ElderChicks

Whoops, I just turned 75!

Einstein said unless an individual has already departed he automatically turns 75 without any particular effort. That’s what happened to me, only unlike Einstein, I had not become a legend in my own time.

I awoke on November 13th, 2013, and found myself turning 75. I entered this world in 1938. The year before my birth Picasso had painted Guernica just to give you an idea of where things stood at the time. Despite a raging depression and Hitler preparing to invade Europe I was delivered, wrapped up, vaccinated, protected, officially documented and bundled up against New York City in November and taken to an overheated Bronx apartment by two adoring parents. I had it pretty good considering.

Birthday days have never lived up to my expectations, they have much in common with a New Year’s Eve party or a senior prom when you’ve just broken up with your best boyfriend; or a surprise party when one super friend couldn’t keep it a surprise; or a gift of argyle socks to wear under your Birkenstock sandals. Perfect events and perfect birthday days are elusive. Wonderful things happen when you’re not looking: like the news of a grandchild on its way; making a new friend; realizing you are in love; landing a job you never expected. But, a pre-ordered special day is inflated with too much pressure, it comes bouncing towards you, over you, then rolls on its way and the next day, which you hope is an ordinary day, comes as a relief.

I was never afraid to try new things. On a fundamental level I understood the concept behind “The Little Engine that Could”, a favorite book – I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. When I was under five and my sister had not yet been born my mom took me to a huge multi-level theater in New York City. A well-known harmonica player and a tap dancer, Paul Draper and Larry Adler, were giving a children’s performance. At one point they called for a young member of the audience who knew how to tap dance to join them on stage. I must have thought they were calling my name. I jumped up, abandoned my mother, made it down the balcony stairs, raced on air down the orchestra aisle, and was helped onto the stage. I really didn’t know how to tap dance but that didn’t stop me. I preformed and was met with applause. Not being able to dance never entered my mind. Of course, this attitude was the result of being an only child for six years.

I retain friends: friends from playground days; friends from up the road days when I lived in a country setting; friends from moves, north to south; and currently friends on other floors in my condo apartment building. My list of friends to cc never, ever reaches 2″ or even 3″. I joined Facebook because I was “invited”. When I noticed that committed Facebook users numbered their friends in the hundreds I opted out, preferring smaller conversations.

Each of my friends carries a piece of all the others – they are funny, given to uncontrolled, fall down on the floor laughter, and seeing the absurdity of things. I am, like the friends I choose, usually quick to judge but also able to reverse a negative judgement. I try very hard to be fair finding that quality super hard at times. I am still evolving as are those I feel closest to.

I don’t fit into the category of being a retired person, probably never will. My work is play and has always been. As a young art student I admired Picasso for his creative energy which propelled him forward into his 90′s devoting the day to making art and follow his muse wherever it led him. I think that’s the answer to fooling the age devils: be excited each day about something – a movie, a book, an exhibition, a play, a cause. Put effort into things and follow your passion wherever it leads you. These days I pull and push clay, making ceramic sculpture which leads me into experimenting with firing techniques – wood firing, pit firing – challenging myself to make something new, often working with less than perfect results but striving to unlock the possibilities even when the object appears “ruined”. I call the end result mixed-media after adding a rope, a feather, a pebble here and there. It often does the job. It’s not magic but choices made from a lifetime of experience.

I don’t believe the premise that one cannot go home again. Home may change and wear a different face but it reflects a piece of who you were at the time and who you are now. We, my new husband and I, are getting ready to have Thanksgiving in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I had built a house in another life and sold it when life changed. It was free to be rented for this holiday and the boys, their families, grandchildren, significant others and friends are joining us for a few days over the holiday. There are Muslims, Christians and Jews among us and the spiral ham is not making an appearance. That’s OK with me since the sides are adding up and the 22lb turkey will provide all the protein needed. I hope memories of Thanksgivings past don’t overwhelm us since key members of our family are no longer with us. We’ll be OK if we remember it all – the good times and the laughter and be grateful for what was, what is and look forward to what will be.

I’ll end my story here. Actually, it is great that I’m 75 and relatively unscathed. I began with a quote from Albert Einstein; it seems appropriate to finish paraphrasing Woody Allen, “Eighty percent of success is just showing up.” For me life is about showing up and going from there.

(Reprinted with permission from Greta’s wonderful blog at http://gretamatus.wordpress.com/.)