Tag Archives: Aging

Young at Heart

IMG_7368
Young at Heart

If I walk always looking back,
I only see what I now lack;
but if I look in front of me,
I’m aware of all that I might be.

Staying young? A matter of eye, not heart.
Remembering at the day’s fresh start
to train my eye on what’s to be
and never ever in back of me.

That excitement of the unexpected––
that future formerly undetected––
is what keeps life fresh and new.
Who will deliver your next clue?

Your script in life has not been written.
Life is an apple still unbitten.
Each bite or line is yours to make.
Each day  a freshly uncut cake.

Dawn is a gift that’s given us
to start anew with lesser fuss
and more acceptance of what’s there
awaiting us in the open air.

The world unfolds to all who seek,
banishing old and stale and meek.
To spend each day in a world that’s new
is how to keep your youth with you.

The Prompt: What are your thoughts on aging? How will you stay young at heart as you get older?https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/young-at-heart/

Eye, Eye, Eye, Eye!!!

I tried to do today’s prompt, and even chose one person to mention, but then I couldn’t go on.  When I went through the list of incredible blogs I read every day, I just couldn’t pick three and leave out the rest, so instead, I am going to tell you about my pretty exhausting day.   Later, I will post my long list of admirable blogs along with the mention of one new blog I think you should read.                        

IMG_9490

                       Eye, Eye, Eye, Eye!!!

Two days ago I noticed that one of the lenses of my favorite pair of prescription reading glasses was missing. They are an especially beautiful shade of green—something I have found to be rare in glasses—and a good shape on me, to boot. I looked everywhere for that lens, with no luck.

“I’ll have to take special care of my only other pair of reading glasses,” I thought, as I woke up and put them on to peruse the blogging world. I had them on at the dining room table a few hours later during Oscar’s English lessons and half way through the lesson, Yolanda appeared with my lens to my other pair of glasses, which she had found under my bed! I was overjoyed and put it in the case with my “one-eyed” pair of glasses.

Oscar was finished so we went out to play fetch with Morrie. I’m hoping Oscar and his big brother will come play with Morrie while I’m gone, so was trying to make sure they would bond before I left. When I grew dizzy watching the toy soar out to be brought back by Morrie, I realized I still had my other reading glasses on, so I took them off and held them in my hand. One thing led to another and I soon started seeing dead palm fronds, candy wrappers the workmen had left, and other detritus on the ground. I put the non-organic trash aside to take up to the house on my return trip, but collected the other in my hand, taking it up to the gazebo to throw over the fence into the jungle of my “empty” lot next door. Although I’m on a hill so the ground of the next lot is from twelve to twenty feet below me, the castor beans have grown up taller than the wall and obscure the view from where I stand. I tell myself again that I need to find someone to clear the lot, then go up to the yard and return with another two handfuls of dry plant matter to throw over the wall before I give up and go back to the house.

As Oscar prepares to leave with his mother, I want to check once more that I’ve given him the entire assignment that will keep him busy for the three weeks until my return. It is then that I realize I don’t have my reading glasses! They are not on the table, desk, in the kitchen or bedroom or bathroom or on the porch. I then remember taking them off and holding them in my hand when we were throwing the fetch toy for Morrie. I check the terrace table, the gazebo, the bodega, the bodoga and every outside surface. Then I remember collecting the dead plants in both hands and throwing them over the wall, and I have a sinking feeling that I know where my “extra” pair of prescription glasses are!!!

There is no hope. The spare lot is a huge one with dense undergrowth and castor bean plants too thick and close together for navigation. There is zero chance I would find my glasses. I check my kitchen clock. An hour and a half before I have an appointment with Eduardo to give me an estimate on painting and concrete work. I jump into the car in my pajamas that look just like clothing––sans makeup or combed hair—and take off for my eye doctor who is blessedly open, since he splits his time between Ajijic, 6 km. away, and Guadalajara—a good hour away. I find two pairs of frames I can stand, have the assistant put the lens back in my green glasses, ask the two women in the waiting room to advise me on which frames I should buy, and order the glasses. They will be ready on January 4, when the office reopens after Xmas. I pay my deposit and drive back home, hoping I can keep the green glasses––and their lenses––intact and in sight for the three weeks until then.

I get home at 2 and Eduardo shows up soon after. We spend a good three hours discussing pool steps, the little terraza that needs to be built down around the gazebo to keep me from tripping over buried pipes and tree roots that jut up from the ground around where I have to go to turn off the irrigation system, the paint and salitre repairs and pool repairs. I explain to him that I need estimates and that my present contractor Chino will also be giving estimates. It is hot and I get dizzy in the heat, so pull down the blue canvas “wall” in front of the terrace. It is then that I hear the doorbell. I’ve been with people all day, and groan as I go to once again herd all the dogs into the back yard, secure the gates and go to see who it is. It is Chino, with the iron gate man! I usher them back to the backyard and introduce them to Eduardo, who comes out from behind the blue canvas “wall.” Chino looks questioningly at me and then I see the cans of paint we’ve pulled from the new cabinet to try to figure out paint colors. I feel like a wife caught in the act—with a different contractor!!

We retreat back to our seclusion in the shaded patio, which now feels almost secretive—as though we are trying to hide something. Chino leaves, letting the dogs back into the front of the house as he opens the gate.   I offer to give Eduardo a ride down to town, thinking finally I’ll have a bit of time to myself! It is 5:30 and I’ve been rushing around, seeing one person after another all day. I haven’t even finished the Daily Prompt!!! I go into the house to have my first private moment alone in the bathroom before getting in the car to drive Eduardo down to town, and then . . . the doorbell rings again! I cannot answer at the moment and pray that perhaps they’ll give up and go away, but no, the doorbell rings again. Then, a long pause, and it rings again.

When I am able to answer it, the dogs flock around me, barking. “Who is it?” I shout over the wall. I never unlock the door without asking.

“Luis!” someone calls back to me. I have an artist friend named Luis. Plus two plumbers, one electrician and various other acquaintances. I decide it is plumber Luis, who loaned me his propane tank and to whom I’ve been wanting to talk.   I tell him to wait while I put the dogs away, do so with some difficulty, having to close two gates behind them and secure a doggie reward along the way. I unlock the gate to find, not Luis Plumber but Luis, Pasiano’s son, five-month-old baby and wife I’ve never met. They’ve trudged up the long hill to show me the baby. I’d delivered a present to Luis a few months before at his workplace—selling rugs along the careterra––and he’d said they’d bring the baby to see me. We stand. I hold the baby. The wife is hot so I turn on the fan. I don’t think to offer them a cool drink, not realizing at this point that they haven’t driven. I am thinking only that I’ve promised Eduardo a ride down the hill and that I’m dying for some time to finish my blog and be on my own without people.

I’ve been with people since 8 a.m. this morning with no space. I am dizzy with fatigue and the hot afternoon sun. I don’t even ask them to sit down! We talk for a while and I then ask where they are going next. They say to his father’s and I ask if they want a ride there. But, when we arrive, I can tell Pasiano is not there. I tell Luis he’d better check and when he does it verifies what I’d guessed. Do they want to come back to my house or to visit his mother in San Juan, I ask? I’m taking Eduardo there and then we can go visit his mother and I’ll drive them back to where they can catch the bus; but they say no, to leave them off at the bus stop. Eduardo asks if I want to see his studio. I do not! I leave him off and go to Ajijic to pay my phone bill, since we have discovered my cell phone has been cut off. By now it is 6:30 and I am desperate to be home alone swimming or blogging or doing anything but driving, making decisions or talking to other people!!!

As I get out of the car, I realize the sun has gone down and with it the temperature. It is actually chilly outside. Luckily, I’ve brought my suede jacket which I put on. I go into Oxxo to pay my phone bill, grab a Coke, and go back to the car. As I do, I absently stuff the phone bill and receipt into my coat pocket, but meet with some resistance. I reach in and draw out . . . my spare pair of glasses! I then remember that I had put my jacket on when we first went out to play with the dog.

I must have put my glasses in the pocket, then taken the jacket off as soon as I got back in the house and so when it came time to look for my glasses, it had totally slipped my mind that I had had pockets to slip the glasses into after all! I turn the car on and drive home cushioned by the security that even though I’m slightly more worried about the state of my memory than I was this morning, at least I have the cushion of three pairs of reading glasses I’ll have to lose before going into a tizzy the next time!!!

IMG_9482                              Luis, Hernando and Alejandra. Happy family.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/press-it/

P4250236_2 (1)

                                                    My Imaginary Friend

I have never had an imaginary friend until four years ago, when one suddenly appeared.  She has a special function in my life: memory.  When I’m driving to town and suddenly forget exactly where it is I’m going, I prod her and within a few seconds, she has the answer for me.  She never tires of these prods–even when I ask her the same question twice within the space of an hour or two.  Sometimes she even leaves me notes on the refrigerator.  “Catfood,” she scribbles, “Lampshade.” “Hem pants!”

As is necessary with good friends, I forgive her her shortcomings as she forgives mine.  When it took her an entire week to come up with the name of a woman whose name I keep confusing with another, I did not chide her.  When I forgot the name of one flower for an entire year, I ceased even asking her to provide an answer and in its own sweet time, memory brought the name to me with no prodding.

As with all imaginary friends, I do not call attention to her in public. We have our conversations in private, usually as I rail against myself, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” when the correct information will not come with the ease that it did before this particular decade.

It is she who decided I needed a wall hanger for glasses and keys and after fruitless minutes of my daily searches, reminds me that my car keys and reading glasses are where they’re supposed to be–on the rack!  She has been doing this for years, without complaint, and one of my main fears in life is that she will pass on before I do.

We have a pact, my imaginary friend and I, and if it is up to her and me, we will die peacefully, side by side, forty years from now when we are 108.  By then she will be so worn out that she will deserve a rest, and by then I will probably be all too willing to go with her.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Imaginary Friend.”Many of us had imaginary friends as young children. If your imaginary friend grew up alongside you, what would his/her/its life be like today?

Remi Speaks

P4170219

Sunrise or Sunset?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Through the Window.” Go to the nearest window. Look out for a full minute. Write about what you saw. What??? I wrote to this prompt on July 15 –less than a month ago!!  I think they are repeating the prompts a bit too quickly, don’t you? If you didn’t read it then, HERE is my answer to this prompt.

Luckily, YESTERDAY’S PROMPT was a double one, including instructions to write a letter to myself now from the “myself” of 20 years from now.  (Yes I know I reversed the directions.  Makes more sense this way.) So, here goes:

Dear Remi,

Remember five years ago, when you took this new name for yourself?  I notice you’ve slipped back into the “old” name (Judy) and the “old” you that you professed just five years before to no longer identify with.  What happened?  Was it merely the resistance of old friends to call you by this new name? Or was it that you slowly slipped back into being that person–more laconic, giving in to the heaviness and inactivity of age?  Did you also give up on romance and change and the excitement of the possibility of forward progress?  Did you decide to stay where it is easier with an established routine, people to clean your house and wash your clothes and mow your grass and clean your pool?

I’m wondering if you are thinking about how that is working out for you. I see you even more tied down than before–three dogs instead of one, making plans to start more programs for the young people of your community, but will this be enough?  That sense of urgency and of time passing that has kept you vaulting from your bed and running outside to try to breathe at night–is it caused by any physical condition or is it me, prodding you to be young for as long as you can and to experience more before you sink into that routine that is the reward for doing all that you meant to do in this lifetime? Is it time to retire and to smooth your own pathway, or is it still time to leap over barriers–such as this barrier of yourself–and go boldly out into the world to see what else is there?

I’m not trying to prod or push you or suggest the way.  I am, after all, a figment of your imagination as surely as your present view of yourself is.  I understand that two foot surgeries in two years slowed you down and changed your exercise patterns as well as the patterns of your day.  I also realize that friends moved away or moved into new lives and that this also made you turn inwards.  There are reasons of one sort or another for everything we do.  We all have excuses.  At 88 years old, I have excuses, too.  I know where you ended up but I also know that there are a limitless number of me’s.

There is the me that succumbed to Alzheimer’s, as your sister did.  There is the me who moved to Italy and moved off into a new life that I only hint at here.  There is the me who has devoted herself for the past 20 years to making her small town a better place to grow up in.  There is the me who finally took off in that boat and went all the remaining places there were to go.  There is the me who grew grumpy and reclusive and eventually became dumber than her Smart TV.

There is even the implausible me who did all the “shoulds” and got her other books published–who maybe even got back on the agent/publisher treadmill and did it the “right” way. There is the me who found more romance, the one who converted her entire house into a dog kennel, the one who built the house on the adjoining piece of land and hired a nurse/housekeeper and invited her friends to come grow old with her.  There are so many potential me’s that I hope it is making your head swim and that I hope will make you think about what you want to do with the remaining 30 or so years of your life.

Things are not over.  In the first thirty years of your life, you grew up, went to summer camp, counseled at summer camp, went to University, sailed around the world on a boat and saw all else that life could be, got your masters degree, emigrated to Australia, taught for two years, traveled for four months through southeast Asia and Africa, moved to Africa and had various adventures, good and bad.  Fell in love, taught school in Addis Ababa, moved back to the U.S., taught for 7 more years, fell in love, built a house, edited a creative writing journal for teens, traveled to China and Great Britain and Hawaii.

Then you had a dream that knocked you into a recognition of your subconscious.  You quit your job, moved to Orange County, CA, wrote on the beach, moved to L.A., fell in love, studied film production and screenwriting at UCLA, worked in a Hollywood agency, joined a writer’s workshop, joined an actor’s studio, worked for Bob Hope, gave poetry readings, was co-editor of a poetry journal, fell in love again, married, moved to the Santa Cruz mountains, became an artist, traveled and did art and craft shows for 14 years, became the curator of an art center, lost your husband, moved to Mexico, self-published four books, traveled, taught English and art, fell in love a few more times, started a poetry series.

This is what can be done in thirty years.  So, what are you going to do with the next thirty?

Love, Remi–twenty years older.

F

Re”tire”ment

When I was younger, my mind turned on a dime.
I did what I had to do in very little time.
But now that I am older, things don’t go so fast.
I’m not “spur-of-the-momentish” as I was in the past.

I don’t throw big parties as I did in former days,
for dealing with the details just puts me in a haze.
I can’t do many things at once without getting confused.
Now I simply write my blog while once I danced and boozed!

At first I felt ashamed of how my life is slowing down,
hating that I do not seek the company of town.
But then I noted patterns in nature around me
and saw that this is simply how our lives are meant to be.

Each thing in its season and each thing in its time
is how our lives are ordered—to accept this is sublime.
Why do I need to live my youth and middle age again?
Why not just accept that this is how my life has been

and go on to the next stage without sadness or regret—
going on to see just how much better life can get?
Yes, it is the pits to get arthritic, slow and hazy;
but we are compensated by excuses to be lazy!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Heat is On.” Do you thrive under pressure or crumble at the thought of it? Does your best stuff surface as the deadline approaches or do you need to iterate, day after day to achieve something you’re proud of? Tell us how you work best.

Dan and Laurie–Older than 50 Years! Cee’s Black White Photo Challenge:

DSC00145Long after 50, my friend Dan is and always will be a kid!DSC09974And so will Laurie! Why I love them so!!!

DSC09975
Of course they’re a couple!  What do you think keeps them so happy?

P9170320 (1)

This crusty old bachelor, on the other hand . . .

http://ceenphotography.com/2015/07/16/cees-black-white-photo-challenge-older-than-50-years/

Remember Me

Remember Me

What I imagine I will be remembered by
is probably in the past, my present more taken up by
remembering than by doing.
That energy to create a life seems worn out
so that rising and sorting piles of papers
seems an Everest to scale.

Who knew that we would wear out, too.
Prefer our deskchairs to the dance floor,
our own tables to the favorite gathering place?
We have dulled to pewter,
finest silver that we once were.

Once hatless, ratted and curled,
now we shield ourselves from the sun
with wider brims,
celebrate midnight in solitude,
go the way of civilizations
headed toward their end.

Today’s prompt: Don’t You Forget About Me: Imagine yourself at the end of your life. What sort of legacy will you leave? Describe the lasting effect you want to have on the world, after you’re gone.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Celebrate Good Times.” You receive some wonderful, improbable, hoped-for good news.  How do you celebrate?DSC00212208171_1653270418343_3518364_n
Idyllic Schemata

If I won the lottery–just scads and scads of money,
I’d take my friends off to some isle beautiful and sunny.
I’d hire a house with many rooms where everyone could sleep.
I’d hire a housekeeper and cook, a chauffeur and a Jeep!
We’d swim and snorkel every day, take walks and collect things:
shells, driftwood and starfish–whatever the sea brings.
At night we’d drink and eat and sing, play dice or Mexican Train.
Next morning we would sleep in late and do it all again.

We’d rent a boat and captain and sail away to sea
to examine the horizon–to have fun and merely “be.”
When we’d stop at island markets, I’d give everybody money
to shop for anything they want–beautiful or funny,
delicious or fantastic, things to wear or play or see
and then I would give prizes for what most pleases me.
What I would buy are paint and tools, wood and nails and glue–
all the things needed to do what we could do

to transform all our treasures into jewelry or art.
Each person choosing just one thing closest to their heart
and letting it draw other things with which to tell a tale,
then joining them together with glue or cord or nail.
Then I’d mount an exhibition and ask everyone around.
Food and drink and music and good humor would abound.
Everyone could tell us what they make of all our art,
Which pieces touch their funnybone, which pieces touch their heart.

And we’d give the pieces all away to those who love them most.
We’d dine and raise our glasses in a final toast:
Here’s to all good friends that are and friends who are meant to be.
Here’s to the sand and sunshine, moonlight and the sea.
Here’s to all the luck we share in being here today,
to the freedom that we all possess to simply sail away.
And then I’d build a house somewhere and all could live there free–
each doing what we want and being who we want to be.

DSC01251
DSC09714Found Art Nude

DSC09697

DSC09701

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.” Write a story or post with an open ending and let your readers invent the conclusion.

DSC01244

Judgement

Borne, then born.
Clothed, fed, shorn.
Housed and cuddled,
Brain filled and muddled,
Schooled, polished, allowed to roam,
To make the world into a home.
Later settled, now sedate.
Content to let my life abate.
Find worlds inside and there abide,
To let what happens be my guide.
To try to live with less precision.
To fear less the world’s derision.
Why so hard to be oneself?
Easier when on the shelf.
Now here I pull my world around me,
Memories and dreams surround me.
My solitude a crystal jar
that lets me ponder from afar
The current of my life, its tide,
To reach without and pull inside
The things that help me try to see
Just where my life has taken me.
I contemplate and sometimes share
The truths that I’ve discovered there.
You come to read, you judge  and  . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Please complete the above poem, choosing a two-syllable last word for the line I’ve left uncompleted and then furnishing a rhyming last line.  If you want to create your own last two lines, just substitute another line entirely for “You come ro read, you judge and  . . . .” and then write a rhyming last line as well.  Have fun!!!

Favorite Quote: Day 3: Wanderlust

IMG_0579

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. ~George Moore

This quote says succinctly what I have been saying to friends lately.  I no longer feel the push to travel but would rather stay home and think and write.  At first this made me feel old and then I started to realize that it is in the natural order of things to seek and then reflect.  It is not just a question of energy, but more a matter of the direction of one’s curiosity.  The more I traveled, the more I found that things do not vary that much.  Everywhere I’ve gone, the same personalities are sprinkled over the landscape.  Only the landscape and the percentages change.  Once you’ve found a place where there are the greatest number of people who appreciate you for who you really are, you have found home.  Then the task is to go inwards. That is where the real journey exists.