It seems that much of growing older has to do with giving up. It begins with giving up our job, sometimes a life-long career, and that involves giving up part of our personal identity. Then we move on to giving up stuff (we call it downsizing), giving up relationships (more of our friends are dying), and giving up activities we used to be good at. We move on to giving up the car and, sometimes, giving up our teeth and other body parts. We fear someday giving up our dignity as people have to care for us as though we were infants.
Grim.
When my thoughts about all this
become too grim for comfort, then it’s humor to the rescue. So I made a list of
“things I don’t do well but can’t give up, at least not yet.” Here’s the list:
1. --Cooking:
Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever done this well. I have a history of bland
casseroles, substituted ingredients that didn’t turn out, forgetting the
cheese, stuff burnt on the bottom of the pan, and so on. Hal and our grown kids
reassure me they enjoyed my meals, but they are all very nice people and
wouldn’t say anything else. At any rate, I’m even less fond of cooking now than
I ever was. But I’m not ready to give it up. We have a kitchenette in our
apartment, so I cook. And when I’d can’t bear the thought, we go down to the
community dining room where other nice people fix our meals.
2. --My
guitar: This is another activity I’m not sure I ever did well, but it gave me a
lot of joy. I got my first guitar in high school when folk music was the rage.
I loved Joan Baez and wanted to be like her, and so—the guitar. I’ve plunked
and strummed for many years now, but never arrived at any proficiency. There
are two reasons for this: 1) I don’t have the musical gene and 2) I hate to
practice. Right now the guitar sits
propped up against the book case, along with her daughter, a ukelele (which I
also used to play). I keep thinking I’ll begin playing again and get really
good at it. And tomorrow would be a good time to start. The thought of getting
rid of them makes me sad.
3.
--Tent camping: Hal and I used to do this. But the last few times we’d begun to wonder. Those air mattresses seem to be getting thinner and thinner, our backs in the morning stiffer and stiffer. Getting up several times in the middle of the night to wander through the trees to the camp bathroom doesn’t seem as adventuresome any more. To be honest, the last time we hauled our camping equipment to some lovely state park was before the pandemic. But the stuff still occupies much of our storage container—tent, tarp, air mattresses, pump, sleeping bags, propane stove, pots and pans, lantern, and numerous other essential camping stuff. From time to time, we talk about getting rid of it, but we just can’t bring ourselves to do it. Not yet.4. --Art
supplies: These occupy space in our apartment and I also have a locker down in
the community art room. I’ve never considered myself an artist, but after
retirement I began to experiment and enjoyed it. I’ve even taken a few art
classes here in the retirement community. So I dabble and sometimes I get it
right. I’ve become good enough for personal greeting cards, including some
really funny birthday cards for the grandkids. However, along with my missing music
gene, I was not born with an art gene. When I say, “I’m not really an artist,”
my friends tell me never to say that. But it’s true. Still, I’m keeping the art
supplies for now and using them. It’s healthy. And fun.
5. --House
plants: Some people kid about murdering their house plants. But I won’t kid
about it; I am that criminal. And yet I love the idea of filling my
rooms with beautiful leaves and blooms—real ones. Plastic doesn’t appeal. So
I’m going to keep trying. I’ll just stoically throw out the dead plants and buy
more as needed. My plants look really good for at least a year.
6. --Poetry:
Like so many serious writers (even writers of humor), I periodically wrestle
with doubts. Some days I look at my books and think, “Wow! I like these poems!”
Other days I want to throw everything I’ve ever written in the garbage.
Pathetic, right? I wonder if I’m losing my edge as I age. But then I think that
if I write a poem a day, out of 365 poems a year, some are bound to be good.
Really good. Simple statistics. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I’m
in no way ready to give this up.
7.
--Prayer: I used to think I had a special calling as an intercessor—praying for family, friends, enemies, against all sorts of illnesses, and, of course, for world peace. I still wistfully hope I have this calling. But then why do I fall asleep every time I sit down to pray? Pacing and praying makes me dizzy. Is there a new technique I need to learn? (I hope not. I’ve always resisted praying by technique.) I still want to go out on a limb as I pray, asking God for impossible things, like world peace. I just also need to pray that the limb doesn’t break. No, I’m definitely not willing to give this up.
This list could go on and on, but
that’s enough for now. Life goes on. I probably will give up the guitar and the
camping equipment. But for the time being, I’m hanging on to the rest.
I’m not giving up.