Monthly Archives: October 2021

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The Flowers That Bloom In The Fall

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What can I say about the onset of autumn? What words are there to describe such beauty? How can I make you understand the glorious beauty and the way it makes me feel? Will it help if I confess that for eight weeks from the middle of August to the middle of October I rose each morning with happiness and purpose? That’s a record to be proud of. Will it help your understanding when I say I did not feel that sinking feeling in my chest, that hollow sucking down that makes one wonder about the health of her heart, during that entire eight weeks. In addition, I had no qualms, no anxiety regarding all the music activities and performances in which I was involved. Let me repeat; no debilitating, paralyzing anxiety for two months! If autumn be the fount of long life and happiness; linger on oh many colored leaves and sooth my heartstrings!

What a joyous season this has been! It takes me back, oh so many years, to a heartache fraught time in my early 20s. Yes, relational stress was mine in abundance. Nevertheless, fall came on and with it an ebullience so strong a neighbor remarked, “Wow Cherry, you really bloom in the fall, don’t you?” Affirmative. And now, just a few millimeter marks beyond my mid-sixties, I can say the same. It is truly the autumn of my life. It is the now or never season. Time to complete the bucket list and finish strong. May I bloom like never before. May I revel in the season and embrace the beauty of fall in perpetuity. May the glorious colors, the golds and reds and yellows and orange refresh you as well and may the health and glory of fall linger on and on in memory and add warmth and glow to your winter. And if you are in the autumn of your life? – May it be your best season ever!

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Last Man Standing

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What does it mean to be the last man standing? The last of eleven siblings? The last of one’s generation? The remaining half of a life-long couple? The rootbound patriarch of off-spring who are prone to wander the wilds of this continent and every other and who too seldom wander in for a visit?

To be alone There is no one else beside you. There is no one else like you. No other companion your age. No sibling who shares the same background and growing up experience as you did. No teammate remaining with whom you struggled against and defeated the foe. You are the last man standing.

To be lonely Rare is the person who has not been lonely. Lonely through the death of a spouse; lonely through divorce; lonely due to an empty nest; lonely through leadership and responsibility when the game is over, the workday done. Yet now, you truly are the last man standing.

To be responsible only to yourself and only for yourself; to be the sovereign ruling authority of your own ship. There is no one left to whom you must answer; no one to break your back for, provide for, cherish or die for. To be the last man standing is to continue to make choices that keep up the spirits of the troops – when there is only one troop left.

To be hospitable and invite others into your life. To relate. To joke with those younger than yourself (rare is the person who is older), strangers and servers and physician assistants – no matter how quaint or awkward your mannerisms and colloquialisms. 

To be ethical to persevere even when you feel like throwing in the towel, to find projects for the hands or for the mind to keep you productive when only God knows and nobody else is watching.

To be thankful and keep on taking responsibility for your own happiness by enumerating a lifelong list of blessings.

Because the last man standing – as long as he draws breath – still has a covenant to keep with the Universe.

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Wedding Band

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The bride was beautiful, the groom amiable and attentive. She witnessed the solemn ceremony from a piano bench where she had just played a passel of tunes – some popular, some classic. There were tender moments to bring tears and proud moments for sitting up straighter. There was humor and understanding to bring smiles and laughter. And then, there was a reception. A reception with food and fun and cake and dancing and a live band. This time, she sat on a portable bench at an electronic 88-keys, properly positioned to the left and behind the lead guitarist and two vocalists and within eye-contact and the reach of the drummer and bassist – all seven on a postage stamp the size of an area rug.

The bride was beautiful, surrounded by life-long friends and family and having the time of her life. The groom was gregarious and hospitable. And the band? The band was the best she had ever played with. There were times over the past three weeks of preparation when she felt out of her league. But when the drummer gave the count off and the guests of every generation hit the dance floor, cares of life and inhibition left the courtyard. Life was bliss. Even the servers kept smiling. The venue owner and caterer paused in their hurry to film the band. Her heart was full, sitting there on the collapsible bench. And when it was all over and load-out begun, someone pointed out the band included three generations of the same family. True that! She was indeed a grande dame. Her son the drummer / band leader. Her grandson on synthesizer. Don’t quit on your music! You need it every day of your life. 

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Too Much Frugality

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I swept the floor twice in a row, and then, the backcountry ranger – who is never as burdened by housework as I – swept the floor again when she came in from the wilderness the next day.  The sweepings were the result of too much frugality. Yes. There is such a thing as too much. When I worked with the school district, I was overly careful with the music funds allocated to me. Cautious and over-thinking to the point my principal commented – you are being too frugal. I took the hint and loosened my Scrooge strings. It is an inherited trait I have consciously pushed against my entire life. Yet once again I have become penny-wise and pound foolish.

I love to visit hot springs and take in the healthful benefits of vapor caves and a mineral soak, but it is a luxury not frequently afforded. Instead, I fill the Victorian clawfoot tub with hot water, add Epsom salt and soak away my aches and worries. This requires regular purchase of Epsom salt at the grocery and a justification of filling the tub to a much greater extent than was allowed in my childhood. Hence, I imagine I live in the freedom of reckless decadence from my frugal upbringing.

Yesterday, I filled the tub and as it was filling, I attempted to transfer salts from the economy bulk packaging to the decorated little canning jar in which I keep a few daily doses. I have a tiny water closet with no cabinet space so I was executing this process on the closed lid of the toilet seat. You guessed it, the salts escaped over the side spilling a tablespoon worth of crystals on the toilet lid. What a waste, thought I. Quickly and efficiently I sat the jar on the toilet tank. Brushed the spillage into my hand and —- the open jar came crashing down from the tank bouncing from toilet seat to the floor, cracking the jar and spilling the entire contents.

As previously stated, I swept twice. The backcountry ranger swept this morning. I swept again before writing this. As soon as my neighbors are awake I’ll run the vacuum hose.– I may even have to mop twice in the same week to clean up all that frugality.