Ten years later

When I was ten years younger....

I bounced back from travel sooner.

I celebrated my 65th birthday driving my Mini Cooper all the way to Portland and back, loving the winding roads, big trees and lookouts of Big Sur. It was that trip that started this blog, intended originally to describe my West Coast road trip.  

Days felt unlimited, a possible surprise around every bend. 

I met friends for lunch.  I got to keep Elena once a week.  Obama was President.  

I felt unstoppable, "The road goes on forever and the party never ends."

Now, it takes days after a trip to knit myself back to the practical things awaiting me at home. 

Homero is working to get the yard trimmed of dead stuff.  He's also moving rugs from house to house, repairing a broken door and a bathtub stopper, the knob impossible for these older hands to turn.   

My feet give out around 11:00 and ask for pills, ice, and a nap.  By mid-afternoon, I start a new day. What used to take two days now takes four; what used to take one day takes two.  I work around what can't be changed and change the things I can.  I read somewhere that this is imperative to graceful aging. 

I look forward to a day--maybe next week--when mornings are devoted to making things, instead of taking trips to grocery stores, the post office, Lowe's, the car wash, physical therapy....

I signed up for an online art class that begins in October.  There's a pull like gravity to the casita and all the papers and colors stored there. 

The trip to Virginia fills my heart in ways there are no words for, but I know now--approaching 75--that it's not necessary to find words to capture an extraordinary oasis of time and space.