Old Age Day by Day October 31, 2010

Halloween. I went to a couple of stores at eleven am today and everyone on the street was in costume - adults and kids. It is a delightful holiday. Except for the teeth. As usual, I bought candy I detest, and no chocolate. Even though I don't have sugar, candy in the house would be torture, if it was anything I remotely liked. So I have lollipops, starbursts, boxed weird candies, and licorice. Those won't haunt my dreams at night causing sleepwalking to the kitchen.

I can have 70% cacao chocolate, and I always keep a supply of that on hand for emergency cravings. Popcorn helps, too, but the dental hygenist found a popcorn piece in my mouth Friday (busted!), so I've sworn off it, at least for a few days. I don't want any broken crowns or worse.

Darn. There's just no more fun in eating. Yeah, I love fruit, but does that remotely compare to a Peppermint Patty? I don't think so. Anyway, for those of you with permission to rot your teeth, eat one for the big guy (me).

Old Age Day by Day October 30, 2010

Yesterday was unbelievably gloomy, and today started out better but is glooming up again. A good day to stay inside and read a mystery. Our female dog has a tube around her neck so she won't eat her butt, and she's as deary as the weather. She has that look that says: I can't believe you listened to that dumb vet and are torturing me this way. Of course, since she's completely untrustable, and we needed badly to sleep last night, torture it is. She sure has a stare that can make you feel like going to confession, even if you're not Catholic.

I'm lucky a friend just called and invited us to soup this evening, and she and I are going to a reading after, so I have something to look forward to, and friends to see. I think everyone has the same impulse in the face of such weather - huddle with friends, watch the World Series, eat fat foods. It's hibernation time, at least for the weekend.

Old Age Day by Day October 29, 2010

When I was hiking with my friend on the first day we were away, I noticed my boots were sticky. They had been sticky in the room, but I wasn't too concerned, but as we walked down a dirt road looking at cows and whit elk, it seemed there were a lot of pebbles wedged in in the grid of my soles. When I stopped and lifted my boot to look, and attempted to pry some debris out, the sole came off in chunks. By the time we'd returned to the room, one sole was gone, with just the black part between my sock and the ground, and the other sole was lumpy and peeling. I carefully took them off outside and sat down on the bed to figure out what to do. I couldn't walk ten miles the next day in my Danskos, They haven't the ankle support and the heel can make me wobbly. I put the problem out of my mind and enjoyed the evening, and the next morning, a beautiful morning it was, I said to my friend I was going to buy some boots, so our plan wasn't derailed, if there was any shoe store close. I asked the desk person, and sure enough, five miles away there was a general store that carried some shoes. After breakfast we drove over, I picked two styles, they were out of my size in the first and I bought the second, changed into them in the store, and walked out with the problem solved.

The boots worked great on the hike, which was glorious, and without wasting more than fifteen minutes I have new boots, and the price wasn't even unreasonable. What I'm proud of is not letting the boots upset or spoil my mini-vacation. And not soldiering through with the wrong shoes and my feet hurting. And not giving up on the walk we were looking forward to. And not thinking about it all night. And not feeling sorry for myself or generalizing. Just looking at life's little surprise and rolling with the punches.

This sounds trivial, I know, but for me, it signals a new calmness and fluidity I've worked hard to experience. Hopefully, eventually it will be a skill I can use for the big surprises as well.

Old Age Day by Day October 28, 2010

I had a terrific time away overnight with my friend, and we had a glorious long hike yesterday, even sharing our snack above the ocean with a land gull she named Hugo and I named Alphonso. Then last night I got a cold, probably from my foster granddaughter or daughter, both of whom have been around me with colds. So I'm canceling commitments and trying to head the cold off at the pass. One of our dogs has ear infections and has eaten her butt and is suffering with the cone around her neck. I feel so guilty I can hardly stand it. I may have to take off the cone soon. She just lies there looking disgusted.

So reentry into the everyday world was swift and chaotic, with my husband's back and leg worse and me under the weather. But I have the memories of a great get-away and nothing is dire, just annoying. I watched baseball last night, and that was fun and distracting from any sore throat or runny nose. Today I will make some calls and hope that rest and lots of tea and soup will fix me up. I'll baby myself, as only I know how to do.

Old Age Day by Day October 26, 2010

Last night, in Spanish class, we read "stories" and had more realistic conversations. I hadn't realized we had reached that point, but it is thrilling. Next week, I will be in the INTERMEDIATE class. Wow. Without a struggle I have learned some Spanish. I will not be reading Marquez any time soon, but I can converse on a few subjects. It helps that the teacher is funny and teaches us songs and is unfailingly upbeat and supportive. He never makes us feel stupid. And because he is originally from Mexico we are absorbing quite a bit of Chicano culture. I like that. I was born on the border between U.S. and Mexico, and I have an affinity, you might say, for all things Mexican.

Who knows, next year I may learn Italian, and after that, Irish.

Old Age Day by Day October 25, 2010

Yesterday was a high vegetation day. It was pouring rain, and though we did manage to go to an art museum, otherwise we were reading, watching a very terrible movie or just plain stumbling around in zombie like fashion. Day of the living dead. Now, today, it is sunny and beautiful, and the earth looks half drowned but in a satisfied way. Leaves are strewn everywhere, and I had to watch my step as I walked the dogs, not to slip on wet leaves. This rain makes it official - fall is here and there is no turning back. Yes, we will have some pretty days, but my sandals are put away, a sweater is a must in the morning, and the jackets are out.

My thoughts are turning to Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the whirlwind that is fall (this includes many birthdays as well). November 10 is the anniversary of my mother's death, and fall was a season in which she excelled. She could sew costumes, make pumpkin cookies with icing, roast a turkey with heavenly stuffing, set a table, make little snack thingies, sew decorative stockings, trim a tree and bring out the perfect pecan pie with whipped cream. She was animated around the holidays, had high expectations, was often disappointed, and then drank too much and listened to Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Her own childhood had been horribly deprived, and she was attempting to make it up to herself, and never quite satisfied. She'd get so excited over the presents under the tree she'd try to open a corner and peek. She was childlike about the holidays, but that wasn't comfortable for me when I was a child. Now my heart goes out to her. One Christmas we went to Hawaii - a huge treat - and she made ornaments out of seashells. I still have some, and when I unwrap them I think of her tenderly, and all that effort to change her story from one of tragedy to one of triumph. I hope she felt she succeeded, but I'm afraid a lot of the time she felt stuck in a place of not being loved enough and being recognized. She was in the middle of 13 children. It's tough to get beyond that sense of being lost in the shuffle of kids and work and struggle. I never understood her until she was gone - she died when I as forty - and I'd like to have said how much I admired her and understood what she made of her life. But I didn't get to. She awoke on a Sunday morning, went in the kitchen and told my father she felt like she was going to up-chuck, leaned over the sink, had a heart attack and was dead in a minute. She died in her kitchen, taking care not to mess up the floor.

Old Age Day by Day October 24, 2010

It is our first heavy rain day of the season. A real soaker, as they say. Last night was the perfect time for a pennant race game, and our younger daughter, her boyfriend and a friend of theirs came over, we watched, we cheered, we ate crackers and cheese and drank beer, we bit our nails, we reminded ourselves it was just a game, that did no good whatsoever, and the luck was with us and the pennant cinched. It was gratifying. We were exhausted, as if we'd been running around the bases instead of sitting like lumps.

So today, we could sit in the kitchen and read the sports page with something akin to ecstasy. I read the same basic facts in two papers. Double your pleasure, double your fun. And part of it is definitely the groupness of the whole thing. Everyone here is happy at the same time about the same thing. I we ALL want to escape the dreadful campaigning and candidates and outrageous spending and lack of decent choices. We normally complain about how much baseball players make. But it's small potatoes next to what candidates spend. And since the Supremes have decided we can let billions go down the toilet in the name of free enterprise or democracy or the right to torture innocent voters with embarrassing images and infantile tactics, there is no stopping this train until it reaches the station.


Don't mind me if I tune out. Otherwise, the shame of what our elections have become would just wipe me out.

Old Age Day by Day October 23, 2010

We were going to the cabin, but it's supposed to rain all weekend, and I'd rather be here, where there are ways to get out and be inside, that up there fighting for a spot on the sofa by the fire with two large dogs and my husband. We're going to an art museum, and can get some errands done and watch the playoffs. As I get older, I want to be in the warmer spot, not the colder one, and the mountains will be colder and even perhaps the rain will turn to snow. I'm not your Christmas in Connecticut kind of gal. Not anymore. I'm your desert or tropical island kind of person. I like heat. I even like more humidity than we get where we live. But this is easily simulated by standing in a hot shower.

Next week I'm taking an overnight trip with a friend, and I'm looking forward to that. It won't be warm there either, but beautiful, and we'll get a chance to catch up and bond again. Our birthdays are about a month apart, and we'll no doubt be discussing this turning 65 thing. It's a mystery, but a shared mystery is always better than going it alone.

So it's fall, the rain is coming, the days are shorter, and next week we will have dark by five or so. But time is whirling by so quickly that before I know it, the holidays will have spun by and the days will be lengthening again. I've no longer any sense of dwelling in seasons - the time is almost universal at this point - all events and weathers co-mingled in one big soup of experience. I'd like to slow it down and appreciate it more, but my later life seems to be accelerating.

Old Age Day by Day October 22, 2010

Being in the chorus has really challenged me in so many ways. Learning the music, the lyrics, the rhythms and holding my part. Holding my part. I see the symbolism of that without anyone having to nudge me. And I can. I'm amazed at myself. I go around mostly thinking I'm a wimp. But that is not strictly true. I conveniently forget the times I've stood up all alone, for myself or someone else or something I believed in.

So last night, I could hold my high tenor part all by myself, with no one else singing it. Inside my head there was fanfare, confetti, a parade. I give credit to my parents, who taught me you could be different, take actions against the vast majority and feel good about yourself, and mainly, that we were made of tough stuff. Now I see my grown kids showing the tough stuff, sticking to what they want and know is right. And my husband, who has stood for integrity in science when everyone else wanted the short cuts, the credit but not the doggedly thorough work that real science is about. I'm proud.

I will again forget I have some strengths, but maybe only six days a week. On chorus night, I'm reminded that my voice is my own, is strong and necessary for the whole to sound beautiful.

Old Age Day by Day October 21, 2010

I'm reading a wonderful book, called Gift, by a writer Hyde, which has been around for 25 years, but is new to me. I've only read a couple of chapters, but I'm already slowing down, savoring each page, because I feel how much this book is going to mean to me. He relates several folk tales, the object of which, he thinks, are to highlight that a gift needs to be moving and not clung to. When the gift is hoarded, it loses its power, and the commodification of the object circumvents the intention. He gives as an example the Potlaches in Northwest Tribes, which used to be about giving away - generosity and sharing of honors - but became, as the colonial culture infiltrated the tribes, about overabundance and waste.

I wonder if this is why so many of my friends and I, at our age, are wanting to pass on our treasures instead of keeping them as a form of identity. We feel that these objects should move on, make someone else happy, and follow their destiny independently of us. After all, these treasures are in our hearts, and we can call them up when we will. But our signifying of them is narrow, and others may see them in new and different ways.

I always think of our hundred year old house as not "mine", but an abode I share with those before me and those afterward. I've met a man born in this house in 1914, and another father and son who lived here when the son was a boy, and a man who raised his four children here. His wife died in this house in the bedroom where my husband and I sleep. I occasionally talk to her, Geneva was her name, and feel her presence. Do I own this house? No. I delight in it for a brief time, but others will breathe in these rooms and transform the place to their liking. We don't own. That would mean staying still, in stasis, whereas in reality everything is changing and transforming and we can't hold onto anything. It's very relaxing when I realize this is so. The strain, the effort, is no longer necessary. I have only to appreciate each day I have, and be grateful.

Old Age Day by Day October 20, 2010

Our older son gets back from a year abroad this morning. In some ways it has gone quickly, but in others, it seems as if he has been away forever. His wife will pick him up at the airport and I'm sure he'll go home and collapse. It is a grueling journey, and he's been working hard. We have to take our turn to see him. First they are flying to her father-in-law's memorial service, so it will be probably at least a week before we actually set eyes on him. Hopefully, we'll talk on the phone.

My "field" has been enormous during his adventure, and it now can narrow down. But will it? I've gotten used to reading the international news, becoming an expert on politics in the country where he was working. I now have a feeling sense of that area and its people. Should I abandon them because my son is home? If I can keep the field generous, I can hold a big portion of the world in my heart. If I can continue to do that, I am practicing an embracing of all peoples; an awareness that I do not wish to have slip away.

Old Age Day by Day October 19, 2010

My younger daughter's boy friend works in a bakery/cafe, and Sunday night he came bearing all kinds of goodies: quiches, sandwiches, bread, tarts, and little pizzas. I had an amazing hot dog kind of thing last night for dinner, and tonight is the tarts with a salad. I am ever so thrilled I won't have to make dinner, just heat it up, but it won't be fast food, it will be real food. He's also a genius on the computer, and has helped me out several times, and he is great at training our dogs, and has many other admirable qualities. Part of the benefits of having kids is they bring with them the whole world, and your experiences enlarge without you lifting a finger.

I enjoy my son-in-law's and daughter-in-law's families, and eagerly await news of nieces and nephews, great aunts and sisters. After many years of seeing my blood family diminish, here is this expansion that will simply move outward and grow. It's a lovely reminder of connection, and how we touch others' lives in subtle as well as obvious ways.

So bring on the relatives, the relatives' relatives, the not-by-blood family members, the friends of the families, the dogs, the cats, the canaries. I embrace them all.

Old Age Day by Day October 18, 2010

Talk about aging. Today is my older daughter's 40th birthday, and my older son is 41. I feel like I am that age, so how can they be? It's very puzzling. It's like the movie Back to the Future, only more confusing. My husband has been up at the cabin, and I stayed back to see girl movies, visit with a friend and also my younger daughter, and watch the playoffs. It's been rainy and overcast, so it was perfect to veg. Now I need to practice my music, take care of a few errands, get a check up at the dermatologist, and endure a haircut. I'm not going for the Salma Hayek look this time, I think that was perhaps reaching too high. Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane is more appropriate. We'll see.

All weekend, when I was reading at all I read a chapter out of one book then a chapter out of a second. What my impulse was I have no idea. I was switching between John Le Carre and Laurie R. King. Both mysteries, but one set a century ago and one set right now. Maybe it's a new way to train my mind, but without my knowledge or anyone elses. Only thing I can think of is I needed a break from logic, though I would not call myself devoted to logic. It might be related to the flu shot I had last Wednesday - some kind of delayed reaction.

Now my brain seems back in gear, but it's a bit disappointing. My brain in gear is pretty boring. Oh, well. If I was going to be a genius, it would have shown up earlier. Like before two of my kids turned forty.

Old Age Day by Day October 15, 2010

I'm having fun singing tenor in my chorus. Just me and a young man, who can belt out the part and is so upbeat and funny. The basses are two guys, and in some songs it's me and them together, so the director was correcting herself "Men, I mean men and ladies..." I love the tenor parts, and the range, and getting in touch with my deeper voice. I have a lot of resonance at the lower end, and I'm more confident. Gee, if only I'd known earlier. All I really ever needed to do was change the key of the song!

I'm struggling over the Spanish songs - getting the words to move over my tongue quickly enough, but I figure it'll come. More practice would help. But at least I find myself silently humming my parts as I wake up, go to sleep and drive. So now there is a little back voice in my day, singing, singing, singing.

It's hard to get to the rehearsal, and yet, the minute I arrive, irritated and feeling uncooperative, I melt. I MADE IT. Sigh. The resistance ebbs and I'm thinking - one song at a time - I can do this. I'm a happy camper. A singing camper. Pretty soon I'll be bellowing "I love to go a wandering along the mountain track..."

Old Age Day by Day October 14, 2010

My husband and I watched Ken Burn's new series on baseball - The Tenth Inning - the last two nights. It was fascinating, and even though it was so recent, there was much to learn about the baseball strike, the steroids scandal and other major headlines of the last two decades. Poetry comes out of people's mouths when they talk about baseball, and grown men cry. Many of us have memories that link us to our families and our best outings together. We had teams we loved, we were loyal, we were proud when one of our boys went on to another team and ended up a national hero. We have styles of baseball we love - the scrappy, wiry Reggie Jackson types, or the big hitters or the lanky relievers.

I've been going to a baseball game on Mother's Day for a few decades. I love the gift they hand out, running around the bases after the game, the new emphasis on Breast Cancer Awareness. I like Carnation Malts still frozen, peanuts, the fresh squeezed lemonade, the chicken fingers. I watch the fans as much as the game, and I love the wave. One recent game, a wave began and it just kept going around and around and around. There wasn't much exciting on the field, and we were all going "what the hell" and everybody was laughing. I love the mascot. I have umpteen tee shirts, a sweatshirt, half a dozen hats, including the plastic bucket hat that popcorn come in, umbrellas, tote bags, player shirts and numerous paraphenalia that only a fan would buy.

If my team does badly, I kind of skip the writeup, but if they win, I read all the articles. Those are satisfying mornings. My father loved baseball, and he dragged my brother and I out to many a game. We rooted for the Giants then, but now I'm an A's convert. But I have a soft spot for the Giants. I got to see Willie Mays, Willie Mc Covey, Orlando Cepeda, and a host of greats. Our nemesis back then was the Dodgers. But I loved Yogi Berra and Roy Campanella.

You can see what's going on in baseball, with the naked eye. Goofy things happen. The team can surprise you with the "last" pitch. I have never left a game early and never will. It's kind of like life - you gotta be there.

Old Age Day by Day October 13, 2010

Oh, heavens above! Yesterday I bought a brand new Dave Sedaris book, and today, in the newspaper, there was a review of the new John Le Carre mystery, which means I'm in for a treat or two for Halloween. I am almost finished with my Laurie King mystery, and I've been riveted all the way.

I once wrote a mystery novel, and got all the way to the agent's group discussion, but they passed. I should have tried harder, and maybe sent it to publishers directly, but I'm not persistent enough. I'm not sure why. Was it moving fairly frequently as a child? I was no Army brat, but still. I was the new girl who never was allowed in the group I would have liked. I was a B movie in a theater overcrowded and confusing to me. I would clown around to drawn attention to myself, and I was good academically, so I'd be in the right classes, but I wore glasses (in those days a stigma) and was indistinguishable from others. Not ugly, but not pretty. Black hair and eyes, when blond and blue was the formula. Sandra Dee and Debbie Reynolds were the ones we yearned to be. Yes, there was Annette Funicello, but I never once heard anyone say they wished they looked like her. They looked like her and hated it.

I felt like I never fit in, and if I was allowed in, I was suspicious of the girls who let me. My job was to be the best friend, admire the other girls, and be full of personality to entertain them. So when some of those women now want to get together, I feel a disconnect. It wasn't the best time of my life, I wasn't comfortable with who I really was so I hid it, and I have now grown up, so I see they were not beauty queens or dazzling lights, they were girls who figured out how to manipulate others a bit earlier than the rest of us.

I am thinking of all of this because I saw the Jamie Lee Curtis film "You Again" yesterday, and it has a ring of truth to it, besides being funny. There are women who loved high school and women who wouldn't go back if you held a gun to their heads. We were all clueless, and most of the cruelty unintentional, but it framed us, and we drag it with us for a long time. I remember the day I looked at some photos and realized I was way cuter than the girl who had convinced me she was going to be Troy Donahue's wife. I felt a wave of admiration for her confidence, and wanted to kick myself for my lack thereof. But this whole girlfriend thing works because people bring their baggage to the table, and let others assign the seating. Luckily, we are not teenagers but for a short time, and most of us survive it.

Old Age Day by Day October 12, 2010

We're having a heat wave - not a tropical heat wave - but the dry heat is pretty amazing after a cool spring and summer. I love it, but then, I've lived in very hot, humid places and my body is a trained machine, ready to take on whatever nature dishes out (okay, maybe not, but the heat does make me cheerful). Yesterday I sweated away upstairs working on my closet, and it looks strangely neat now. I feel a bit disoriented when I open the folding doors and there are white plastic bins organized by color (I only wear three colors so it's not as extensive as you might think), by item (long sleeved tees, short sleeved tees, sweaters, jeans, panties, bras and socks). I saw clothes yesterday I hadn't seen for decades, and I made some huge decisions (I am NOT wearing sleeveless, and cap sleeve tees make my arms look like hams). Also, but most importantly, all jeans must have spandex or some stretch. I am not encasing my form in a rigid tube, not with this body.

I kept a few belts - for those times when I pretend I have a waist or think I can create the illusion of one. Most tights bit the dust. They roll over at the waist and add a lump to the perfect apple of my shape.

I even got rid of a pair of almost new green shoes that cause massive blisters on the heels of my feet. It was sad, but I may need all my blood at some future date.

Now that I've reformed, let's see if I wear more than the same four pairs of pants and six shirts. I know there is a world of choice in my closet. I just have to slide out that bin, and gently thumb through the offerings. How much time can it take?

No, I will not take any bets.

Old Age Day by Day October 11. 2010

At the opera yesterday, there was an unusually large group of uncivil opera goers. First there was the man in front with his cell phone lit up. My husband politely asked him to turn it off. Then he was talking loudly and the man on the other side of him asked him to shut up, but loudly. Then the man, who was tall, got up and left his seat, causing the doors to open and the sunlight flood in. There was an uncommon amount of coming and going during the opera, and each time my eye was pulled to the sunlight outside as the doors were flung open and shut. I think everyone had baseball fever or acute attacks of claustrophobia or perhaps Mozart is not to their liking.

And at the end, after beautiful effort and execution of the complicated opera, a hoard of people arose before the curtain to close and blocked the view to the cast. They not only were not applauding, they were getting the hell out of dodge so they could save one minute in the parking garage. They didn't clap even one time; it was as if they'd seen a movie and the cast before them was a cartoon, instead of real, sweating, breathing people who had given their all physically and vocally.

What arose in me and my husband, and the two ladies sitting next to me was an almost irresistable urge to throttle these people. Where has civility gone? We were all in this opera interprise together, except these jerks who were in it for themselves, and seem to ignore the engagement and interaction that makes opera or any other live theater so lively. Why didn't they stay home and listen to a CD with a drink in hand, saving gas and and the enragement of those of us who wanted to be fully present for the event? It's a mystery to me.

Old Age Day by Day October 10, 2010

Our area has a baseball team in the playoffs, my football team won yesterday, I cried through Secretariat last night and today is an opera - Mozart's Marriage of Figaro. What's not to like? Fall is still feeling pretty nice, and the weather is perfecto. I am even reading a really terrific mystery, one that engages the reader with the characters in a complex and well researched way. I am all admiration for the author.

Monday I am organizing my shelves in my clothes closet, after an emergency trip to Target. So I must have Fall Cleaning impulse. I can see the organized plastic bins now, in my mind, lined up and so neatly that no tee shirts or sweaters are going to fall on my head or onto the floor as I open the doors. Yes, there is initial expenditure, but afterward, the ecstasy. Color coded by bin, arranged in tees (short sleeved), tees (long sleeved), sweaters, underwear, and pants, plus yoga pants and team tees. Centuries from now, anthropologists will we amazed the brain capacity and organizational skills of my species. I can't wait to get started. Tomorrow.

Old Age Day by Day October 9, 2010

I'm going to see the movie Secretariat today. I worship that horse, and read his biography a long time ago. The reviews are not great, but I don't care. I'm a horse movie nut. I've persuaded my daughter and husband to go as well. But first, a visit with a dear friend, and perhaps a walk with her. It is perfect fall weather, and there is a football game today, and everything about the day seems delightful.

So here I go, off to the bright sunlight and crisp air. Enjoying fall, and not worrying about the winter.

Old Age Day by Day October 8, 2010

I had a long walk with a friend this morning and inevitably we spoke of her elderly dog. I have three friends who have dogs at the end of their lives. These dogs are beautiful souls and I love them. I've known them since they were puppies, and I do not minimize how upsetting it is to lose your dog. It also seems to be a kind of rehearsal for us; when do we let go, when is the suffering too great, how to pay attention to what your dog is telling you. I try to be a friend they can feel free to discuss this stage with: sometimes it feels embarrassing to be sad about a dog, rather than a human. But those of us who love animals understand.

Even in the dog world, now, there are vets who want every kind of intervention, and those who let what is happening unfold without too much interference. So being assertive around your pet is a kind of practice for being assertive for our own health care. Sometimes it is easier to see these issues through an animal filter, than face them with a human we love or ourselves.

We hope for kindness and gentleness in all things, and we learn that to find out what those consist of in certain situations is a struggle. If we come back to our intention of causing less suffering, and take our cues from our dog, perhaps we have a better chance at making the leaving as beautiful as the dog herself.

Old Age Day by Day October 7, 2010

I'm going to have a piano tuner come today. The tuner who came for many years changed professions, but then I forgot he told me that he would no longer be minstrating to pianos, so I waited for his call to set up the next tuning, and then forgot all about it and I'm afraid it may have been a couple of years since Yamaha Snookie had any attention whatsoever. The time not only flew but dissolved in the terrifying mix that is my brain. And to complicate things further, I remember moving a ceramic head on the piano, and it broke and there have been shards of pottery in the inner workings of Snookie for some time. A kind of scrapnel of art is embedded in her most private parts, and she needs surgery. What a bad caretaker I am! I might have laughed it off with the old piano tuner, but I've never met this guy before, and let's face it, I am not going to make a good impression.

Oh, well, often I don't make a good impression; I ought to be used to it. I must remind myself that this person is a stranger and what do I care what he thinks. Snookie's needs come first, over my ego, but belatedly, I admit.

Old Age Day by Day October 6, 2010

It must be fall; I've been knitting again, something green and blue that is very fuzzy and bulky. Where it will go I don't yet know. Somewhere around the time I finish with the yarn it will come to me: this afghan would be perfect for so-and-so. Perhaps a friend will be recovering from a surgery, or a child will need a comfort blankie, or I'll hear of a stranger that could use a little surprise boost. As I knit it comes to me. Comfort is almost always appreciated, and snuggling is universal.

They talk about transitional objects for babies, but I believe we need them throughout our lives, and I have had my bouts of wearing a ring of my mother's for days or weeks at a time, or putting on my father's all weather hat when I needed support. When I go on a trip, I often wear my mother's diamond studs, because she was fearful of flying, and I know she'd understand and protect me if she could.

We are swaddled as infants, and we can all use a bit of swaddling throughout our lives. The robe Buddhists refer to is "the Great Robe of Liberation". We take on this mantle of our ancestors, struggling to do good in the world and not cause harm. But maybe that robe is also the robe of our mothers, cradling us as we are born into this world, and maybe it is the robe in which we are wrapped as we die; an emblem of love to be a companion to us in this life.

Old Age Day by Day October 5, 2010

I have been away helping a friend recover from knee surgery. I don't know how much I actually helped, but I was there to fetch water and talk and bring bags of ice. I saw that my presence as a witness was maybe the most important contribution, and that I was there to hear if she was in pain or couldn't eat or felt hopeful - the whole gamut of response to a trauma to the body. Her husband is there, but fatigued from worry and too much nursing, and I gave him a little break. It is a gift for other people to let me aid them. I felt their generosity in doing so.

They have three dogs, who were doing their part. The big one was licking her knee area for the fastest healing results, the poodle was on the pillow next to her to keep her company, and the smallest dog was worrying his blanket in a kind of rosary for her well being. They would eagerly have finished her meals, except for due diligence, and ran out in the yard when the sickroom got too boring.

I relaxed into that state where I drop down about five levels, and just be. I was alert if she needed anything, but basically I was another body in the room, in the experience, in that place of injury and gentle healing that requires patience, setting aside agendas, and waiting and seeing. It takes as long as it takes.