Dinner last night was a success, although I didn’t eat much having worked myself into somewhat of a tizzy over a series of small annoyances: the kitchen was hot, the pizza dough unusually difficult to throw, and of course, these new meds. Rick heard my huffing and puffing all the way in the living room and rushed in, his white-knight armor gleaming, offering, no, insisting on lending a hand.
The new recipe was A.O.K. for diabetics and the Classic French Salad Dressing was really good too. I was in a mood so mostly I ate salad.
Today it’s a different kind of mood. Rich is in the doctor’s office for his quarterly cardiac and diabetic labs, and as for me, well, I’m sitting in the car writing this blog. Rich has already telephoned once with questions concerning signing the new HIPPA papers and which pharmacy we use.
Now he’s called twice.
This isn’t something I didn’t expect; paperwork is generally my territory; Rich hates doing it. But this time, I begged off; I’ve spent so much time with doctors lately, I just couldn’t make myself go in. I only came along for a free meal; we’re going to breakfast at a favorite Mom and Pop cafe when Rich finishes. Once he clears the paperwork and medication review, I know he’ll do fine on his own without further teleconferencing. Then I can rest.
It’s starting to rain and the wind is picking up now. A murder of crow just descended into a groove of trees surrounding the car. They sound like old men complaining. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud; the remark must have been offensive because two crows just pooped on the car.
With all this silence, my mind takes off. If all goes well, I’ll get a couple of loads of laundry done today, and maybe pull a few weeds in the herb garden. I’m hoping there’s fish at the market later this morning because I have a tenative menu set in my head already, and I hate revisions!
A thousand little thoughts swirl through my brain; it’s nearly impossible to focus on any single thing anymore. The older I get, the bigger everything seems. It’s like climbing mountains or running against the wind, only it’s all inside my head in succcssive waves of angst and concern. My once big life seems to have splintered into a million tiny pieces, losing itself in mediocracy, and too often I don’t know where or how to make sense of it all anymore.
But as daunting as it can be, CHANGE is in the air because we’re going home; we’re moving back to Texas. We’ve lived in the small, sleepy town we’re headed back to, so this move will be somewhat of a repeat performance, except that this time, we are far more vulnerable than before.
Old age did not come gracefully. It did not sweep gently around us easing us into the next phase. For Rich and I, old age was a speeding train ramming us without explanation or apology. It was an instant tsunami of subtraction that just kept taking assets away. Recognizing what was happening, giving it a name, and mustering a little respect for it all, was a humbling experience that brought us to our knees.
There is no way to blithely accept this kind of sweeping change. Fighting is useless, and bargaining is a waste of precious time. For all things there is a season whether you’re ready or not.
Eventually the process altered the ways Rich and I see and interact with the world. We didn’t see that coming but as a result, we’ve down-shifted and actually began smelling the roses instead of always planting and tending more. So far it’s working.
In the most unexpected way, I feel like someone turned off the blender and I crawled out of frappe’. It’s time for the next party, the party attended by children and grandchildren and the timing coulndn’t coouldn’t be better for these two old folks.
Look out Texas, here we come! Aunt Bea-Me is ditching the polyester jersey and moving toward a more casual look these days….
well, maybe not so much