Of gardens and change and aging
A corner of my yard two years ago
Microsoft or whatever genielives inside my computer decided today to show me pictures of the garden twoyears ago when it was lush and green. It was particularly inappropriate todaybecause John, the lawn guy, came this morning to walk the yard, talk about whatwas hopeless, what might come back, what to do through the winter. The newrosemary is toast, the honeysuckle needs to be cut way back and should bepulled—you know it was hot if it killed honeysuckle. The lantana might make it.And so it goes. Of course, in this uncertain world, the weather is one of themost uncertain—he said if we have an early killer frost, as we did last year,it will be a double whammy some plants might not survive. But our new grass isstrong and good—a bright spot.
This focus on change came on aday when I read two blogs about aging and change. The first, “More Than a ShoePart” by John Clark on the Maine Crime Writers blog, talked about “lasts.” Whenwas the last time you did something that you know you will never do again in yourlifetime—rode a rollercoaster, went fishing on slippery rocks, climbed amountain or hiked ten miles. He had a friend who went hunting and had to usehis rifle as a cane to get home—you know that was a last.
Susan Witting Albert, writingSenior Chronicle #2 in her Place and Thyme column on Substack, also talked ofthe things she no longer does, though she suggested that we now have more powerwith the things we do. On her list of lasts were a brisk two-mile hike everymorning, foreign travel, driving around the country on book tours, intensegardening. But Susan points out that technology now enables us to do much ofthat virtually—an author may not tour bookstores but through social media can stayin touch with readers, we may not travel but we can visit far-off lands virtually(I love videos about Scotland). We need not be confined by age; it’s simplydifferent.
On my list of lasts, things Iknow I won’t do again are another trip to Scotland, probably another trip hometo Chicago where I grew up (my urge to go these places is overridden by mydislike of flying these days). Sitting on a dune in the Indiana Dunes watchingthe sun set over Chicago and Lake Michigan. Giving a big old party for sixty ofmy nearest and dearest. Briskly walking my neighborhood and studying the ever-presentchanges—a walker makes that difficult. Driving a car, though I must say I don’tmiss that so much. I adore my little VW convertible Bug, but I don’t want todrive her again.
But there are so many things Ido daily that bring me joy—keeping in touch with children and grands, reading andwriting, visiting with friends, cooking for my family, studying recipes, keepingup with the news and voicing my opinion. My days are full and happy and, I’vesaid this a hundred times before, what I can no longer do is balanced by mywonderful memories of doing so much of it.
Some of you reading this aretoo young to think about lasts, but I know others my age or close to it read myblog. So what’s on your list of lasts and how do you feel about that? I used tothink ahead to retirement and worry about what I would do all day, how I wouldfeel about the things that slipped away from my life. What I’ve found is that’snot a problem at all—it’s lovely to look back at the memories, but it’s alsolovely to be in the present, to enjoy the now.
