You've Got To Fight For The Right To Party...Into Old Age

I am in the final stages of finishing My Life  by Sofia Tolstoy.  She continues to amaze me:  how much she accomplished, and how she remained so supportive of her husband and family which at times was a thankless task.  

She wrote of the celebration of a great poet, nearing the end of his life, and the community was going to hold a fete.  She arranged for garlands and wreaths to be sent in her family's name, and many of her family members (minus her husband) participated in the celebration.  She wrote, "As for me, I simply found it a pleasure to organize and take part in the event.  As a rule I am quite fond of celebrations, glamour, fun, beauty, the company of pleasant people, although apart from the latter, I do have the company of pleasant people.  I was destined to live my life completely outside of that whole (sphere.)  On this occasion, too, fate robbed me of the very celebration I had organized."  (She had to remain home nursing sick children.)

Later, she found in her husband's diary, his comments on that event: "Everybody's terribly silly, overeating, overdrinking, and singing.  Even gross!  Vainglory, luxury, poetry, it's all quite enchanting when one is filled with the energy of youth, but without youth or energy, with on the dullness of old age permeating everything, it's gross."

Sofia reports, "For some reason, however, I did not find it gross.  I was happy to bring what might have been a final pleasure to this celebrity poet.  Life is too hard, grey and complicated and that it's good when one sees flaring up from time to time, if not sunlight, then at least a tiny star!"  I agree with her.  This has been on my mind lately: the process of aging gracefully and not falling prey to the undertow of jadedness and negativity.  It's an easy way out.  You don't have to make much effort to be a curmudgeon.   I hope I can keep striving for that light, or at least a tiny star.

Postscript:  The photograph that I used was the last taken of the couple on their anniversary, September 23, 1909.

She's A Brainiac, Altair

Last week, my friend Reya over at Blog Gold Puppy was talking about the luxury of time, and how she often tries to slow things down to enjoy them more. I wrote back, telling her how I try to stay in a "patience" zone and absorb the moment when I am doing those things she described. I always felt my late father was rushing through his life, with each event being hurried along. The first to arrive at a party, (and positively antsy to get there,) then once there, he couldn't wait for it to end.

I told Reya that I listen and watch a lot to what is going on around me, trying to understand what it means and stay sensitive to it; seeing the big picture, as it were. A few years back, I read an article about animal's "rhythms" and how their heartbeats were slower than humans, so it helped to move more slowly around them in every way. I tested it out and I found dogs, cats, horses and squirrels very responsive to it. It even worked on crows who are incredibly wary around humans. They tend to scatter when you are near, and for a few years I was able to study crow behavior--and, I would add, they are highly socialized, community driven birds.

Older people respond to slowness, as well. The only contrary thing I would add is that you have to speak louder, but still slowly. Slow and loud. I've been caregiver to some seniors, and I've been working on the estate of one who died last year. Once again into the fray of emptying out a house and handling once loved possessions, not without it's own sadnesses. I'll be writing an oddball story about one such moment later this week.

The other day I was doing a drop at the library book depository. Recently, they had added medium sized rocks between the curb and the sidewalk, and I had made a note to myself what a treacherous bit of land this had become; especially involving feet, ankles and knees. I had twisted my right ankle the other day (thinking with relief when I did so, "Whew...that was a close one,") only I must have sprained it, because it remains weakened, and I am still wary of it, not giving it full weight, so I was carrying around my own slowness.

There was a minivan parked in front of me with it's side door opened, and I thought "Soccer Mom," only a little old lady was inside, removing her books to return. She was dressed rather nattily in black Bermuda shorts and a pressed cotton top, but her legs were skeletal; that cliché of skin and bone. I watched her cross the rocks and saw how her feet tilted unsteadily, so as she made her way back to her car (and I practiced "stillness" in standing, waiting--wishing not to startle,) I said to her, "These rocks are highly impractical in terms of crossing them to get to the sidewalk."

She looked into my eyes for the longest time. Then she said, "Would you mind repeating what you just said to me?" So I did. Another pause. Another long stare. At this point I had the sense I was gazing into the innards of a dated computer: watching synapses firing, seeing lights bounce. Point A to Point B to Point....then she said, in a very formalized, very slow voice, (but well ennunciated) "I concur with your assessment."




I had to stare back, thinking, "There is your future." I held back while she returned to her car, wondering how she even maneuvered such a heavy vehicle. While I waited, I took out my camera and shot a picture of the shrub next to the book depository. For some reason, it struck me as "brain like" in it's appearance. I shot a close-up of the brain shrub, as well. After all, I was in slow mode and waiting my time through this event. I don't know why, but those branches were like a symbol of what I had just experienced.

A few days ago, once again at the book drop, I got out of the car and saw this:

....and then you DIE!

I just finished reading a book called Unforgettable Walks to Take Before You Die. The bulks of the "must sees" are in very isolated places of the world. You have to walk miles to gain access to them. There are dangers built in.

No leathery aunties in hiking shorts with their sticks pronging along, whistling "The Happy Wanderer." A few spots here in the States are accessible: "The Freedom Trail" in Boston (through some bad neighborhoods.) Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" in Pennsylvania (you need to have a ticket to gain access to the interior.) Many of these trips work on luck of lottery, or hanging around or planning well out in advance.

Some have wildlife warnings: a beach in Australia where snakes come out of the water after you. Tigers. Lions. Bears. Flying Monkey Squadrons. Others have built in physical dangers: "Not good for those with vertigo," "Get there before the tide prevents you from getting back," "the path can crumble under your feet."

I made some mental notes to myself of things I would like to see before I DIE!!! Some temples in Kyoto, Japan. Scandanavian coasts. Tiger Leaping Gorge on the Yangtze River in China. The Skocjan caves in Slovenia. The Coyote Buttes in Arizona.

Looking at the back cover, I had to laugh. There's a whole series of what you should do ::tapping out the message "before you die." Unforgettable Islands To Escape To ::tapping::: Unforgettable Things To Do :::tapping::: Unforgettable Journeys To Take.....Unforgettable Things To See.....BEFORE YOU DIE!!!!

Here's what I think you should do before you die:

* Acquire a taste for prunes and Ensure

* Make sure you have a will, living will, power of attorney, trust...all of that legal stuff in place

* Understand how adult diapers work

* Work hard to keep your own teeth. Otherwise they might wind up getting tossed out with the garbage, and trust me, you don't want to deal with that.

*Take your action figures out of their boxes.

* Try to build up a repetoire of stories. You don't want all of them to start, "In 1939...."

* Get rid of stuff as each year passes. You don't want to have the authorities show up with ten dumpsters.

* Get heavily into juicing and vitamins.

* Become an evil overlord