Growing Old Together

“We’re growing old together.” Dee prefers her parents’ happy line, “We’re buckaroos.” I like that too, but I marvel at how long we’ve been together. And still there is the surprise of novelty. One of us is sharing a childhood memory and the other is awed. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard that story before.”

Time has slowed. Each day is precious. “How long will it last?” We worry about each other’s health, take care of each other, get each other out for walks and doctors’ appointments, adjust our diets. We marvel at our good fortune, and sometimes we worry.

Days blend into each other. Technology has contributed to the blurring. Who still watches network TV? We’re watching old Agatha Christie’s on Britbox and old music videos. The day of the week doesn’t matter. I stopped following sports so that schedule’s gone. These days I’m listening to my favorite, Saturday baroque music program on the app: I can listen now  any time, any day. Even my blog is not so much a time structure. I work ahead. I do blogs in clumps and leave chunks of time for fiction writing. The days blur together. I go grocery shopping when we’re running out of fresh veggies. I go to Costco when we running out of coffee or yogurt or toilet paper or paper towels.

I do still have my weekly Zen teaching commitments – I do have to remember those – and there are the two nights each week when Dee sleeps over at her mom’s. They mark the passage of time, but still time moves so slowly.

And yet, there is a sense of motion. The sun is setting. It’s like watching the sun sink into the Caribbean. As the sun approaches the horizon, it seems to drop more quickly. Is time speeding up?

No, time is slowing down, but time is not unlimited. The sun will set. How much time do we have? How much time will we have to travel? How many more vacations will my body tolerate? We’re not postponing as much as we used to. I’m not worrying so much about money. I’m taking in the advice which my friend, Shelly, got from his financial planner: “Don’t worry, you will run out of time before you run out of money.”

I am so grateful for the slowing. Where was I always going in such a hurry? It’s not that there’s nothing on my mental to-do list. It’s just that there aren’t many things that I have to do. I’m rereading Emma sixty years after I read it for the first time in college – it’s as if I’m reading it for the first time – taking it with me to doctors’ waiting rooms: sometimes we’re seen so quickly that I don’t read even one chapter. Oh, well. Sixty years ago, I sped through Emma. So many courses; so many books to read.

Sometimes, I’m not worrying. I’m noticing my breath, not just when I’m on my cushion, at odd moments, bearing witness to the passage of time – it’s a marvel – but what day is it?