The swiftness at which change sweeps into my life these days still surprises me. I have observed that the older I get the greater is my ability to take things in stride. What might have seemed to be a major drama in my thirties becomes a matter of course as I approach sixty.
Loss may mound as I age, but I am always grateful when I remember to see the gifts inherent in the loss.
The older I get the less it takes to make me glad. Glad means getting to experience a big string of regular predictable days in which nothing momentous occurs good or bad.
What I might once have called a boring day is the very kind of day I now give thanks for. I call these days my Smooth Days.
Smooth Days are days in which I get to set the tempo; I live free form.
Smooth Days are days in which I can wander about inside and out taking the time to play with my cats and to nuzzle my face in their sun-warmed furry tummies.
Smooth Days are day in which I take the time to peel and chop mounds of different vegetables so that I can have a ready made salad bar in my refrig.
Smooth Days happen when I let myself trust my gut about what to do next.
Shall I continue working on a project?
Shall I garden?
Shall I read? Shall I just lie flat on my back on my bed looking through the skylight at my longleaf pine tree.
I lie on my back on my bed as I write.
I see the huge old pine from my skylight.
I feel a connection to this tree.
It stands tall and proud, for it has braved hurricane force winds, frosty Florida winter nights and searing summer Florida suns.
I will be a pine tree.
I will live three hundred years of life in this life I have left.