The older we become, the more thought we put into everything we do. For example, Jim goes grocery shopping early in the morning to avoid the crowds. We carefully chose the organizations that we consider worthy of our support. We think twice before taking any trips, due to the cost of gasoline, and as a result, we mostly stay at home. I suppose the act of becoming older does not have to be such an insular, hunkering-down process, but for us, that is the transition.
While others were having barbecues on the Fourth of July, or going to concerts, or watching fireworks, I was quilting, reading, or splurging, by eating ice cream with hot fudge on top, whipped cream, and two cherries! Jim was at work, exhausting himself in helping others.
I was reading a book written by Edie Clark, whom I met this summer when she gave a talk about New England foods. The Place He Made is a riveting and true account of the life and death, the good times and the bad times, of that same woman’s husband, and his insurmountable problems with cancer. The story is about “process,” though, not just about a series of catastrophes, and it is written with uncanny sensitivity.
It is a sad book, only insofar as, in the end, her love dies. However, he died peacefully and with her at his side. Everyone who dies should have such a vigilant witness. The telling of this poignant tale, complete with some of their dialogue, must have been cathartic for her to write down in her daily journal. Surely, her writings helped her to create the book, and to tell the story as accurately as possible.
At a certain point in all of our lives, we come to the stark realization that we will not be here always, a sobering thought. Who among us can imagine that life can and will go on, without our presence? How can we envision ourselves as non-beings, when we are here today, living, breathing, loving, eating, writing … ?
Yet, we know others who have made that journey to the Great Beyond and left us here to continue to either enjoy life, or suffer through our remaining time.
Holidays are increasingly difficult for me. I prefer the sameness of everyday activities and have come to really dislike special events. On July 4, I chose to spend my day reading about struggles in the lives of those two individuals.
I have decided that Life does not have to be a happy, happy, “la la la” affair, all the time. For me, it just has to be “real.” For that reason I have given up reading novels, and now, only want to read about events that really did happen. Life is too short to bother with foolishness, or foolish people, (no particular person in mind, as I write that).
I am as entitled to my quirks as you are to yours. In this realization, there is a measure of comfort.
Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications
