly, like rains and winds and taxes.

Once we could stretch our limbs  and touch every part of our bodies, thought we'd live to be 100, with
friends who sat and talked for hours; with more shoes than feet; with more coats than arms.

Once we ate everything and had all our teeth. We worried about hair and wrinkles and PTA's.
We had children running around and occupying every nook and cranny with their things.
We had things to organize; things to buy; things to do; things to give away; things to achieve.
We had more things to do than hours to do them in.

Now?
Now, the list is shorter.

Now, this moment, it's good to have any part of any list.