Of gardens and change and aging

 

A corner of my yard two years ago

Microsoft or whatever genie lives inside my computer decided today to show me pictures of the garden two years ago when it was lush and green. It was particularly inappropriate today because John, the lawn guy, came this morning to walk the yard, talk about what was hopeless, what might come back, what to do through the winter. The new rosemary is toast, the honeysuckle needs to be cut way back and should be pulled—you know it was hot if it killed honeysuckle. The lantana might make it. And so it goes. Of course, in this uncertain world, the weather is one of the most uncertain—he said if we have an early killer frost, as we did last year, it will be a double whammy some plants might not survive. But our new grass is strong and good—a bright spot.

This focus on change came on a day when I read two blogs about aging and change. The first, “More Than a Shoe Part” by John Clark on the Maine Crime Writers blog, talked about “lasts.” When was the last time you did something that you know you will never do again in your lifetime—rode a rollercoaster, went fishing on slippery rocks, climbed a mountain or hiked ten miles. He had a friend who went hunting and had to use his rifle as a cane to get home—you know that was a last.

Susan Witting Albert, writing Senior Chronicle #2 in her Place and Thyme column on Substack, also talked of the things she no longer does, though she suggested that we now have more power with the things we do. On her list of lasts were a brisk two-mile hike every morning, foreign travel, driving around the country on book tours, intense gardening. But Susan points out that technology now enables us to do much of that virtually—an author may not tour bookstores but through social media can stay in touch with readers, we may not travel but we can visit far-off lands virtually (I love videos about Scotland). We need not be confined by age; it’s simply different.

On my list of lasts, things I know I won’t do again are another trip to Scotland, probably another trip home to Chicago where I grew up (my urge to go these places is overridden by my dislike of flying these days). Sitting on a dune in the Indiana Dunes watching the sun set over Chicago and Lake Michigan. Giving a big old party for sixty of my nearest and dearest. Briskly walking my neighborhood and studying the ever-present changes—a walker makes that difficult. Driving a car, though I must say I don’t miss that so much. I adore my little VW convertible Bug, but I don’t want to drive her again.

But there are so many things I do daily that bring me joy—keeping in touch with children and grands, reading and writing, visiting with friends, cooking for my family, studying recipes, keeping up with the news and voicing my opinion. My days are full and happy and, I’ve said this a hundred times before, what I can no longer do is balanced by my wonderful memories of doing so much of it.

Some of you reading this are too young to think about lasts, but I know others my age or close to it read my blog. So what’s on your list of lasts and how do you feel about that? I used to think ahead to retirement and worry about what I would do all day, how I would feel about the things that slipped away from my life. What I’ve found is that’s not a problem at all—it’s lovely to look back at the memories, but it’s also lovely to be in the present, to enjoy the now.