The years they come and the years they go, with the ticking of each second of time persistent.
Time seems to travel a little faster as one gets older. It seems like only yesterday that I quipped that even on a clear day I would not see any of my 70s again. Such being so, the fact remains that by the time this issue is dropped off at your address, I will have completed the downside of 80. The age of 81 will be coming on deck.
When one passes the biblical allocation of three score years and ten by a full decade, it leaves one wondering, perhaps, on whose time is one living?
Has one been allotted the time that someone else has been cut short of? I suppose that is a tangle of thought that equations cannot answer. But then again, I have heard it said that only the good die young. That leaves me wondering what wrong have I committed that allows me to borrow this extension of time.
Birthdays are something that all of us seem to be addicted to. Is it not true that we, each and every one of us, whether noted or not, have a birthday each and every year? I can remember when my father turned 50. I was in my early teens and could not understand how anyone could live so long, and he lived well into his 91st year.
With the passing of time, one accumulates quite a pile of memories. The side roads of life are sometimes bumpy, twisting both left and right, as well as up and down. Would life have been different if one chose the other fork, of many, in the road?
Devastating occurrences are not always strangers. The Little Lady and I were twice times made aware of that. Each one has his or her own row to hoe, and yet, hard as it may seem at the time, good times and memories more often than not outweigh the bad times.
I have been more fortunate than most. Although my Little Lady, the love of my life, has been gone more than six years, it just doesn’t seem that long. Memories linger strongly with me.
This, coupled with the fact that I now live with my son and his family, makes life in the least not lonely. Doors slam, drums beat and guitars strum, loud and clear, once again in the basement. Welders flash, and wrenches clank in the workshop, while specifically tuned mufflers putter in and out of our driveways.
I grew up on a farm and have returned full circle to country life. My love of nature has not diminished. Animals and birds still fascinate me. I have had no reason to curb this. Working with and watching them leaves me learning still. As a matter of fact, I am living a life of deprivation. I am being deprived of any and everything to complain about.
More to the point, I have many friends; some of them, total strangers, pop in to see me. Miles and the price of gas seem not a deterrent. Though my teeth are false, I still have my hair, once red, becoming “Arctic blond.”
My signature visor still slouches in comfort on my forehead, shading my 20/20 bifocal vision. My white goatee and moustache are not yet shaved off, and my hearing is reasonably good.
As a matter of fact, I heard through the grapevine, just prior to deadline, that some longtime friends of the Little Lady and I have arranged a surprise 80th birthday party for me to be held at the Fergus Legion on Nov. 9 from 1 to 5pm.
Now don’t you go telling anyone – it’s a secret. Just show up. It would please me greatly if I could greet each and every one of my readers there. Please, no gifts!
Take care, ’cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105