By: Connie Travelling – A boomer, sometimes a lady, Connie Jamieson enjoys travel, outdoor recreation, family times – and grandchildren.
I want to freeze this time of my life, remember this day. Because I know that there will come a time, some moment in the future, that everything will have changed. I will reflect, look back in sorrow, in anguish perhaps, and remember the day I wrote these words. Knowing that life was good and that I knew it was good. And knowing then what minute it was when everything changed, and what that change was.
Right now, my friends, my siblings and I have our health, our mates, and most of our friends. Although we have lost some important people along the way. Gail at fifty. Jean at sixty-two. Judi at fifty-eight. Michele at sixty-five.
But right now, life is smooth. And I never thought I’d describe my life as such; there have been some horrendous months and years along the way. Perhaps given to me so that I could experience the joy of easy life right now.
My hubby is retired, 67 this June, an age he never thought he’d attain – and still worries about the heart problems that plagued his father’s family and have sent both his brothers to successful surgery in their fifties.
I’m doing well. Finished with the aggressive part of my career path, I’ve chosen to work part time and have set firm guidelines to respect my time and talents. I enjoy the work, then leave it all behind when 4:30 pm rolls around. I just pack up and leave, treat myself to a Timmy’s tea and listen to new country music on my short commute home.
We see our granddaughters every couple of weeks and they’re a delight. We Skype to see our west coast grandson, also a little peach. Both sons married great women and they are all happy, contributing members of society. Family and friends drop by for celebrations of the ordinary special times. Life doesn’t get any better.
So, I know this time is precious. Because experience has taught me that there will come a time of change. Great losses, significant losses. Too many if one lives long enough.
That’s why I’ve always said “eighty and out.” Eight decades is quite enough, too many for some. More than many are given. Fewer than many want, or need, to do it all. But I’ve seen so many times that those over eighty start the decade vigorous and end it weak and dependent. Not for me the indignities of staying too long in this place. By eighty I want to be used up, burned out not rusted or wasted. And content to move along, although naturally missing those who remain.
And if eighty is my exit line, then I have eighteen summers left. Seventeen springs. And seventeen autumns, seventeen winters. The countdown has begun, and it spurs me to action, to review my list of things to do before I’m eighty. Things to do this year, this week. And not a moment to lose … tomorrow.
For now, I want to hold onto this feeling of abundance, this feeling of gratitude, this feeling that everything is as it should be. This Camelot time of life.