A cartoon in the paper yesterday from "Stone Soup," a three generation family: grandmother, "Fall always makes me kind of sad." "Why, mom? Does it symbolize the autumn of your life? The fading of youth? the death of everything?" Grandma responds, "The end of fresh tomatoes! How did you get to be so morbid?" I feel her pain, her tomato pain! I will miss my home-grown red orbs of deliciousness.
Growing old is not for the faint hearted. I feel like the woodchuck (marmot) we saw at Lake Tahoe. He didn't care if he saw his shadow, came out anyway, but went back to his hole at leisure not considerate of us who weren't done taking his picture. I poke my head out in the world but soon have to run back in my hidey-hole. Everything I do, I pay for with my shingles nerve pain. I'm usually fine between my Advil doses, but it is not fun on either end waiting for it to kick in. It is very wearing on the old body making me lethargic. I still have hives from the Lyrica, a reaction begun a couple of months ago. "How much wood can a woodchuck chuck?" Not much. The only way to turn back the clock is to go to the hairdressers, when I get enough energy.
Yet, just like the fall of the year is indulgent with beauty, so I want to enjoy the fall of my life, and I do. Perhaps this physical slow down is purposeful to help me take time to be grateful. Life is not mean to be gobbled, but savored. So, in many ways, I am enjoying focusing on the scenery of my life instead of letting it rush by in a blur, even the view from the caboose.