I have just enjoyed a perfect birthday. I slept in this morning, then had a nice long talk with my big sister. I ran a couple of errands around noon, loving the weather as I hurried around town. While the rest of the country is freezing, we are wallowing in the pleasure of 67 degree days with sunshine.
Probably the one thing I could grouse about today is that I spent several hours working on art association business. But that was later in the afternoon - right before and after my leisurely haircut with Jessica.
At five Papa and I drove over to the daughter's house. She cooked yummy Mexican, Buddy and Roo had made cards, daughter and son-in-law gave me a card and a book along with a promise for brunch with the daughter. Oh, and I can't leave out that the son-in-law makes the best margaritas in the universe, and I consumed more than ever in my life. We capped the festivities with a Sacher Torte (chocolate cake) and port. Wow!What a great evening.
(Papa had already given me a new ipod and my favorite perfume. Good choices! Love them.)
When I returned home, my little sister had called to leave a birthday message. And I found many birthday wishes on Facebook. All this made turning 69 a little less painful than it might otherwise have been.
The pain is associated with those humble feelings of not having accomplished much in these 69 years. I suspect this will be a thread throughout this blog. At 63, I felt near panic at how little I had done.
On Being Sixty-three
Gently she’s borne from sandy earth and rusty slopes
To learn, give birth, nurture, teach, tear, mend, measure, explore
And love as her days unfold into years, decades
Without notice.
Restless now, she stretches toward entreating voices
And dimly burning candles of imagination.
For in her secret gallery passions and dreams languish
Unnourished, waiting for breath.
Words and brushstrokes clamor for audience.
Fearing extinction each calls, invites,
Playing tunes to court her.
She must see. She must hear
And tend the flickering flames
To flower before her time has passed.
Then I moved into a phase of feeling fairly satisfied. Now I am back where I was six years ago. Cycles of discontent? Hmmm.
I will say though, if just to soothe my soul, that usually at the end of a day I am content that I have accomplished most of what I could do and have enjoyed leisure time, too. But then when I add it all up - not so much.
When I think about the time spent with Buddy and Roo, all the paintings I have completed, the time spent working for the art association, all the tidying required by the above activities, the little bit of writing I have finished, I feel slightly - only slightly - better. I think the way to resolve the conflict is to just get over it. Can I manage that? We shall see.
The resolution of the conflict seems far away, though, as I scan my body for all the aging indicators - bumpy legs, awkward movements, stiffness, forgetfulness - all telltale signs that time is passing and I need to take action if I am to accomplish more. Then comes the question of why I feel I need to do more. Don't know. Not at all. Why are others I know content to read, nap, play? Dilemma.
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