We are in Ashland, sitting on a bench on the edge of what we fondly call the upper duck pond. This morning after a scrumptious breakfast at the Greenleaf Restaurant, we hiked all the way through the lush winding trails of Lithia Park to the reservoir at the top. We have always wanted to make it to the reservoir and so we have. Funny, how we so often tell ourselves we want to do this or that and then years later we finally do what we say. Lithia is my all time favorite park. It is full of memories of Dan and I attending our friends' wedding in a canopy of trees, of us and smaller Aspen wading in the rock strewn, bubbling creek, climbing the monkey bars, picnicking on the manicured lawns. Maybe we put off climbing to the top because now we want to carve out new pathways for ourselves as a couple or because we never thought with a little daughter to go so far.
How far have we come? It seems like a hop, skip and a jump. We return alone to Ashland yearly for our wedding anniversary. I say alone because I associate Ashland with family and with Aspen's Godparents, Sue and Mark, who once lived here. I miss family and I miss the Godparents. But slowly this is becoming our place, Dan and my place, for culture, for romance, for good food and wine. And for Lithia Park. There used to be swans on the lower duck pond. Swans mate for life and these swans appeared to be a contented couple. I could sit for hours watching them preen, swim and reach their graceful necks towards the sun. They had each other and this always seemed to be enough. Dan and I enter our sixties together and every single day I am in awe and gratitude that I have this precious life mate. There are presently no swans and lore has it that one or the other met a tragic end.
I miss the swans and what I am beginning to realize is that though I loved parenting above all else, I have missed the closeness of Dan. Not that we weren't close as mother and father but our gaze was directed outward at our beloved child and not towards each other. We still stare fondly at our amazing adult daughter, but now we have time to stare back at each other and know we have a fortunate companionship. Where would I be without Dan's humor, our bantering, our serious philosophical revelations, his gourmet cooking? Where would I be without his patience and compassion, for I can be a mental and emotional basket full?
I have this tendency to over think every stage of my living. Thus words and writing are my huge life lines. There is so much to understand, so much to figure out. From early childhood on, I've been a curious, insatiably verbal human being. My dad, his mother and his sister, were the same way. The Kochs love to tell stories and we have this ability to turn anything into a riveting tale. We also have this tendency to veer far off and away from the topic at hand. But to me this is being creative, taking the unexplored side trails which eventually do link up with the main pathway.
My topic lately has been getting older. And for some reason I was feeling older in Ashland. I looked in the mirror and my wrinkles seemed deeper and I was having a bad hair weekend. Then Friday night we decided to attend the Cabaret down the street. Like going to the reservoir, we had talked about attending this musical, mystery performance for years. We sat up in the balcony with a glass of wine before the show. There was this huge crystal chandelier above us and inlaid carved edging all around. The colorful, vaudevillian-like stage threw us back to a bye-gone era. And bye-gone was where we seemed to be. The house was full of silver-haired patrons. I saw one or two young people but that was it. Everyone was eating pre-show fancy steak dinners accompanied by bottles of wine. OK, this makes me feel old, I thought. When I am among all senior citizens then the senior citizen bull's eye hits home. My God, help me! I am one of them!
The mirror and the cabaret got my cozy weekend off to a false start. I was wallowing in pitiful old age remorse and I was swimming in superficial seas. Why couldn't I be beautiful? Why couldn't I look younger? Is this the end? Will everyone see me as just another old lady? My aging vision had everything to do with outward appearance and very little to do with my authentic inner self. I realize most American media points to youth and beauty. But do I need to be swayed by most media? It has been and still is difficult to grow up female. We aren't suppose to show gray. We aren't suppose to show wrinkles. If we prefer to gracefully and naturally grow old, we are taken out of the main stream and put into the back room. But here I was sitting in a room full of gray and everyone was laughing and no one cared what anyone looked like.
Dan and I are sitting on a bench on the edge of the upper duck pond. It is Sunday morning after our hike up to the reservoir. I am scanning the pond, intently watching the mating ducks, the turtles sunning themselves on the boulder, the varied waving-in-the wind species of trees. Then I notice across the waters one lone, tall and skinny, nearly branchless pine tree. This tree is leaning like an acute angle over the pond. I must write about this tree, I thought. “Won't they cut that tree before it falls?” I ask Dan. “It will be OK,” says Dan, “I'm sure they regularly check the trees.” The wind blows and I watch the tree sway. It may be an older tree, I reflect, but it continues to enjoy the breeze and the birds resting on its few remaining limbs.
I want to be able to lean and to be fully living. It has taken me the weekend, but the mirror does not tell the whole story. The young Vicki and the older Vicki look out through my sparkly, deep blue eyes. Why can't I learn to lean into rather than away from my growing older? I am who I am despite my years. Why do I worry so? I feel enormous gratitude for my health and my vigorous energy and I want to continue to feel gratitude for the gift of each day I am given. I am not ready to be cut down. Like this beautiful leaning tree there's strength and purpose remaining.
(c) 2011
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