The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

I’ve been having fun with smart light bulbs. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but fun for me. I have them in three rooms now, the living room, the kitchen, and the bedroom. I’ve even created scenes with different colors and brightness’s. They all have names and I call them by voice, there’s normal, evening, morning. Now that I think about it, I could give them fun names, like Skip, or Buster and treat them as pets.me, and I suppose that’s all that matters.

I’ve been talking about self-assessment lately, and I caught a hint yesterday of something I might want to change. Here’s how the story went. I was listening to a friend, and his wife, play music yesterday. During the show I got introduced to some folks across the room who thought I might be a 70s pop star. It seemed funny at the time. But after the show, as I introduced myself for real, one of them mentioned I was singing along on every song.

The most recent phases of my life, the illness and death of a loved one, came to me with preset standards, relatively easy to follow. I brought some of myself to the situations, of course, but choices were limited. This new phase, this passing into my ninth decade, is less clearly defined, because basically it’s just me growing old and deciding how I want to do it.

Yesterday in the early evening, I was driving along listening to my music when Jimmy Lafave came on to sing, Rain Falling Down. A sweet, hard to describe, everything is beautiful feeling came over me, brought on by Jimmy’s voice, the time of day, and the melody. And I knew it was mine to feel because I’d felt it many times before with other songs and other things in other times and other places.

As I prepare to start the journey into my ninth decade, later this year, it will be interesting to see what I take with me. Because you always have to pack for any journey, but especially a personal one. Sometimes it’s things, sometimes it’s people, but the heaviest baggage is usually personal. For instance, after I left active duty in the Navy and decided to attend college in the late 60s, I made the choices to move off (to Florida) and try to be more outgoing. They worked. I got my feet on the ground and gained self-confidence.

One thing you realize about writing every day is just how boring everyday life can be. Not boring in a bad sense, just boring in its ordinariness. I was talking to a friend last night and got the normal what-did-you-do-today question, and I had to think for a moment about what I’d say because the highlight was driving into town for guitar strings and finding the store closed, then eating lunch, which consisted of a hamburger and fries.

I have a catalog of missed opportunities and minor failures. It sits waiting in my brain for those moments when I feel the need to ruminate or brood. Typically, this happens late at night, but I’ve been known to do it while taking a walk or simply sitting in the front room. Usually it involves regret, as in, why did I do that or not do that? It feels like it’s a good time to try and break that habit, because my long life is starting to come back and bite me.

More about aging. I think I’m going to approach this journey through my ninth decade as I would any of the moves we made as a child, or the changes I encountered as an adult. It’s an opportunity, a thing to be explored, embraced. Besides, I’ve never gone into any decade of my life thinking I knew what was waiting at the end. Why should this one be any different? Granted, the actuarial tables are against me, but why assume the mean?