Photo Credit: Kim Smith 10/18/2023
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Granny-pants here with a morsel of advice which I hope will prove timely for someone:
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER QUIT
[CAVEAT: If you’re in an untenable situation portending life and death choices, quitting while you’re ahead might be the way to go, provided that’s an option.]
Life in its forever-imperfect reality is hard for perfectionists. Some refuse to give in, and we see it on their faces year by year. My own surrender to the facts began when I started caregiving for six older family members. That went on for twelve imperfect years while my careful systems, meticulous housekeeping, and formerly boundless energy took a long break by default. Ever notice how the little things consume an inordinate amount of space when left to their own devices? They breed in darkness while the details gradually become lost to posterity.
After all my baby chicks took their leave, one by one, along with my husband’s shocking death, a paralyzing ennui kept me from resuming my house-afire persona and whipping things into shape, so I left more to deal with than I knew, mostly because it was all semi-neatly organized and stowed somewhere out of sight. Then I moved after 35 years in one place and took the bulk of those worldly goods with me because I was too tired to deal with it. Soon after that, Kim showed up to help (with everything, as it turned out) and we filtered things massively. Ten years later the two of us moved again and discovered that the filter had sprung a leak, so we sold stuff online, gave it away, and brought some with us. Again.
At that juncture my damaged back declared war and I became its humble appeaser for the NEXT ten years. Those boxes we were going to sort as soon as we got here… suffice it to say, we didn’t. Neither did they grow legs and walk away. A lot of time can get away from us while we’re busy staying alive. But 2023 is the year the stalemate is getting broken because Mama has a list and is now armed with the energy and stamina to rid our psyches of the remaining detritus. It’s time to notice all the details again and to sweep away the cobwebs. Excess baggage is exhausting, and it’s counterproductive to achieving goals. I mean, nothing ever reached hoarder proportions, or even the dreaded “clutter” stage, but the lack of focus on my part drained vital resources, so the time has finally come.
Seventy-six is hitting different than 75 did in key ways. The number carries an extra edge of unhurried urgency, a sense of “if not now, when?” I mentioned goals up there and I do still have a few, so I need a clear head and heart for the years remaining, and I feel a little lighter with each long-suffering task I check off my list. If you don’t live inside your head like I do… well, first of all, lucky you… maybe it’s easier to take it all as it comes, one thing at a time. I’ll likely never know.
Making a list, checking it repeatedly, boldly going in, forging a path, and now I remember what this felt like. Most things other than pain happen in the mind, so if life is eating your lunch you can decide to rob it of its power by what you focus on. And once that’s a done deal in your head you become the beneficiary of that power, which feels amazing. It feels like MORE. I prefer not stopping until a job is done, so it’s a nice surprise to be all productive again. Who knew?
In theory, it would be darling to go out the way Mother Teresa did, leaving only a spoon, one extra all-purpose housedress, and in her case a Bible, in mine an incomprehensible journal. Disclaimer to my son: The eventual purge will not likely resemble that scenario, just know I tried.
So today Granny sez: Don’t give up. As long as there’s life there’s hope. As long as there’s hope there’s purpose. Keep living ’til you die. Amen and rock on.
Playing for Time 
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