Just to be alive is a grand thing
I guess Agatha Christie hasbeen on my mind since I’ve just read a cozy mystery, Fatal Fascinators byJenn McKinley, set in a British castle on the weekend of a lavish wedding—and adouble murder. That was one of Christie’s signature plots—a variation on the closedroom mystery, where all the possible suspects are gathered in one spot so the detective’sjob is made a bit easier by the smaller numbers. With Christie it was often someone's country estate. As a side note, McKinley’slatest in her Hat Shoppe Mysteries combined the best of an American cozy and anAgatha Christie weekend in the country.
Christie has long been apuzzle for me. Of course, I’ve read several of her mysteries, but I never couldfinish Murder on the Orient Express (a shameful confession from one whoaspires to write mysteries), and I’m simply not a Christie scholar. I have readand enjoyed some of the books about Christie’s life and particularly the twoweeks when she disappeared from sight. Much of what I’ve read about herconvinces me she was not always a happy person, didn’t have that happy a life,let alone a happy childhood.
Yet here she is, proclaiminghow much she loves life. There’s an obvious lesson there about enjoying life asit is handed to you, making the best of what you have—and whatever otherplatitudes you can bring forth. But I think for those of us who are aging,there’s a deeper message. At the age of eighty-five, I am very much aware ofAndrew Marvell’s 17th century poem to “To His Coy Mistress”: “But atmy back, I always hear/Time’s Winged Chariot Hurrying Near.”
You don’t have to be a coymistress to get the meaning: death is always just around the corner, and younever know when its chariot is going to catch you. I think Marvell, centuriesago, and Christie, fifty years go or more, have the same message for us:enjoy life while you can and don’t anticipate death. It will come when itcomes. I fully understand Christie’s sentiment about having been miserable—haven’twe all been there one time or another, when we’ve lost a loved one, faced adisappointment in love, lost a job or a career—and yet the trick is to admitthat you love life overall. That may be the whole energy behind suicide hotlines.
My life right now is notexciting, but it is comfortable, and I am enjoying it. Until I am forced to, Iam not going to dwell on thoughts of illness and death. Jordan suggestedtonight that I talk about illness a lot—the illnesses of those around me that Icare about. And probably I do—my brother has been ill for a long time though he’sdoing better, a friend’s brother is battling cancer, another friend is havingmemory problems, and yet another had an unexplained blackout which is worryingboth her and her doctors. I suppose it’s inevitable that when you reach my age,you are surrounded by illness—and by the death of contemporaries. But I refuseto dwell on it.
What Christie is telling us isto move on, leave that behind, and treasure your life. I had a friend once whosaid she couldn’t bear that this table, that chair, and that painting wouldstill be here when she was gone. I find just the opposite—it reassures me thatlife will go on. And I think that’s basically because as Christie suggests, Ilove life.
And on to the mundane—so far,it’s been a busy week, with happy hour company every night. That, too, is partof what I love about my life. And of course, the cooking—Monday night we had hotdogs. It was, after all, Labor Day. So what if everyone went out last night,and I ate a leftover hot dog at home alone. Tonight we had Greek hamburgerswith marinated tomatoes and cucumbers. Pretty good stuff.
And so what if the days are abit long right now, because I’m not sure what I’m working on. That will resolveitself. Meantime, I can read emails and recipes online and keep up withnational politics and this week, the hullabaloo of the Austin impeachment trialof Kenneth Paxton.
Yep, Agatha, just to be aliveis certainly a grand thing.
