Travelling doesn’t agree with me --- is that an “anymore” or just a “today”? I’m feeling slothful and fat, and my feet haven’t forgotten the days on the train. We are waiting in a first class waiting room (money = age) and catching up with WiFi and CNN.
Eddie and I strolled a square about 8 blocks by 8 blocks and certainly saw the highlights of the city: children in Jamison Park and Tanner’s Wetlands. A very young city – the White Hairs are carrying large bags and cameras. We don’t fit in the demographic picture. But, we talk about making plans. There were several abandoned farms in the high desert country of Montana that looked like good retirement spots, and Portland looks like a place we could brag about living in (time to live out our principles!!).
But I’m too exhausted to think about moving! The roses are in bloom here in the “Rose City” and I am a little homesick for my garden. I suppose the garden is like the children that I used to have: the daily watch, the imperative chores, the small and important celebrations of growth or progress. I’m thinking that happiness is related to observing those milestones – which means one must always have something to celebrate. A long-term project is necessary. Successful aging requires one to accept the closure of a project (children raised & gone from the nest) and to seek new projects (gardens, writing that book). If I am to age well spiritually and emotionally, I’ll need something in my life that I am passionate about… and that thing really should be something that I can achieve, that includes inherently milestones to celebrate. I have considered some sort of campaign, but politics are so so so frustrating; impotence and discouragement are not good for the soul. What else is there? Investment. Dirt. Giving back to my community. Finishing half-done projects. Knowing that my efforts are focused in the direction of the principles I hold dear. Dirt. And, recognizing first, and have the courage second, to seize the opportunities that life presents. I will, again and again, talk to strangers on the train. I’m going to go to Angel Island and the Cable Car museum. I intend to walk up Lombard Street in my $40 walking shoes.
Eddie and I strolled a square about 8 blocks by 8 blocks and certainly saw the highlights of the city: children in Jamison Park and Tanner’s Wetlands. A very young city – the White Hairs are carrying large bags and cameras. We don’t fit in the demographic picture. But, we talk about making plans. There were several abandoned farms in the high desert country of Montana that looked like good retirement spots, and Portland looks like a place we could brag about living in (time to live out our principles!!).
But I’m too exhausted to think about moving! The roses are in bloom here in the “Rose City” and I am a little homesick for my garden. I suppose the garden is like the children that I used to have: the daily watch, the imperative chores, the small and important celebrations of growth or progress. I’m thinking that happiness is related to observing those milestones – which means one must always have something to celebrate. A long-term project is necessary. Successful aging requires one to accept the closure of a project (children raised & gone from the nest) and to seek new projects (gardens, writing that book). If I am to age well spiritually and emotionally, I’ll need something in my life that I am passionate about… and that thing really should be something that I can achieve, that includes inherently milestones to celebrate. I have considered some sort of campaign, but politics are so so so frustrating; impotence and discouragement are not good for the soul. What else is there? Investment. Dirt. Giving back to my community. Finishing half-done projects. Knowing that my efforts are focused in the direction of the principles I hold dear. Dirt. And, recognizing first, and have the courage second, to seize the opportunities that life presents. I will, again and again, talk to strangers on the train. I’m going to go to Angel Island and the Cable Car museum. I intend to walk up Lombard Street in my $40 walking shoes.
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