Dad would be proud of me, perhaps. As he looks down through the skylight he would see me typing in the nook I have created in his kitchen where he faced the TV on the counter, his back toward the window. My back is to the counter now. I have replaced the old foggy paned windows with a picture window by Anderson, that brings the outside in. I see the curvy old cottonwoods still carrying last years leaves. A pond about six yards from my window captures the reflections of the trees as ducks slide along. It is March 3. Spring.
I used to share moments like this with my father and my husband. Then I didn’t realize how precious they were…the moments and the men. It seemed like I always wanted to be on the go, somewhere else…the Grand Canyon, Santa Fe, some great new restaurant for dinner, restless me.
Today I registered for classes at the senior center. One was a hiking class of difficult ability. How difficult can it be if you must be over 55 to participate? I looked at others in the room and couldn’t imagine many of them doing a five mile up hill climb. But when I finally got to the registration table, the class was filled. I am an alternate. The gentleman in charge said that several would cancel because their families may come in town, or someone might get cancer or something.
I don’t want to dread getting old. I dread getting old in spirit and in heart; the body is inevitable, and so sometimes the mind. My husband was in the mid stages of Alzheimer’s when he passed last May of stroke. He was a good kind man whose patience and example lead me to the Lord. I hope to follow him, but not yet!!!!