August 12, 2020
We used to call August the dog
days of summer. In the days of our youth, the eighth month of the year could
almost always be counted on to be the heart and the heat of the summer season.
You might make it to the beach near the end of July—that is to say, the water
might be warm enough to swim in near the end of that month. But that trip was
guaranteed doable in August. Be it on Lake Ontario or Lake Erie, when I was a
child, we headed to the beach at least a few times each summer.
Unfortunately, I don’t go
swimming anymore. It’s been more than a couple of years since I’ve even put on a
bathing suit. I suppose if there was a private pool close at hand, and a good
changing area where I could spend a nice long while getting dried, I might. But
I don’t move as well nor as quickly as I once did. And for the most part, I’m
okay with that. I don’t overly miss heading to a beach. The sand is impossible
to walk on and the waves are a definite no-go for me.
There can be no disputing the
fact that life changes as you age. As I have gotten older, I seem to more
keenly understand what’s important in life. I no longer fret so much over
missed things or opportunities. I understand that, for the most part, my
contentment comes from within and not from without. Not that situations or
people don’t still tick me off, from time to time. Stupidity is at the top of
the list, just in case you wondered.
I have lately theorized that there
have to be stupid people in the world, if for no other reason than for you to gently
take your child by the shoulders, point to one of them and say, “whatever you
do in life, don’t be that person!”
I cherish each day, for the
beauty it brings—and there are a few moments of beauty in every day. I’m more
able than I used to be to let slights slide, to no longer worry about words
said carelessly. For the most part, I don’t mention all the things that used to
really annoy me. I notice them, of course, I just don’t bitch about them. Each
morning I empty the dish tray and put a few items back over on the other side
of the sink to be re-washed. Sometimes I have to hunt for my clothing because
it’s been put away in the wrong drawer, or the towels aren’t folded so as to
fit the available shelving space. I figure if these annoyances bother me that
much, I should just take care of doing those chores myself.
I don’t get as angry as I used
to when hurtful words are sent my way. I understand, as I never used to be able
to, that those words are usually spoken either carelessly, or as an expression
of a bad mood. They’re not necessarily malicious, and not necessarily about me.
I also try very hard not to
rush the days. I have more of those behind me than ahead of me, and I know how
very precious they are. And I try to balance my time. I want to make it count,
but I also feel, at this point, I’m entitled to waste a bit of it doing things
that give me pleasure.
I like to read, and yes, I
like to play silly games on my computer. David and I both spend a fair amount
of time online. We were talking about that just a couple of days ago. He’s
easier staying home now, and would in fact prefer to do just that, most days. He’s
no longer feeling “imprisoned” by the virus. As long as we follow all the best
practices, we should be safe. We’ve seen our son and his wife, and our second
daughter; and just a couple of our grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Our
two grandchildren who live in town, here, are careful. They have a small group
of friends they spend time with. They don’t party, and as their mother is a
nurse, they are quite on board with the necessity of wearing a mask.
So the days go by, and we do
what we can to keep ourselves amused and also to not watch too much of the “news”.
And every night, for an hour or so before bed, I hear the sound of my husband’s
laughter and know he’s watching one of the comedy web-sites, and having a good
time.
That’s one thing that he’s always
gotten right. In this world, really, you’ve just got to laugh, and keep laughing.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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