It's been almost 4 weeks since I tripped on the stairs and have lived with a cast on my right ankle. In three days I'll hobble into the ortho's office and hopefully limp out without the assistance of crutches; what will my leg look like? This mishap has forced me to reality check on aging and mobility, meaning letting go of two beliefs which I've been cruising to: I'm going to live forever and learn to surf at 90. Okay, I'll never learn to surf.
Usually when we have guests something's doing: cooking, walking around, gathering food, utensils, bustling; activities interrupting freights of thought. But now I'm a captive host; an Alicia in Visiterra; no damns on stream of consciousness. I've been ripped and rinsed by torrents of wishes, desires and fears spoken only to one who sits still; an invalid.
Hmmm...invalid....not a real existence, so therefore able to release information as in a dream?
I hope I can hold on to being still.
Our neighbors Loriana and Andrea came to visit. They're 85 and 87 and look like they're in their 60s. Bouncing up the stairs, full of chatter, jokes and concern. Vibrant. And I started thinking of my generation, my friends. and wondering what is happening to us? Overfed, stressed, legally drugged, mired in visioning struggle instead of welcoming joy. Of the smell of mint, a child calling your name, a caress in the night, seeing Jupiter gleam in the night sky.
You live and then you die. And choose how to spend the time in between.
