As I was out watering my garden plants this morning, I realized that despite my best efforts, they’re not stagnant. There’s an ebb and flow. At moments, they look spectacular, and once I’ve planted some containers, I expect them to stay that way until the fall. That never happens. They go through ups and downs, although I water and fertilize them, loosen the soil, pick off the dead blossoms, and do pretty much everything I can to make them look their best. Occasionally, one or two plants will need to be replaced, and that changes the whole complexion of the container. Sometimes I like it better, sometimes not quite so much. My garden is constantly . . . elusive.
Life is like that. We get to an even stretch and want it to continue forever. We’re living quite comfortably until the furnace dies, the car gives out, or the roof starts leaking. Our daily routines are upset by events we sometimes planned but mostly didn’t. Often something we’d either intended or not, seemed great in the abstract – it was months away, and then as it got closer, we think, “Why are we doing this?”. The magic of the thought just isn’t the same as when reality is upon us. I know over the years that I’ve had some truly great ideas, like a guest conductor for a festival or a speaker at a conference, and the reality didn’t meet the expectation. Social gatherings that I thought would be truly memorable that weren’t. In fact, some that weren’t even worth the work of preparation, or a family reunion we were hosting that went on for days, but seemed more like weeks. Events can be . . . . elusive.
Close to home, I direct a community band. It’s great fun and we have a warm, enjoyable group of people involved. We had our annual July 4th(actually, July 3rd) concert last week. The concert was great, and the band did very well. But somewhere along the way it hit me that one of our key players is moving away, and this was his last performance with us. I’ll need to find someone to fill his slot musically. No one will fill his slot personally. The band won’t sound quite the same. Interestingly, he was playing a part vacated by another long-time band member that took a job on the west coast and thus too departed. It will be difficult, because people are not easy to come by, and certainly aren’t easy to replace. Next year, the band will have a different sound. Maybe not worse, but just different. It’s rather like buying theatre tickets six months in advance for a Broadway show you really want to see because the star is terrific, and then the star leaves two weeks before you’re due to see them to go off and make a movie. Someone probably very good will take their place, but it’s just not the same. Although I used to silently laugh when seniors in the high school band would tell me that the program would surely collapse when they graduated. They would ask, in all seriousness, “So, Mr. Walters, what are you going to do next year without us?” I’d respond that we’d just have to find a way to muddle through. They fully expected that we’d pretty much have to lock the band room doors and go home because, without them, band couldn’t exist. Somewhat like French King Louis XV, who predicted, “Apres Moi, Le Deluge.” (After me, the deluge.) Experiences can be . . . . . elusive.
Much more personally, I’ve reconnected with a dear friend whose wife died several months back. She had been seriously ill for many years and he’d been her care-giver on a daily basis. She and my wife were great friends, having met as teachers at the same school. He and I now get together regularly for coffee and chat. For many years, it was “We really need to get together with . . . . . “ and never do. You know how that goes. So at least he and I can make up a little bit for the time we’ve missed. I’m really enjoying out get-togethers, and I hope he does too. Friendships and personal relationships can be . . . . elusive.
My sister-in-law had knee replacement surgery this week. My late aunt used to say, “getting older isn’t for sissies.” We’d laugh, of course, because it couldn’t possibly happen to us. I knew at that time that I personally would age without any signs of diminished capacity, but now there are constant reminders all about us that we just can’t do what we used to. We keep trying, and there’s pain where didn’t used to be. I get grand ideas about repainting rooms, but I’m not always certain that if I get down to paint the bottom trim boards, can I get back up? Never mind – I’ll do it next year. My fingers do less and less on command, and not without protest. I took some large utility batteries in to the store to be recharged the other day. There were two, and I laboriously carried each one out to the car. The young clerk at the store came out to get them for me – he lifted the two effortlessly onto one arm and carried them into the store. What happened to the days when I could do that? People’s names don’t leap from my brain the way they used to. I’m lucky if I can get a first name, or perhaps a last name when I meet former students, but seldom do both pop quickly into my mouth. I want to say, “let’s just stand here for five minutes – I know it’ll come to me eventually.” Physical and mental stamina is . . . . elusive.
When I see young parents trying to handle small, fussy children at the grocery store, I just want to tell them to relax – it’s ok, savor that moment – because in the blink of an eye, it will be a fond and distant memory. When our daughter came back from DC last year to start graduate school, we realized that she’d actually lived there as long as she’d been home with us. That really hit me. As the t-shirt says, I can’t believe how old people my age are. My wife’s grandmother frequently commented that her colleagues in the nursing home were so very, very old. She of course at 93 was not in that category. In our minds, we’re much younger than the wrinkles on the backs of our hands or our ankles when we get out of bed in the morning tell us we are. Growing old is . . . . elusive.
I have to say that, as a teacher, I enjoyed every minute of working with my students. If I were given the opportunity to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. It saddens me to hear some of my colleagues saying “You’re so lucky to be retired. I have fifteen more years to go.” If it’s really that bad, walk away and do something else. Don’t wish that precious time away – it goes so quickly anyway. Enjoy it all. Draw energy from those around you, not frustration, anger, or anxiety. Retirement is a transition – usually the final one, and it too will be immensely enjoyable but in a different way. Life itself is elusive, it’s in a constant state of transition, it’s fleeting, but enjoying it doesn’t have to be. It just takes patience, perspective, and sense of humor. I’m thinking, . . . . . . .ok.
I'm Thinking...No! 