Sometimes small experiences open doors to larger issues. This happened to me recently while visiting the children’s playground at Hal Brown Park near my home in Greenbrae.
On this visit I was sitting on a short concrete wall separating a path from plants. About 40 feet away a tiny new walker, dressed in a puffy pink suit, stood, took a step forward, wavered backwards, and sat down with bent knees onto her very well-padded bottom. With her hands forward as if to crawl, she pushed herself upright, and took two more steps, brilliantly negotiated the edge of the concrete path and was now on the sand surrounding play equipment. Three steps on the sand and she found herself unexpectedly facing a concrete climbing structure. Leaning forward, hands on the concrete, she turned, her surprised expression clearly saying, “What is this? What do I do now?” Her mother, whom I thought was occupied fifteen feet away talking to another mother, appeared instantly at her child’s side, scooping her up and calmly returning them both to her interrupted conversation.
Through all this I was smiling inside and out. I love watching children and their parents. Part of my joy is reexperiencing this amazing journey we call life, where one step at a time, we discover who we are and what to do.
Watching this little pink starter-person had me reflect on being at the other end of that line. She is gaining stability; I am losing it. Falling a few inches as a toddler is not like toppling several feet as an octogenarian like me. I wouldn’t bend my knees and plop, and my bottom is not well-padded. Gravity would treat us differently.
These days I walk with my feet slightly apart. I hold the handrail, and certainly don’t spring lightly down stairs. No, I walk like an oldie. And I’m perfectly okay with that. I enjoy being age-appropriate. It’s part of the deal with living so long.
My mother-in-law is 102. All her friends are gone. That is happening to me, and lately it seems to be coming in a rush. Most childhood friends are gone. More recent friends are beginning to drop from age-related issues, particularly memory loss and neurological failures. While I’m not exactly counting the years, I’m fully aware how far I’m sliding down the edge of the life expectancy curve. I am hoping for seven or eight more years in good health.
Each additional year is now a bonus. I love living, and glorying in the unexpectedly superrich life these years bring. I have a loving partner, a beautiful family, friends, good health, volunteer with wonderful organizations, and do fun things such as making a sign and joining a recent No Kings protest and parade.
Every day I thank providence for this quite extraordinary experience we call living. How lucky we are to do that in this paradise of Marin and the Bay Area.
Thank you for reading.
Barry
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