That was some decade, huh?

What a rapid ten years it has been...Y2K turned out to be OK, and my fear of no money was vanquished by my fear of dying on the job. never heard of a blog in 2000, and now I are one (?). Palm Springs and Sedona and writing groups and neighbors who like my cooking, and, always, Barbara. Film festivals and film societies and Netflix and TCM, and, always, Barbara. Hiking and painting and essays and poetry chapbooks, and, always, Barbara. New friends and old friends and comrades and allies, and, always, Barbara. Macy's and Chico's and Nordstrom's and Saks, and, definitely, Barbara.

What shall we call the next ten years, the teenagers of this century? I hope it is not a repeat of past centuries, with war the dominant thought, with silliness and depression not far behind. Maybe it will be years of the personal. Money and riches and material things haven't worked out too well, so maybe a more intimate and inward approach beckons.

For me, and for my friends of similar ages, it has to be personal, as we learn about aging on a day-to-day basis. It isn't that we resist aging so much - after all, we all have those pesky mirrors in our homes - it's more those daily surprises, a new ache or pain, a new victory for gravity, a new reason to feed the kitty of hypochondria. One thing for sure...we have all lived longer than we have left, and Time Remaining deserves some thought and conversation. Should we be more spiritual? Is there Service to perform? Nothing wrong with happiness and fun, either.

There's a lot I don't know, but one thing I have learned to 100% certainty...friends and family are everything, and communication is even more than everything. When someone enters your mind, don't pause for even a minute, See them, call them, write them, and tell them how your life is better for them having been in it. No time to waste, not a second left to dawdle. Hop to it, it's the Touching Teens!

Eli and Ely and Me

My neighbor's grandson and I are writing a story together, at his direction. It is further down the blog. He just told me I was spelling his name wrong.

Eli and Ely and Me

Eli can read now,
says his name is wrong,
he’s an Elijah.
He’s become seven,
becoming who he’ll be.
Should I argue he is Eli,
Ely the Eel just a fiction?
Should he rule, or
ought I let him lose?
Can we find perfection?
Not that this is really
about communication.
This is Eli becoming Eli.
This is me loving Eli.
This is me loving Ely.
This is me becoming me,
still.

What A Wonderful Day It Has Been III

What a wonderful day it has been.
I sat with Peter, Jayne’s husband,
lunching with Kate, Jayne’s friend,
and Aaron and his Richard, Jayne’s son
and son-in-law.
Jayne was somewhere, painting.
My Barbara, too.
An accidental meeting between us,
way, way, way high up
in a small Tuscan village.
The food looked fabulous.
I wasn’t hungry, so I passed.
I wasn’t thirsty, either,
but I drank their wine.
We talked,
then we walked,
and talked some more,
about nothing, mostly.
Not even about Jayne.
Or Barbara.
We rode down
to our hotel town
in a bright red funicular
and never once thought to
sing Volare.
What a wonderful day it has been.