life

My birthday is next week — 78 years of learning how to do life. Some of the time I think I have it down to a science, but other times I think I never will get it right. However, even with more left to learn than is even remotely possible, my life is satisfying, and I am okay with it. I have heard it said that the one with the best memories wins at life. Maybe I am in the running.

I remember being small enough for my dad to lift me above his head and spin around, both of us laughing and looking into his green eyes twinkling with the joy of the moment. I remember him lifting me up to see my grandmother for the last time in her coffin and his explanation of where she was now when I asked. Most adults just said she was in heaven, but my dad took me outside in the evening to look up to the sky. He said “See that star just near the curve of the moon? Bammy lives behind that star.” Now I know better and knew better just a few short years later, but for the curious five-year-old I was this explanation was perfect. My dad is in most of my best early life memories.

Later there are so many memories from around the campfire. My family camped out on the shore of a lake from Memorial Day until Labor Day every summer for about five years when I was in high school. My brothers, my sister, parents, a couple of cousins and a few friends lived in tents and spent our days playing on the water, hanging out at the beach with a few hundred other people, playing hide and seek in the woods and gathering around a fire almost every evening for stories, silly games, and just gazing at the flames and coals well into the night. Those were the most carefree days of my life and I am still grateful to my parents for them.

I remember falling in love and getting married. The wedding was uneventful, but the marriage has been an adventure. The births of my son and daughter taught me about a new kind of love. The kind that overwhelms and thrills at the same time. Their tiny hands fascinated me and their sweet smell after a bath soothed my very soul. My husband and I were happy, proud parents. We also were a fun couple. We went dancing, to parties, entertained friends and hosted family for special occasions. We played golf together and did the usual parent attendance at baseball, swim team meets, cub scouts and brownie scouts events and all the school programs. Those were such busy times that went by too fast.

Then, when our nest was empty, I remember buying a little houseboat and spending several years making new friends at the marina and cruising around the lake. After work almost every Friday it was hurry home to stock the cooler, stop at the grocery and liquor store and get to the boat in time for happy hour. Those were some of the very best adult days.

Since then there have been grandchildren and then great grandchildren to love on and play with. Retirement has been special with lazy days, a little travel now and then and time to appreciate all that we worked for.

So, maybe I am the best memories winner.

November was a hard month for me. There was my daughter’s birthday and the six-year anniversary of her death. Days that I dreaded for weeks and then spent staying frantically busy to avoid feeling anything. Days that stayed on my mind and heart for a while after they were done. A friend lost her husband. Some of my family are struggling with issues I can’t fix. Thanksgiving was a bust and there were numerous little household items to be repaired or replaced and the budget was stretched way too much. The weather has been awful and where I live is likely to be ugly for a while.

When I am missing my daughter more than usual I find that others lost long ago also are on my mind. In my seventy-seventh year there are more than a few lives ended to recall. In my fourth year my maternal grandmother died far too young. That was my first funeral and now it seems to me that all those to follow were much the same kind of event. Hugs and handshakes. Flowers and music. Tears and nervous laughter. And of course, preaching. Three more grandparents to bury before I was twenty. Then my dad when he was only fifty-six years old. That was the hardest thing I had to do up until that time. Mom several years later and my closest cousin after that. So death is no stranger to me and I have come to accept it with some small grace. When I am keeping it light I remind myself and whoever cares to listen that none of us are getting out of here alive.

Now four days into December I am trying to find a little holiday spirit. The tree is up with more than fifty years’ worth of ornaments, each with a memory attached. Today I baked the first batch of cookies and allowed myself a couple. Not too many because I have finally got my weight under control and will not go back to fat. There is one way to brighten just about any day for me — great grandbabies! One just had her fourth birthday on December 1. She and I had a girl’s day out. She picked out dresses, shoes, a coat and of course a couple of toys. Her sister, who is five going on thirty, will have to have a day of her own and that will be just as lovely. The baby, about seven months old now, won’t have a shopping with Granny Day yet. But he is a joy just to crawl around on the floor with and his laugh is magical. So these December holidays have possibilities.

thehappyheathendotnet

Looking Back

Random Thoughts