Pass it on . . . . .

Being Old

I didn’t write this.  It came with my morning mail, probably on Facebook.

It’s one of those things people pass around and no one knows where it originated.  This one, while not attractively presented, is pretty true.  I have had feelings like that.  And the post brought me a smile.

I will read and appreciate something that rings true or something that piques my curiosity, but I don’t like little stories that tell me I’ll have good luck if I pass it on or will have bad luck if I don’t.  I consider such a message bad luck in itself.  And I don’t like emails to tell me to send it on to 10 best friends.  I probably have a lower number of “best friends”.  That’s how they stay best friends.  Sending them messages to send on to their 10 best friends is a good way to put a shadow on our friendship.  People are busy and time is precious.  Just trying to think of who your best friends are is time consuming . . and it involves judging, which I try to avoid.

But if a friend sends me a note that he wrote himself it brightens my day and sometimes it prompts me to send a personal note on to someone else.  Not the one that I received, but a little message in my own words from my own heart.

Even in this age, in this day, we can communicate something real that we experienced, that we thought, that we felt.

Good feelings are passed on . . . automatically.  It’s magic.

Living in Real Time a Long Time . . . . .

Doris on motorcycle

What a weekend.  The kids were all here, with their kids, and their kids’ kids.  I must say, it was a good-looking bunch of people and they were all smart enough to get themselves away from their responsibilities for a few days and return to Nebraska in perfect weather.

We reminisced, watched old home movies, told stories, ate good food and sometimes tipped a wine glass and said good things about each other.

If you will remember, from reading my book Playing Life by Ear, I am in the unique position of being the family matriarch, as was predicted by an excellent psychic back in 1970.  But somehow I never felt like a matriarch until I sat at the head of the table the other night and looked around at those who followed me and had gathered to celebrate my 90th birthday.

30 year periods seem to be memorable.  Turning 30 is an important milestone.  And 60 definitely is recognized as a point of no return.  Turning 90 is a privilege, and one not given to everyone. . . or earned by everyone.  If I were to make it another 30 years I would be famous for quite a while.  Still, in time, people may do this . . . somewhere . . . . .

Of course I am not riding my grandson Jeff’s Harley.  I’m posing on his Harley.

But Saturday night, at the head of the table, I was not posing.  It was real.

 

Meteor Shower . . . . .

meteor

Some years ago I actually saw the meteor shower.

It was well advertised, the date and the likely times of the shower.

We decided, for once in our lives, to make the effort to see this heavenly show.  So we planned it as a party, together with our friends Sharon and Tim. We decided to get extra rest in advance, if necessary, because we needed to be up and out in the night, perhaps for hours.  We put together supplies for a party. . . sandwiches, chips, drinks, and we met at midnight to set out looking for our spot.

Of course it was necessary to get ourselves far from the city lights, and as we drove country roads, in darkness, we felt we were truly headed into adventure.  We chose the top of a hill, parked the car, and stepped out onto the country road, spreading out, each searching the sky.  But nothing was happening except the awesome stillness.  We waited.  And we waited.

At one point we considered going back home.  And then, a streak across the sky.  Soon the streaks were coming down . . here . . there . . way over there.  One after another, with little wait time.  We spread out, each claiming our own spot from which to watch in perhaps the greatest sense of awe I have ever experienced.  “Look over here!”, one would shout, or “look over there.”

Soon we were quiet, each lost in his own adventure, there in the dark on a country road in the middle of the night. . . looking up, moving instinctively in one direction or another for a better view . . and memorizing that view as something we could relive for years to come.

A sandwich was never eaten.  The drinks were not opened.  Our curiosity had been fed from an awesome menu.

The meteor show this year is still on.  Go look if you can.