in aspen, colorado, it is one of our favorite trails…alongside the ridgeline, through the aspen forest, ducking under fragrant pine, climbing. the vistas are stunning, the scent is rejuvenating, the air fresh and cool.
this time there was snow on the trail. the combination of the warm sun and the snow beneath our feet was exquisite. new trekking poles in hand, we were in our glory.
if you don’t take the bridge over the more swollen section of the stream and climb higher, than you can take a divergent path and step rock to rock upstream to an old log that lays there just waiting for people to sit on it. we have sat on that very log every single time we have hiked this trail.
there is something magical about that spot. right in the middle of the stream, mountains behind us, dappled sun on our faces. it is as if every single thing becomes clear. we sit in that very space and all the life-whirling stops, the dots connect, the primary is primary. love.
we dropped our hands into the cold mountain stream, water running swiftly over them and on to the rocks below us.
we talked. we were silent. we touched cold fingertips to cold fingertips.
oh geeeeez. i wish i could say that this was in-no-shape-or-form even a smidge of reality. but…it is all-too-true.
the google lens on my phone – and google, in general – are most definitely my oft-used applications, if you set aside the camera and texting. we are curious folks, after all. and when we are hiking and come across plants or creatures or tracks or trail options, we do have a tendency to whip out our phones and google it.
suddenly, we have access to all-there-is-to-know about mayapples, all-there-is-to-know about salamanders, all-there-is-to-know about jumping squirrel tracks, all-there-is-to-know about elevation gain and mileage, water on the trail, exposed areas with no shade. we become momentary experts on any single thing.
it’s like when you need a new stove/oven. you google stoves/ovens. you realize the proper word is actually “range”. you gasp at the cost. then you sort between gas, electric, glass-top, round-spirally elements. then you look to see what each of the options do – as opposed to what you really need or what you would really use. then you start sorting through brands. then you start reading reviews. then you ask a friend, or, maybe, many friends. you ponder and ponder, rich in language – and knowledge – versed in phrases and marketing terms like like dual fuel, conventional, convection heating, precision, programmable, vacuum, temperature probe, heating coils, sabbath mode, nearly poetic about the differences between bake, roast and broil. you proudly convey your newfound knowledge to anyone at all who wants to talk about ranges – or – really – anyone who doesn’t want to talk about ranges. you have arrived.
you decide. you purchase/choose/opt/elect/sign-on.
and then – like most any appliance decision/vehicle decision/children’s paraphernalia decision/eyewear/footwear/outerwear/new puppy/gas grill/television/cellphone/cable network/carpentry-masonry-tilesetting-plumbing-mechanic-architect/mattress/birdfeeder/menu decision – all the knowledge you have looked up and researched and gleaned and studied and pondered and perseverated over – doesn’t stick – promptly falls out of your brain – leaves the building – and you are left bereft. as if you knew nothing. all over again.
and the google gods chuckle. “did it again!” they smirk.
there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.
it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.
and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.
irretrievable.
and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.
his shadow on the wall has kept us company – each morning – with the east sun streaming in through the window – reflecting his perch on our bed, the furry top of his head tousled by many good-morning pets.
time has flown by and his muzzle is grey. he is slower at evening’s end, retiring earlier and earlier – maybe a little bit like us. he groans a bit, getting his body moving. but his amber eyes…they are the same. they belie the time that has escaped our noticing. the aussie puppy is still in there.
while d is setting up coffee for the next morning and i am turning down covers and getting ready for sleep, dogga is laying on the bed. there’s a routine. in these quiet moments i sit next to him and we talk. he loves belly-bellies so it is without question that is part of the conversation. there are times – as he looks up – that i am struck by his very being, this dog who trusts us for everything. what a responsibility we all have with these furry family members. what a privilege i feel…the experience of dogs and a cat who love me or have loved me like i love them.
but i am floored by the time. and i realize that in the way i have less time ahead of me than behind me, so does our sweetboy. we – the people in this equation – both tear up anytime we even allude to this, even in the vaguest of ways. but dogdog doesn’t. he just holds a steady gaze, wags his tail, spins and gives kisses, sneezes when we ask and opens his mouth in a silent “love you” when we say “i love you” to him. his amber eyes reflect back his life with us.
and so – now – he goes on more errands with us. he gets even more pets. he has chicken breast with rice and peas and carrots for dinner. we keep him close.
because like really anyone – two-legged or four – we are whirling through space faster than ever – and there is never enough time to be together, to share life, to love each other.
our old wagawag reminds me of this every single day.
i felt compelled to tell him. the models in the bra commercial? they are not me. i do not resemble them in any way. not their perfect hair. not their perfect skin. not their perfect…yeah…anyway… “that’s not me,” i told him. he stared at me.
choosing things to wear – particularly to special occasions – is a big deal. we women take that seriously. it needs to be just right. not too much. not too little. not too overstated. not too understated. not too fancy. not too plain. not too overdressed. not too underdressed. there are just sooo many parameters, so many things to consider, so many unknowns…which adds up to much pressure.
then…drumroll…add to all that the factors of menopause and aging and whatever-perfection-there-was-giving-way-to-gravity and you have one helluva what-to-wear predicament.
so, this should never be underemphasized.
the grading curve of how-does-this-look is an absolute modifier.
particularly for partners of women who ask for an opinion.
we want the truth – don’t let us wear THAAAAT – but we also want some grace.
i mean, we are NOT the glamorous bra models in the commercials. we are real-life women who have had real-life physical challenges and babies and stresses and aging and a few too many chips and too few protein drinks, not hydrated enough and overly saturated with the emotions of modern day life, with chutzpah and flexibility and many, many plates spinning at the same time.
i’ve reeeally not been a nap person. napping in the daytime makes me feel kind of out-of-it, like i have to start the day all over again. but in these new days of insomnia…sleeplessness…big swaths of night wide-awake…well, the circumstances are a little different.
it is much easier for – him – to take a nap.
fact of the matter is, it’s much easier for him to sleep. any time. any where. sleep. sleep. sleep.
i’m not sure how he does it, but he lays his head down and he’s gone. meanwhile, i am tossing and turning and trying to figure out why his even breathing is so utterly annoying. yes, i know – i am simply jealous of his sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
and so, i thought i’d give it a chance – a daytime nap. i knew it would never work. i knew i’d lay down and be wide awake, despite being utterly exhausted. i knew the daylight would prevent me from sleeping. i knew he’d sleep in a second and i would be yearning to just get-up and do-something.
the thing about being awake before the birds in this most-amazing-spring-like-february-roll-into-march is that you hear the birds start to sing. from the very beginning, the very first bird, that first tweet.
most of the time i do not sleep well. it appears that i am falling into the statistics of masses of middle-aged women – all of whom have insomnia, all of whom exhaustedly lay awake at night, all of whom ruminate and perseverate the night away, and maybe some of whom – like me – revel in the sound of first birds.
and this week? well, after a wonderful last weekend, the universe musta felt like we needed a little pounding. i know you know what i mean. sometimes weeks are like that. and sometimes…well, even the best cup of coffee in the world won’t get you out of bed.
i am writing this on the next day. the day after spring. it is now winter again. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter these days. i’m wondering if that is a product of age and stage, as 20 says.
mostly, it convinces us that we need to have a sense of humor. about all things. even the weather.
we sit writing this – snow outside – windows closed – heat on (though not much because i am a curmudgeon about the heat). yesterday we sat writing – birds and sunshine outside – windows open – heat off. it is off again, on again. the tease of time.
tomorrow it is march. and suddenly, i am in the month of my 65th birthday. i am in the month of medicare. i am in the month of the supplement vs the advantage plan. i am in the month of part d. i am in the month of whoa!!
and i wonder – where did the time go? wasn’t it spring yesterday? wasn’t it summer and delicious fall? how is it that i glance in the mirror and an almost-65 stares back?
it truly is the tease of time. the seasons are getting shorter and shorter. and – more and more – my investment in them is getting bigger and bigger – each individual day in each individual week in each individual month in each individual year.
the next day is all well and good. but it’s today that matters right now.
so yesterday, in an effort to save the social-security-signing-up-for-medicare office some time, i tried to cancel an appointment with them. i had already accomplished what i needed online and i wanted them to be able to satisfy another customer’s needs.
i looked all over on their site for a way to cancel this appointment. nothing. nowhere to cancel.
but on the letter (which i received in real life as well as online) there was a phone number.
thinking that there would be an “option” to choose to cancel appointments, i dialed up.
nope. no option for canceling.
just an option for appointments.
“one hour and fifty minutes,” the pleasantly-recorded bad news said.
i started to stay on hold. put my phone on speaker and laid it next to me.
but i have other things to do. and an hour and fifty minutes to sit on hold in an effort to cancel a phone appointment with them is a tad bit – well – ridiculous. i was just trying to be nice, responsible, aware…you know, all those adjectives about being a good customer, a good citizen, a good fellow-almost-medicare person who knows that other people have questions too and these departments are overrun and that it took me two full months to get this appointment and i would like someone else to be the happy recipient of it.
whatever.
i hung up.
today, when they call, i’ll suggest that they find a way to make it easier to cancel an appointment.
because – doggonit – i’m almost 65 and my time is worth something too.
i have opened so many boxes, so many bins. i have done so many loads of laundry – tiny garments – all freshened and stacked on the dining room table. there is still much to be done.
every single thing i touch is a memory. tiny onesies and fuzzy sleepers, footie pajamas and oshkosh overalls, polly flinders dresses and itty-bitty jeans, socks and booties way smaller than my hand.
i was almost at the bottom of one of the dark blue plastic bins. right underneath the storage-safe-plastic-encased christening gown was the last layer. rattles and small hand toys, the smallest keds you’ve ever seen, stride-rite firsties and this teething ring.
it wasn’t just the teething ring, but it certainly contributed to it. i was overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia – wistfulness at its most tear-inducing. i stood staring at it, wondering what to do with it. naturally, this is not something you pass on. this is not something that you necessarily put in your keepsake box, either. but the power of it…
so i laid it on the worn basement floor – in the middle of the laundry room – the same laundry room that washed all these clothes from the time my children were born to this very day – when they are all grown up – that i am going through their infant and toddler clothes – and i took a picture.
and when i gather together all of these clothes – seeming mountains of clothing – to donate to a mission in chicago that gives people items they need for their families – for free – my heart will be full, thinking of other babies and children wearing these outfits that elicit so many memories and so much love.
and i know that someday the moms (or dads) who receive this clothing will also be paring down and passing down to others. and something will stop them in their tracks. maybe tiny booties, maybe a bib or the teeniest sleeper, maybe little leggings and a floral tunic, maybe a smocked dress or a little baseball slugger hat. whatever it is, they will stare at it, surprised at its potency, grateful for its memories. like me, they may take a picture. like me, they may utter words of thanks. and then, like me, they will place it in a stack and pass it on.
reverse threading 