Have you had yours today?

I've begun to think that coming of age is that moment when we realize the shortness of the years ahead, that moment when things begin to come together: a realistic appreciation for the world (and its craziness), the importance of rich friendships, the necessity for a greater focus on what we choose to do and the knowledge that providing advice and guidance to a younger generation is the value we can bring to the world. All of these things have become more important to me during these last several years. But the one item I've left out is having fun. That became clear this past weekend when we visited a friend in upstate Connecticut.

I don't know about you but my friends are more important to me now than ever. Sharing the experience of these later years brings us closer than before. We aren't distracted now by the raising of children and all the energy that needs to be spent doing that. This is a different time, a time that focuses far more on making oneself happy.

On Saturday my husband and I drove to Middletown, CT for a football game at Wesleyan University. One of our early dates over thirty years ago had been at the Wesleyan Homecoming game, and I found the nostalgia still palpable. But coming of age has changed the way my husband and I focused our time at the game. During the second half, for example, I wandered into the bookstore and spent the remainder of the game browsing and buying books, while he watched the second half. It was a great way to leave the cold and hard metal bleachers and to lose myself among the stacks. And it gave him the opportunity to take in the sport he loves. Perhaps we can call that accommodation but I tend to think of it as living parallel lives, each person getting the satisfaction they need and reconnecting at the next point.

From there we drove down to Essex where we met a dear friend of ours, a widow of three years now. Last time we visited, the loss of her husband still hung in the air. This time, her energy filled each room.

The first thing I noticed was a "good witch" sitting beside a sleek black pumpkin on her pristine kitchen counter. It was "just for fun" she said... a term I heard her use several times that afternoon. We talked a while and then traveled down to the main street in town where they were having a scarecrow contest. There were dozens of scarecrows, one on each of the lamp lights that lined the street: a telephone service man complete with tool belt climbing the spikes of the pole, a Madeleine with blue coat and yellow hat on a yellow ladder and on and on. It was splendid and we were simply charmed by the creativity of each one - about sixty in all.

We had dinner, talked about her latest painting projects and brought her up to date since we'd seen her last and, with a lighter heart, said goodbye.

On the way home I was exhilarated. This woman, eighty years of age, with the enthusiasm and spunk of a fifteen year old, had managed to show me that she was having fun, that the things she chose to do now were fun things, things which gave her enormous pleasure. You can do this, she had said, holding up one of her paintings, you'd be good at it. You don't have to be serious about it. Do it just for fun.

It was a true gift. I am a rather serious person, at least I go about doing serious projects and sometimes, when I find myself teetering on the edge of something that is fun, I pull away from it, uncomfortable that it might not be seen as something worthwhile. Fortunately, just by being who she is, my friend had changed my thinking.

The next morning, I used the stepladder to access a small closet above one of our fireplaces where I store seasonal decorations, and pulled out a very happy witch in a purple dress and black hat with orange trim. I hadn't taken out in years. I tied an orange ribbon around her waist and arranged her beside a black cat on a wide window sill. Last night my Granddaughter noticed it immediately and began to laugh. She understands fun.

Another day we'll talk about other aspects of aging, but today, it's all about fun. Have you had yours today?

Hope so.

Christina

"...the first step shall be to lose the way." Galway Kinnell

To those of you who read this blog, I apologize for not having written earlier. I have spent the last week trying to give up control.

As we age, things happen to our bodies and its our job, my job in this case, to deal with it. The knee that has troubled me for three years is finally going to be replaced this month. I know, I know...knees are replaced every day...not such a big deal. Well it is a big deal when its happening to you.

How does this relate to control? Because after an operation on the same knee in January, six injections and months of physical therapy, I realized there was no other option but another operation. That was when I began to wrestle with the facts:, older people are the majority of knee recipients (definitely puts me in that category) ; the rehabilitation is a prolonged one (ugh, more work); its very painful (meds glorious meds). Then, when the surgeon told me I had to enter a rehab facility after the surgery, I lost it. All I could think of was the hospital my Mother had been in for eighteen months: the smell, the food, everything about it disgusted me, but it was supposedly the best of the choices we had at the time. That memory didn't help me to accept the inevitable.

So I have spent the last week trying to adjust, crying, talking to myself, alienating a lot of people simply because I couldn't give up the illusion that I had control over my future and over my body which is beginning to show its years. Now I realize my future depends on the surgeon, the caregivers and how hard and constant I am in rehab (talk about handing over control!) I understand now that the only control I have is to enter this experience knowing I will work hard as anything in rehab, that I will give it my all.

So in finally moving forward, I am allowing myself to lose the way, to give that responsibility to others and to take upon myself only what I can manage.

I have never forgotten that line from Galway's poem. I guess in the end, it is all about surrender.

I would love to hear from you.

Christina