Meditations on sand and water, water and sand.

Summer days and the beaches are deserted on this fine morning.

My husband took this picture of me walking ahead of him at the beach in Bandon, our home away from home, the place that has more of the things we need, a bookstore, a butcher shop, a nursery, a live theater, and a long stretch of white sands. The water on the right is a trickle of a creek making its way to the ocean which is behind me, behind the photographer. Every time we walk this stretch of land we marvel at how it has changed since the last time, marvel at the sight of tourists, or lack of them, at the wind whipping through the many layers we wear to buffet the assault we experience when out and about, each and every season.

Sand, water, hills, rocks. We navigate more consciously these days, trying harder to find our stride. I walk faster than my husband these days. In our early courtship, in our twenties, he had to slow down for me, and I had to double my steps just to walk along side him. If we walked up a hill, he got behind me, giving me a gentle push now and then. Nowadays, we have reversed our strides, he walks slower, I move faster. We both stop often to catch our breadth. He still gets behind me when we walk up a hill and steadies me with his hands on my lower back, a natural move we both enjoy.


I notice I am developing a hunch back I didn't know I was. Health concerns are natural concerns for us, and come up at almost every conversation we have, hubby and I, friends, strangers we will meet only once. We parse advice easily with anyone,  just as often as we discuss health concerns: No, if we don't have muffins, we eat an apple instead; we must rest more often; move more often; what doctor do you use, and which pharmacy?; does your pharmacy have an automatic call system, and does that work for you? Where do you buy clothes?  Why aren't people talking on the phone anymore, or send cards?

 In the car, just the two of us, were we supposed to do something today?

Old age sneaks ahead of us while we are busy maintaining our stride in the work world.

Watching the sky every morning from our bedside, time floats gently in one day, and slams us awake the next. Living with changing weather seasons us for what comes next, for the furtive allergy, the prick of the rose petal, the challenging whip of those winter winds.

We learn to keep extra layers of clothing in the car; extra shoes too.

At the beach, that morning, I noticed that my cell phone had no signal. No, I didn't need to make any calls. I just noticed that if we had an emergency, one of us had to move fast, and get closer to civilization to use a device that is meant to give us freedom to roam.

That stretch of beach is off my list now.

Don't let them tell you they are busy!

Old man, waiting for his wife to finish her shopping.
She is busy, purchasing something she doesn't need.
He's busy, worrying about his lunch, the bite on the budget this excursion will take.

Old people are mostly bored, in pain, or lonely.  What this man needs is to play with his grandchildren, but they are not around.
What his wife needs is to be in charge of  something important.

O.k. I'm simplifying, but the crux of the matter is still here: old people are not utilized well. They end up flitting here and there in search of something that gives meaning and purpose to their days.  Even if they can't move, they want to move, they want to feel that their days are full of activities that change lives, save the world.

We tend to relegate them to a semi-dead state, a waiting in limbo state, until maladies take over and their lives have reached the point of no return.

Grandparents used to live around their children and grandchildren, were consulted on all major decisions, supported the family by babysitting, educating, cooking and maintaining the household.  They were an integral part of an extended family.

Boredom and loneliness did not contribute to their demise.

How is it in your family?

Too old or Too Broken

At some point in the life of a product, something goes wrong, can't be fixed easily or economically, and we begin to lose confidence, worry about the expense of repairs, worry about encountering problems when it is really inconvenient, such on the high seas, on a deserted road, when there is fragile cargo still to be delivered. 

We worry and we decide how to deal with the worry, either by replacing the boat or car with a newer model, or by hiring a good mechanic/handy-man to repair or replace parts that will give us back our peace of mind.

Not everything can be replaced, repaired or discarded. 

Some things are too precious to fuss with or to discard: an old watch our Dad left us, the old silver urn Mother gave us, the mink coat, too out of style.

Don't you ever worry that we too may be too old to be repaired, too out of style to be relevant, needing too much to be maintained and treasured?



 

The life behind the curtains.

Most of the times, we don't know where we are heading.  We might have a map, and a compass, but we don't know much more than what we can read on that map.  The clues around us might send an alert to our brain: notice the shoulders, the visibility, the traffic pattern ahead.  We notice what's around us; but we fail to notice what it is in us and all around us. We fail to notice our own status.

Most of life takes place behind curtains, out of public view, behind lawns and fortifications and significant other tell tale signs, the make of the car, the cut of the cloth. 
We live different lives sometimes, the one that keeps us sane and connected to our family; and the other one, the projected images that we show our neighbors, our friends.  We are really quite adept at maintaining our public self.

Sometimes, our life isn't visible at all until we are dead and our relatives have to sort out our junk. Old people don't even know when life has become a burden and chores are not getting done. They want to maintain the life they had, the life everybody expects them to maintain.

Just recently, an old friend of ours had an accident and his family convinced him to go live with them.  We all thought that it was a bit premature.  Our old friend was not that old; he was sociable and active, attended many events, took his usual walks, was clean and engaging.

Only after he left, and his house was cleaned, and the land cleared of all the debris, the truth was discovered.  He had accumulated stuff for years: bags and bags of soot, bags of fertilizer,boxes of old clothes and old china, garbage not disposed  that had been attacked by rodents. 

If you know old folks, keep an eye on them, notice their routines, offer to help with chores, offer to run errands. 

What you didn't know.

Old age has been portrayed in a variety of ways. Most of the time, we saw the two ends of the spectrum: the part of old age when sickness and diseases take away dignity; and the part when people have extra time to travel, play with the kids, have sex with new partners in Miami, and look better and feel happier than ever.

Old age is on a continuum, just like other stages. We are just as prepared to grow old as we were to be adults, or parents. Some of us had models around, big brothers or sisters, uncles and aunts, people who divulged inner secrets about the life we would encounter.

The fact is we are all afraid of growing old, feeling old and degenerate into invalids. We are even afraid to entertain the idea until...

The first thing I want to tell you is that no matter your age now, you will be old, you will be infirm, you will have fewer resources than you have now, and you cannot avoid that state.

Remember when you wanted to become a singer? Or a teacher, a lawyer, a doctor? You looked for a mentor, a model to guide you through. You studied the people you wanted to be like, and you adopted attitudes and strategies that helped you achieve your goals.

So, come along for the next few posts. Add your suggestions about attitudes and strategies that helped you or someone you know navigate this passage of life.

The more we know about the voyage, the easier it will be.

Elusive Dreams

(Thank you David from Authorblog, for recognizing this post as Post of the Day.)

These are moments we have, when dreams can still be there,hidden behind brambles and dead branches. If we cleared things out with a pruning tool and looked clearly across the pond-the murky waters and the fog, the structure that is our life will shine through.

Getting old is one thing; it denotes movement, change. We still feel the power to take action.

Being old is an entire different thing; it is a state of decay; leaks and dampness and sheer neglect have thrived in dark corners; doubt and self-loathing have spread like water marks: their significance worse than their appearance.

We may not want to clear the brambles and the dead branches.

What we talk about when old people meet...

Looking forward to new things and new experiences feels natural to most of us. But not to old people. After a certain age, everything feels the same, the same neighbors, the same arguments, the same food. Only our maladies feel new, rushing in or sneaking up, aggravating our daily routines, keeping verve and enthusiasm at bay.

Looking forward to springtime used to help us fight winter blues. Soon, new buds and new growth would remind us of the rhythms of nature. Now that we are old, we talk about our mortality, the end of our rhythms. How can we plan when we could die tomorrow? How can we look forward, when we don't know if we will be there?

The early buds on the camellia reassure us that life is all around us, and we must heed its rhythms, rather than be frightened by them.