REPETITIVE TORTURES

Life seems largely made up of little acts of maintenance that confront us daily.

When faced with a sink of dirty dishes or a sideboard of crumbs and spills, a clearing up focus is required - like erasing the blackboard to present another problem to solve.

These small necessities consume much of our time. If allowed to build up they become daunting, an impediment to action, an excuse for a pervasive state of indigence. My philosophy of housekeeping was developed as a battle against overwhelm. Whenever I saw a stain or drip out of place I would immediately clean it up, thus not allowing stuff to accumulate. These days it's harder to do that. Big spills require a dexterity I no longer have and small specks seem easier to ignore. Housekeeping of necessity waits for those who arrive every other day or so to help. Like grooming, a clean home is tough to maintain - just another humiliating aspect of growing old.

I prefer not to take something for it, but I resist going to sleep because I feel pretty possible at the end of each day and remember when I wake up the next day I will feel awful again, so I stay awake doing crossword puzzles or watching a movie to avoid the crush of a rising dread. To finally sleep and start the whole cycle over again feels like another kind of repetitive torture I can't seem to escape. 

I think we all have repetitive tortures that claim parts of our lives. Whether it has to do with rote learning for a job we don't even value, the intensely demanding role of childcare, a physical or health regimen upon which our lives depend, home maintenance, keeping up with increasingly bad news from the larger world, environmental stresses, family drama, overwhelming emotions, or the crushing predominance of technology constantly demanding we pay attention to its plan for us or often failing to work when needed, as needed.

It's not as though growing older changes the dynamic, but we have less underlying stamina and are weakened in our ability to process it all.

It’s a state of being constantly tested. A jar we can't open, a light bulb needs replacing, smoke alarm going off while cooking, compost starting to smell, dropped bottles of pills and unfortunate messy spills litter the day.

It's usually fine when one of my helpers is on the spot, but that is only 4 days a week and the other days I have to fend for myself - not always easily.

So sorry to report some zest for living has gone out of me. 

But these occasional newsletters are to keep you informed, not to worry you. I gain so much strength in simply writing down what is going on and sending it off to those of you who continue to occupy space in my imagination.

So I celebrate the lives of creative geniuses and those recently passed or those who grow older with me and continue to contribute. Recent documentaries on Mel Brooks, Rob Reiner, and Dolly Parton give me glimpses into those who have forged paths of known success and left us with completely original bodies of work.

Known success be damned, when it all comes down to it, that is the ideal any of us can strive towards – to leave an imprint of a unique life having been fully lived for anybody interested to find and possibly learn from.

 Passing through, passing it on, passing it over …