Doing
It’s probably time to bring down the cat crates and blankets. Cool weather is beginning to feel like cold weather. Mind you, no one is complaining, but then again, the cats don’t really complain. They just sort of mill around and look at me. Mostly to get fed, but I have a feeling when I see them on the porch on these cool mornings, they probably remember winters past and wonder what’s up with their lodgings. I’ll take care of that today.
Played golf yesterday. That was fun. Given my advanced age, I’ve moved up to the closest tee I can find. Wow. Does that make a difference. It also helps to have a comfortable course that looks nice and is fairly forgiving of the occasional errant shot. I carded an 85 yesterday and was three over par on the back nine. I guess in the end you still have to hit the shots and make the putts. So, it’s still golf and it’s fun, which is the point of playing the game. Having fun.
It's back to work this morning. I still need to cut up the fallen tree branch. Of course, it’s not going anywhere, but why wait? And I think back to the days in the not too distant past when I could have found a thousand reasons to wait and put it off. But in these spirit lifted days I’m happy to be out and about. Doing. Because doing has helped heal the wound that was the loss of my wife, allowing it to scar but not bind, to keep it from tying me up in knots, frozen in place, lost. Doing reminds me I’m alive. And doing was what we did. And doing keeps the memories alive.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale