Being seventy-five

Seventy-five today. Hard to believe. Inside I’m thirty-two and feeling like the richest and luckiest woman in the world. So far, touch wood. Touch a great deal of wood.

A quiet day, much of it blessedly alone. Chores. Greetings coming in on FB, some from people I’ve never met. A card from my housemate in my first apartment at eighteen, in 1968. Classmates spoiled me at the Y, including Carole who gave me a gift certificate to the LCBO. “Why would you associate ME with the LCBO?” I asked, astonished. LOL. I tried to run like the wind in class. Was not the wind, more like an intermittent breeze, but I tried.

Anna popped by with a lovely mauve bouquet and some food from her work. Then Sam arrived with a painting he’d made – he has taken up painting and is doing really interesting work – and groceries, and made me dinner: trout, smashed potatoes, stuffed peppers, mushrooms. The doorbell rang; it was a magnificent bouquet from my ex-husband with a note: “Dear Beth, you’ve only just begun.” If only. But thank you.

So it was a cup runneth over kind of day. Right now, dusk, the cardinal chip chip chipping, a holiday weekend but the city won’t be quiet and empty because it’s Caribana. I’m thinking of going to the parade for the first time tomorrow. The weather today and this weekend: perfect.

It feels like maybe this, today, is the pinnacle, the zenith of my life. Surely things can’t get better. Maybe it’s all downhill from here. Because right now, I am beyond blessed.

RIGHT NOW: I am healthy. My children are healthy. My grandchildren are healthy. My best friends are too — well, three are not so healthy, but they’re okay. Many other friends and neighbours. Far-flung family in the States, Lesley and Duncan in France. There. Alive. Going strong.

The garden: cucumbers, rose of Sharon, William Morris rose, geraniums, lilac, viburnum, dogwood, holly, tiny redbud tree, tomatoes, echinacea, wisteria, black-eyed Susans, clematis, hydrangea, bleeding heart, phlox, basil, rosemary, dill, parsley, chives, oleander, jasmine, thyme, oregano, fuchsia, astilbe, mint, milkweed, buddleia, climbing roses, golden glow, honeysuckle, anemone, spirea, day lilies, Mexican sunflower, climbing hydrangea, raspberries, rhubarb, potatoes. Trees and bushes and endless ivy. (And weeds and pests, and slugs and squirrels and raccoons, attacking it all.)

My Y family. Teaching – home class, U of T, online webinars. Editing and coaching. Talks, online and in person. House running; tenants, stable and terrific. Tiggy, for better or worse. (While I was away, she pooed twice in my office. Telling me what she thinks of my work.)

Five books, still getting noticed periodically. Rarely, but still. The birds.

My helpers for tech and the garden. The handyman.

This blog, website, Substack, social media: communicating

Rosé

To work on:

The new book, get going for God’s sake. Piano – abandoned for months, must start again. More walking, less sitting, less scrolling, less watching Law and Order. Sorting and culling in the house. CULLING! All this @#$@# stuff!

I watched my beloved Wayson, when he turned seventy-five, give up. He stopped writing, stopped exercising. He still was social and interested in everything, but he didn’t want to make an effort any more. I wondered if someone in his family had died or had some catastrophe at 75, and he was following suit. He’d just turned 79 when he died.

I prefer to think of Merrijoy and Sheila, 96, full of energy and ambition, both writing memoirs with some help from me. Ron, aged 92, writing his great pleasure, with a terrific Substack. Ruth, 86, always a jam-packed calendar of cultural activities and travel that puts me to shame. Macca, 83, unstoppable. My role models for aging.

But one other thing: yesterday it occurred to me to ask ChatGPT for financial advice. I told it my situation, that I own a house but will need money before I sell or instead of selling, what should I do? The answer was instantaneous: apply for a Home Equity Line of Credit, a HELOC. It explained what it is and what it would mean — you’re not locked in as with a second mortgage or a reverse mortgage, and the interest is relatively low. A huge weight lifted. If I need money, there’s a way I can access it. Thank you, ChatGPT, which also sent me a detailed breakdown in a PDF.

I can feel financial advisors trembling. Jeez. The genie is out of the bottle. What will it mean, this terrifying and brilliant new technology? What world will my grandsons grow up in? It’s not a great place, right now. Peace and love, as Ringo always says. Peace and love. They’re missing in so many places, but they are here right now.

Thank you for being there, dear readers — for coming along for this long strange trip. Only one more word to say: Onward. To seventy-six. Touch wood.

PS Kathy sent a few photos from Newfoundland. That’s what nearly 75 looks like. A toast.

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