What is the point? I find myself thinking.
Nothing really seems that important anymore, no sense of urgency or emotional surge to get “it” done.
Move my space around, add a pergola, finish the kitchen, buy another typewriter, have guests come over for a weekend, all part of my daily routine I call my life, minus the thrill I used to get as it approached and the feeling I have had after completion.
Drinking doesn’t even enliven my spirit like it used to.
What’s the point as I watch young husbands of my friends die in their forties?
As I receive another email from the a local breast cancer support group that another survivor got her “angels wings.” In one brief moment I look at social media, I learn of an old acquaintance whom I helped find her way to writing pass away. 57. And I think, Is this what death has come to? Learning about it on social media?
The days are flying by and merging with each other at a speed I never imagined possible. Is this what happens as we age? So I revert to what I know. Now.
Finding joy in the daily moments.
Shopping for food, making sandwiches for the beach and heading to the beach for an 8:30am time slot to beat the traffic — just like my grandmother used to do.
I stop every time I see the fluttering of the baby birds in the wild hippy nest Mama sparrow took over from the prior Mama robin owner and try to worship it like a religious experience.
I speak firmly with my wisteria on a daily basis as we compete for the olympic takeover of my deck. She is winning right now, but not for long as she doesn’t know that electric hedge trimmers are on their way.
I take a look at my yard and try to enjoy its amazing bounty and eye candy rather than have it generate a thankless to do list.
I apologize to my potted plants for the lack of water that no amount of hosing can…