Ripples of time
are moving me
closer, closer
to the edge where
mystery abounds.
Aging
Tag Archives: To age with grace
The Last Lily
In the morning, when
I open the door to see
what delights the day brings,
there you are, pale peach,
peeping up through pink
and yellow coneflowers
swaying in the soft breeze.
You are the last lily of summer,
not as delicate as the
graceful, lacy-edged one
or the one whose sunny
gold warmed my heart
or the one with fire-engine
red petals shouting for attention.
But now, there you are
bidding me farewell as your
leaves and stalk turn brown,
reminding me that beauty is
fleeting and that what lives
must always come to an end.
I would like to have one last
cycle of blooming before
my time is up, and then I will
make way for those who
will grow from my roots
and discover the beauty
that will sustain them
during their own lives.
A March Afternoon
Two octogenarians, on a whim,
decided to cut back two hydrangeas,
he with loppers, she with clippers,
on a sunny day hinting of spring.
Ended up cutting back four hydrangeas,
a crepe myrtle without crepe “murder,”
an assortment of ferns and coral bells.
He stood on a chair but did not fall
and she reveled in crocuses moved
last year, blooming hellebores, and
budding Carolina jasmine climbing
the pergola. Afterwards there were
aches and pains, but souls were fed
by new life pushing through the dirt.
A Walk in the Neighborhood
A vanilla latté, a clean
CT scan, and a walk in
the neighborhood
with Luna at my side
makes my heart soar.
The sweet scent of
honeysuckle, the sight
of lavender, the throaty
whistle of a tufted titmouse,
the piercingly sweet call
of a Carolina wren,
a deer scampering
across the road,
hydrangeas adorned with
purple and white blossoms,
magnolias in full bloom,
and the delicate flowers
of coral bells stretching
heavenward. Orange
lilies screaming for
attention, purple clematis
rising up a mailbox,
the resinous smell of a
blue spruce, and last
of all, my climbing
hydrangea snaking its
way across the pergola
on the deck, blooming
like never before.
Home After Surgery
The feel of my own sheets.
Soft pillows without
a rubbery covering.
Luna curled beside me.
Blessed quiet with no
beeping machines, no
wakeups at 3 a.m. for
chest x-rays, or a roommate
with the TV blaring.
No tangle of tubes and
no more poking and prodding.
A daughter who took over
communication with family
and friends. A son who experienced
the trauma of post-surgery complications
without alarming me. The Betty Brigade
bringing delicious food each day.
A husband who changed
the sheets. Sleep, blessed sleep!
Daughters and granddaughter
changing my bandages with
calmness and professionalism.
Quiet visits from my circle of women.
And the list continues to grow.
Oh, do we ever take for
granted the small blessings
of this life. I thought I was
aware of them but this
“unwelcome visitor” has
seared their importance
into my very being and
I am thankful for that.
(But not for the “unwelcome visitor!”)
Keepers
Note: At a recent meeting of my 70+ (now 80+!) group of women, our assignment was to share “keepers,” in other words moments in our lives, past or present, that brought us joy. Mine are in this poem.
There was the time recently
When Luna and I were on
A visit to the County Jail
And she remembered a
Young man from another
Visit and curled up
Against him, and when he
Moved on to another dog
She went over and licked
His ear as if to say, come
Back to me, we have a
Special bond. And he grinned.
And on that same visit I
Can see the tattooed
Young man rolling on
The floor with a blind
Dog who knew him
By his smell and brought
To him moments of
Pure joy and a memory
Of the outside world.
And then there were
Those hours on a
Sunday afternoon when
We celebrated poetry
And women’s friendships,
A gift from my family
That will never be
Forgotten as I see
Each face and hear
Each voice and immerse
Myself in the memory
Of a perfect gift.
Running Cedar
On this morning’s walk with
Luna, I see the running
cedar scampering through
the woods and stop and
pull up one strand and
then another until my
hands are full, reminding
me of the search for it
and mistletoe so many
years ago. I put it in a tub
of water to soak when
I get home and add some
holly and boxwood, and
thoughts of how to use
them float through my mind.
Now as I lie here I wonder
if I will use them with the
creche or on the mantelpiece
or maybe on the railing.
Will there be enough?
Will I have the energy?
I really don’t know, but you
know what? It’s okay
if I don’t; I just enjoyed
finding and gathering it.
My 80+ Group
(formerly my 70+ group!)
At 80 the body is
more fragile, and
we have organ
recitals when we
gather, but we still
gather. The recent
deaths of siblings
and friends, a small
stroke, and a bout
of vertigo have
made some of us feel
more vulnerable, yet
some are feeling
happier than they
ever have, and
we still gather.
This circle of women
has been through
rough patches and
we are all weathering,
but we still gather.
We have learned
to adapt to changes,
internal and external,
mostly with grace
and appreciation,
(but not always!),
yet we still gather.
Each of us is
searching for a
path to acceptance,
beauty, and joy in
the years that remain,
and as we gather we
reveal and share
what really matters,
learn from each other,
laugh and cry,
and feel the pure
joy that radiates
from being a member
of a circle of women.
Until life’s end,
whether in person
or via zoom, whether
in nursing homes,
retirement communities,
or our own homes,
may we continue to gather.
To Age with Grace
I want to live on wonder’s edge,
to shut out the
jackhammer of
old stories and
fears and blames and everything
that limits me,
feeds my ego,
to be present,
to cast aside old habits, and
in their place,
silence, stillness
to invite grace.
With gratitude to Kathleen Dowling Singh for her presentation on “The Grace in Aging” at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, January 24, 2015
untangling the web 