Two Lovers and a Glass of Wine

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“Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.” 

― William Butler Yeats

As I arrived at my book club meeting, I was met by the evening’s hostess. “Welcome,” smiled Tina. “Would you like a glass of wine? I have Pino, Chardonnay, or a nice Cab.”

When it comes to wine, all the women in my group know much more about it than I do. I know I really enjoy Baco Noir, Malbec, and the occasional glass of chilled Riesling, but the rest are a mystery to me. They might be beautiful in the glass and pleasurable on the tongue, but I’ll admit…I really don’t know one from the other. Many years ago, on a trip to France, my husband, Dave, and I attended a delightfully instructional wine tasting in a local wine cellar. It was fun, but even that didn’t improve my understanding of wine. I remember that the aroma, color, and the way it swirls in the glass are supposed to all add to the enjoyment, but in all honesty, I’m not sure why or how. On the other hand, when the discussion led to the philosophy of terroir, I understood and could easily relate.

Terroir is a French word that translates as land. As I understand it, the soil and environment affect the grape’s development, taste, and quality which are ultimately reflected in the wine. The same grape grown on one hillside may taste entirely different from one produced on an adjacent field.

Grapes Grown for Williamsburg Winery
Virginia 2011

I realize that terroir in this context refers to grapes and perhaps other crops as well, but I think it also may apply to people. Where we are born, raised, and eventually settle affects what we believe and how we behave. It shapes who we are and who we come to be.

Last Fall, I heard an original poem read by a woman who lives part of the year in New England and the other in Florida. Through her writing, she acknowledged that her friends in either place really only know a part of who she really is. Without an understanding of the ethos of New England, those in Florida would only ever know one side of her. Conversely, those in New England could never comprehend the Florida part. Dave and I were born in the midwest…Michigan, to be precise…but we spent most of our married life together in Vermont, so unless our friends had similar backgrounds, they never truly knew us.

A man can be in two different places and he will be two different men. Maybe if you think of more places he will be more men, but two is enough for now. –

Elmore Leonard

As Dave’s mobility decreased, we discussed downsizing from our 1810, four-bedroom house to something more manageable. Once when I asked him what he would do if I died and he was alone…as we age, we think of such things… he responded, “I’d move back to Michigan.” So, when he died, and I was alone and unable to find a suitable place to relocate in Vermont, I sold our big house and moved to a small condo in Michigan near my sisters and within an hour’s drive of women with whom I’ve had decades-long friendships.

Within months of my move, we entered the time of Covid. In the blink of an eye, the world changed for everyone. The life I had anticipated was impossible. Most of my connections with family and friends were virtual. I was living…as were most people…through my computer screen. Church services, family gatherings, chats with my grandchildren, and monthly book club meetings were conducted on Zoom or Facetime. My groceries were delivered outside my door, and I relied on UPS and the US postal system more than I’d like to admit. I enjoyed my little condo with its cozy fireplace, and I spent a good deal of time alone on my deck with the birds and squirrels for company. I walked the city parks and binge-watched several British and Canadian television series. Weekly small group meetings with other solo women and our minister also kept me going. It was a comfortable…yet very lonely…way to weather the storm. When we could meet outside…at a distance of six feet or inside with masks and excellent ventilation…I was able to see my sisters and friends, but we were never close enough to hug…or even touch. It was a strange time but not unique to me. The entire world had been locked down.

My Little Deck and Container Garden
Summer 2021

Each of us has our own pandemic story. Being isolated and alone kept me safe from the virus, but my life was often framed by loneliness. However, my friend, Suzanne, says that adults are responsible for their own good time, and even amid the restrictions of the Covid time, I was able to make memories, share laughter, and enjoy the blessing of time with those I love. However, I slowly realized that I was becoming collateral damage to the pandemic. I have never been able to put down roots or make genuine relationships within the new community in which I found myself.

The plains of central Michigan have their own kind of beauty: the red barns, green fields, and expansive sky; nevertheless, I longed for Vermont’s mountains, streams, and cedar scented air. Although there are many people I love…deeply love…in Michigan, my heart and soul…not to mention my children and grandchildren…are in Vermont. I had to return.

I listed my beloved condo with a realtor in mid-April, and surprisingly…to me anyway… it sold within a week. So I am putting the accumulation of my life in storage and packing my clothes, sundries, computer, and the book I haven’t finished in Andy…my Mini Cooper…and trekking back to all I love in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I’m moving forward in the faith that I’ll be able to find a place to eventually unpack, settle, and successfully revive and nurture the roots that have lain dormant during my time away.

As I wrap my breakables carefully in newsprint, I often have two songs from decades ago playing alternately on a loop in my head. The chorus of the Mary Wells Motown hit…Two Lovers...is regularly on repeat. “Well, I’ve got two lovers, and I ain’t ashamed. I’ve got two lovers, and I love them both the same.” But, perhaps the 70s Pop/Soft Rock recording by Mary MacGregor, Torn Between Two Lovers with its sensitive lyrics and haunting melody, is closer to expressing the ache of having two intense and conflicting loves. When I exchange place for man in the song, it comes close to articulating my feelings.

Torn between two lovers, feeling like a fool
Loving you both is breaking all the rules
You mustn't think you failed me just because there's someone else
You were the first real love I ever had
And all the things I ever said
I swear they still are true
For no one else can have the part of me I gave to you

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy, for I will always be drawn to one place while at the same time missing the other. The people of Vermont and Michigan each possess their own unique terroir, and I have drunk deeply from the rich, sweet wine of both. But, I suppose, in the end, all I can really do is linger over the exquisite glass before me…enjoying the aroma, the color, and the way it swirls in the glass…knowing that I’m not limited to one bottle and can always return and fill my goblet once again from the other.

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.’

Mirium Adeney

Flowing Like a River

“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” 

Henry Van Dyke

Last December, I received two gorgeous calendars as Christmas gifts. I’m sure that each was chosen primarily for the stunningly beautiful artwork as well as for their practicality and function. I generally use the calendar on my laptop or my phone, but holding a paper calendar is an experience not equaled by a glowing screen. For in addition to the colorful prints and the monthly grid of empty squares, you literally hold in your hands the promise and potentiality of another trip around the sun…three hundred sixty-five days of possibilities. A pretty wonderful gift, I’d say. I am confident that fewer calendars are ahead of me than behind me, so I think a lot about how I’ll fill those empty squares.

The February page reminds me that my mom’s birthday is fast approaching. One of my childhood friends shared her birthdate with my mom. “Gee,” Fran exclaimed on one of those birthdays years ago. “We’re getting old. I mean, we’re pushing thirty!” That year, my mother was precisely twice her age. Mom was forty-two years, and Fran…and I… were merely twenty-one. With Fran’s mathematical logic, I suppose we are both pushing eighty this year! How quickly a lifetime has passed.

Time, flowing like a river.
Time, beckoning me.
Who knows when we shall meet again, if ever.
But time keeps flowing like a river into the sea.
-Alan Parson’s Project, Time
Flowing Like a River
Near Pitlochry, Scotland 2021

For more than two years, our lives have been ruled in one way or another by Covid-19. While the memories of the terrible isolation and loneliness I experienced during the lock-down and waiting for the vaccine are fading, I’m still wearing a mask in public and avoiding being too close to others. I also weigh the risks and benefits of activities I once took for granted. Now, for example, I consider whether the hoops of fire through which I must jump are worth the reward of travel…one of my favorite activities. Like everyone, I have a finite number of trips and adventures left on my calendar, but not knowing how many pages are left increases my desire to fill each square with meaning. At times I have wanted to whine and cry about what Covid has stolen from me, but as I grieve my losses, I know that the entire planet is filled with people who have sacrificed so much more than I. Of course, I empathize with their loss, but that doesn’t negate mine. It’s painful.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.”So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” 

― J.R.R.TOLKIEN, THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING
River Dochart Just Beyond the Falls
Killin, Scotland 2021

I’ve been searching for the word that best describes my Covid experience…two opposing ideas that both are seemingly true. I’m not sure if ‘paradox‘ is that word, but it comes close. Covid was and remains a callous, nondiscriminating thief of time. The list of treasures stolen is long, universal, and personal. (Universally personal…an ‘oxymoron.’ That one I know.) Graduations, weddings, even funerals became solitary events, if they occurred at all. Trips, plays, ball games, and family gatherings were put on hold or canceled outright. Connections with friends…old and new…even worship services were relegated to Zoom or Facetime. The precious time that we lost can never be regained.

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
-Jim Croce, Time in a Bottle

Yes, Covid was a robber that took that which was most precious…bits and pieces of our lives. On the other hand…this marauder left behind unexpected blessings. The virus grabbed cherished time with one hand and bestowed the gift of time with the other. Paradox?

We had quiet time to think, read, write, and simply rest in isolation. Without other obligations and distractions, family Zoom gatherings became a weekly highlight enabling us to empathize, support, laugh, and connect from across the country. With worship services on Zoom, Facebook, or Youtube, we could attend when and wherever we chose. On the second Easter of Covid, I attended a United Methodist service in South Carolina, my local Unitarian Universalist Fellowship gathering in Michigan, the service in Montpelier, Vermont, and at the UU Meeting House in Provincetown. Later in the day, when a friend on Facebook suggested I check out the message from her church in Pennsylvania, I fast-forwarded to the sermon. I’m not especially religious, but…I had the time and absolutely nothing else on my calendar. The gift of time… enjoyed with a handful of jelly beans.

Sylvan Solace on the Chippewa River
Fall 2021
"Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' Into the future"
-Steve Miller Band Fly Like an Eagle

As the Covid situation morphs yet again into what seems like a more manageable and less devastating phase, I…like many, many others, am beginning to think about how I can add plans to those calendar pages. I’ve purchased airline tickets, booked a Christmas river cruise, selected plays I’m hoping to see, and registered for the Arts Retreat on Star Island. Will all of those adventures come to fruition? Who knows, but I’m moving forward in faith that they will.

“Do not wait: the time will never be ‘just right’. Start where you stand, and work whatever tools you may have at your command and better tools will be found as you go along.”

― Napoleon Hill
Mill Pond Park, Mt Pleasant, MI
August 2021

I remember one of my teachers trying to explain the concept of time and our perception of it. “A minute with your sweetheart goes by in a flash, while a minute on a hot stove is unbearable.” It feels as though time is picking up the pace while I’m slowing down.

The clock is ticking, and I’m crossing off boxes on my calendars at an alarming rate. With each passing day, I am reminded that this is my time…our time. In the words of Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, “Get busy living or get busy dying.” So, I’m taking out my pen, grabbing a calendar, filling the squares with plans, and riding with the current to the sea.

Down The Rabbit Hole

“The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Right This Way to Adventure

One snowy Saturday in mid-March, I found myself quite unexpectedly falling headfirst into the gaping entrance of a rabbit hole, tumbling down toward completely unknown territory. Try as I might, it was impossible to stop or even slow my descent as I continued to gain momentum through the dark twisting tunnel. Like Alice, I had been caught off guard.  It happened so quickly that I had no other choice but to continue my free-fall and hope for a gentle landing when I reached the bottom. Once I entered that rabbit hole there was no way of knowing how deep the tunnel was or whether I’d know if I had reached the bottom or was merely resting on an outcropping before once again resuming my fall.

During these COVID-times, we’re all traveling through one rabbit hole or another.  Life, as we knew it a year ago, is not the life we are living now.  I suppose that’s always the case though.  For thousands of years, we’ve known what the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus pointed out,  “The only constant in life is change.”  We expect change, but we have also been led to believe…mistakenly perhaps…that change comes in some logical or linear progression.  We may not welcome the changes, but at least they can be understood or explained. Cause and effect…that sort of thing.

The surreal world where up isn’t just down but sideways might make for interesting art and theatre, but no one wants to actually live there.  Lots of folks stand in line at Cedar Point to buy a ticket to ride the Corkscrew, but they eventually want the ride to end so they can move on to the snack stand. Falling through the tunnel of the rabbit hole is an adventure to be sure but unless, perhaps, you’re a rabbit you ultimately want to leave it and live amongst humans once again.

Alice didn’t want to fall into the rabbit hole either, but while she was there she explored the wonders of the world in which she found herself and tried to make some meaning of it all.  I’ve been trying to do that too. Recognizing that COVID is not my life on hold, but rather my life as it is, helps a bit as I try to navigate this world of butterflies, hookahs, and cats that wander through Zoom calls.

“Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake.”

Sir Francis Bacon

The strangest thing about my life in the rabbit hole is the total distortion of my concept of time.  When I was a girl, the JC Penney catalog arrived every year with a special holiday wish-book edition. I was always intrigued by the section of frilly nightgowns and fancy underwear.  I was especially fascinated by the day-of-the-week panties.  Each pair was a different pastel color complete with a different day embroidered within a lacey heart.  I always kinda wanted them instead of the utilitarian white ones worn in my family, but not enough to bump something more desirable off my Christmas list. I could certainly use a set of those panties now.  Wouldn’t it be nice to know what day it was in the morning?  As it is,  I’m marking the days with my pill container.  Each evening when I take my bedtime pills and supplements, I say to myself, “Oh, today was Tuesday…or Wednesday, or Thursday…whatever. Hmmm.  Nice to know. “  

Time Keeps on Slippin’, Slippin’, Slippin’ Into the Future.

I don’t think I’m alone in this confusion.  One of the local television stations has a brief moment each day where they display a graphic asking, “Do you know what day it is?”  There is a pause of a few seconds and then another graphic reveals the day.  Not the date mind you, just the appropriate day of the week.  The entire process concludes with a final graphic declaring congratulations for all those who guessed it correctly.  I don’t tune in every day and I’m really not much of a game player but there is a great deal of satisfaction when I’m among the winners.

This time distortion phenomenon might be unique to senior citizens or those who have been self-isolating for months on end. Without the clear delineation of work or school, the days blend together into a vanilla pudding kind of sameness.  In the summer when we could safely gather outside there were markers that made one day different from another, but once those of us in the colder climes moved indoors those markers became fewer and farther between. We were no longer sitting together at the picnic table with friends and family under the big tree in the backyard or gathering around the fire pit for conversation at the edge of the river. For safety’s sake, our winter-time human connections are nearly all virtual.

`Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English)

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Seemingly overnight the rabbit hole experience transformed all the meaningful events of our lives into virtual events. In an instant, we accepted that interactions with our grandchildren would be done over FaceTime, that we’d reach out to friends for support on social media, and that gatherings of all kinds would be done over Zoom. I attend Sunday morning church services…often in three different states on the same morning…via YouTube and Zoom. Moving important lifetime affairs to virtual platforms was met with varying degrees of success. Our weekly family gatherings and reunions, for example often evolved into seances.

Can you hear me?

Are you there?

I can’t see you, but I hear your voice.

Oh, we’re lost her again!

Maybe she’ll be back.

I have come to realize that virtual life is real life. We are not together physically, but the time we spend together is real. The sand in the hourglass of my life has not ceased to flow. I am just experiencing life in an unfamiliar and unconventional way. It truly is getting curiouser and curiouser.

“Don’t slide down the rabbit hole. The way down is a breeze, but climbing back’s a battle.”

Kate Morrison, The Clock Maker’s Daughter

Perhaps I have reached the end of the downward slide. I feel that like Alice, I am emerging into Wonderland. Not the world that Alice found full of unique people and places…although that’s surely possible…but a place where I am pondering, questioning, predicting, planning, and…yes…wondering about not just how I’ll extricate myself from this time warp, but what I’ll find on the other side. What happens when I climb out of this tunnel?

It’s very easy to cocoon myself in front of the fire, watch the world from my window, and simply wait for the time I can fling open my door and once more hug my neighbors, but I must find a way to create meaning, purpose, and make this disorienting tumble through the mud worth it. Perhaps that is the challenge of now. What an unusual, unique, and disorienting journey…this ride…this time…has been. Rabbit hole or not, it is the time I have been given…might as well enjoy the slide.

Lately it occurres to me What a long, strange trip it’s been.

The Grateful Dead, Truckin’

Long I Stood

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could…”

Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
The Sound of Yellow Aspen
Santa Fe, NM October 2015

“You know, when it comes to poems meant to inspire us, I think The Road Not Taken is one of the most over used,” she told me. And yet, once again, I find myself drawn to it. Not for the last stanza where attention is usually focused. “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” No, I find myself stuck on the phrase “long I stood.” Most often we focus on the outcome not the process. The traveler stands at the crossroads deliberating for what they think is a long time before eventually lifting their foot off the ground and taking that first step.

For over forty years I stood in that yellow woods with another traveler. I seldom made grand decisions on my own. I was the one who would point out the differences, the possibilities, and the pitfalls of each decision. Dave would often listen without indicating that he was actually hearing what I was saying and then suddenly declare with confidence and finality which direction our path would take. Occasionally, I’d feel rather annoyed. Why did he get to have the ultimate say? At times I was really irked at him for getting the last word and at myself for ceding that power to him. I’d attribute it to the male/female thing, but in actuality it was the difference in our personalities and how we saw the world of choices and decision making. His world was black and white while mine was a blaze of color, glitter, and flashing lights. Together we found a satisfying balance as we chose our path beneath the banner of golden leaves.

Hidden Valley
Rocky Mountain National Park, September 2018

With his death I find that my life in many ways is off-kilter, off balance, and out of focus. Making decisions is one of the many ways this manifests itself. I keep exploring all the options, weighing the pros and cons, and considering all the angles, but there is no longer anyone there to announce that the deliberations are ended and a choice had been made. I miss Dave’s decisiveness. I feel myself on a constantly repeating loop like driving on a roundabout without ever finding the exit. I know it’s there and when I find it I’ll be able to move forward, hopefully in the right direction, but in the meantime, it’s nerve wracking and exhausting.

Frankly, I’m getting quite tired of standing at that tedious crossroads among those yellow trees. I’m also tired of the mosquitos, black flies, and thoughts that keep buzzing around my head with their constant drone of what if, what if, what if. As lovely as the woods are, I am beginning to yearn for a wider vista. Any day now…I’m going to brush the mud off my Keens, tighten the laces and…actually move.

“Did you ever have to make up your mind? And pick up on one and leave the other behind? It’s not often easy and not often kind. Did you ever have to make up your mind? Did you ever have to finally decide?And say yes to one and let the other one ride?There’s so many changes and tears you must hide. Did you ever have to finally decide?

The Lovin’ Spoonful, Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?https://youtu.be/CV9DMgVF-Nk

I’ll go left. I always go left. Decision made. Then the second guessing sets in. Oh Bummer! I want to join Jean-Luc Picard and “seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before!” Then I think of the traffic, remember that I get motion sickness and begin to doubt whether or not I can read the map.

“You know the greatest danger facing us is ourselves, and irrational fear of the unknown. There is no such thing as the unknown. Only things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood.” 

Captain, James T. Kirk, Starship USS Enterprise, The Corbomite Maneuver
View From the Porch

It’s puzzling to me that making decisions has become so difficult. Life itself is merely a continuous chain of decisions, but maybe some of my trepidation is recognizing that being a solo decision maker there is no one but myself to blame if I mess up.

People tell me to listen for Dave’s voice when making decisions. Unlike me, Dave didn’t generally share his opinions when he was alive, so I’m not expecting to hear his voice from the beyond anytime soon. I gradually learned over the years that he made decisions for all kinds of reasons. If you ever played cards with him you know exactly what I mean. Some of his decisions were well thought out, some were just based on a gut feeling and others were just made to shake things up, provide a laugh, or…well usually to provide a laugh. His decisions met with varying degrees of success. Perhaps that’s the message he’s sending. That it’s OK if I choose poorly, if I make a mistake, or if I should have painted the kitchen Wild Oat instead of Jewitt White. It’s all good and quoting a friend, “It’s probably not a pivotal moment in history.”

It’s true that “way leads on to way”. Any savvy shopper knows that if you find a pair of jeans that fits, buy them immediately. But Robert Frost lived in another time and was never privy to the dulcet tones of a disembodied voice instructing…”When possible make a safe and authorized u-turn.” It is possible to go around the block, dig yourself out of a hole, or simply choose again. The Merlot not so good? Next time select a Riesling.

Learning to make decisions on my own is difficult and it’s going to take some time, but I know with each choice I make I’ll grow more confident, positive, and comfortable. So, just for the practice…and since it’s chilled and open…I will choose the Riesling.

Pay Attention. Hurry Up. Slow Down.

No use thinking of the past for its gone, don’t think of the future because it has to come, think of the present because thats where you are. 

Kazi Shams
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
Edited

The recipe called for one half cup of butter, softened. My butter was rock hard, but it was a warm day and the sun would speed this process along, so I put a stick of butter on the railing of the deck. I returned to the recipe and began to chop the nuts and maraschino cherries. I measured out the coconut, chocolate chips and mandarin oranges setting them all aside ready to be added in turn to the mixture. Finally, in another bowl I added the flour, salt, and, oh dear, I was out of baking powder. It would only take me a minute to run to the neighborhood store to buy a new container, so I slipped out of my wear-these-only-around-the-house clothes, washed my hair because it was sticking up all over the place, and headed off to Quality Market. But wait, if I was going out, I might as well take the mail down to the mailbox. I had several items in envelopes ready to go, but one needed to be printed. I got my laptop and opened it to the letter. The printer hasn’t been working properly for awhile, so it was necessary to hand-feed each sheet of paper into the machine. I’m getting rather skilled at this task and it was quickly accomplished. One of the letters needed special attention, so instead of the mailbox I’d stop at the post office on my way to the grocery store. Arriving at the post office I waited as two cars cleared the parking lot, leaving the space closest to the door available. I smiled as I went inside and discovered that there was no one inline ahead of me. How lucky. I ordered my stamps and requested that the last letter be sent via certified mail. I needed to fill out the label which would be affixed to the envelope. As I completed the questions on the attachment another woman approached the counter. She was hard-of-hearing which slowed the exchange somewhat, but the clerk was patient with her and realizing that she was obviously hungry for conversation listened to her tales and added one of her own. I was happy to wait and was moved by the kindness and caring of the clerk. I’m a fan of the postal service. I reached the store without complication and was in and out in no time. I returned home to find the ingredients still on the counter waiting for me. I’d get back to making the bread in a minute, but first I’d hang the sheets on the line. Carrying the wet fabric to the porch I was just about to rest the sheets on the deck rail only to remember…THE BUTTER. It was definitely softened.

Funny How the Package Kept It’s Shape Even Thought the Butter Didn’t
July 2019

I always thought I was fairly good at multitasking. As a mother and elementary school teacher it was a necessary skill, but it’s not one that I have maintained. Maybe no one is ever really good at it. Multitasking is such a misnomer, an illusion. It is impossible to focus on even two projects at once. In actuality we split our attention between them not giving our full consideration or effort to either.

How often have I walked into a room only to discover that I have no clue what prompted me to go there in the first place? I can lose my focus from one room to the next! Who knew that walking and remembering would be taking multi-tasking to the outer limits of my ability? The older I get the less often I’m able to hold two ideas in my head at the same time. My brain is slowing down like an old computer that needs to be taken to the Apple Store and swept for duplicate, unnecessary, and obsolete files. After all, do I really need to have the procedure for threading a reel to reel projector or the lyrics to The Monster Mash still taking up memory.

I’ve also begun to realize that there are two competing and mutually exclusive philosophies at work in my life these days.

Speed up! The clock is ticking!

“Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.” 

Haruki Murakami, Dance, Dance, Dance

Slow down. Smell the flowers.

“Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going to fast – you also miss the sense of where you are going and why.”   

Eddie Cantor

At this end of life, and especially since Dave died, people are constantly telling me to do what I want to do. “This is your time,” they say. But what do I want to do? Yes, the road is wide open and while I hope the end is far off in the distance I know it’s out there and I’m not sure how long the tread is going to last on my tires. Do I hurry and fit in as much as I can or do I relax and simply be? Do I move along the coast collecting lighthouses or do I sit quietly in the sand and contemplate the way the waves lap the shore? I’m still searching for the answer.

Lighthouses on Prince Edward Island, August 2018
Lido Beach, Sarasota, Florida 2016

Back to the melted butter. Do you suppose it was the result of the overstuffed files with their loose bits of minutiae scattered across my hippocampus or was it the result of simultaneously trying to bake, do the laundry, and sing along with the cast of Hamilton? It was probably a combination of the two if the truth be told.

I can still hear my mother’s voice admonishing me to “Pay attention. Watch what you’re doing.” It used to be about spilling my milk, but now I think she’s telling me that whatever speed I choose going forward and whether I’m off bagging lighthouses or getting sun on my face and sand in my undies I should be present wherever I am. “Keep adventuring,” I hear her say, “but remember to stop the car at the scenic overlooks, get out, and stand in awe at the wonder of life.”

Hurry up, slow down, and… by all means pay attention to the butter.