Why do I write? Well, to be honest I don’t much, there’s less to write about these days. Amusing events rarely occur now that the kids have left home, the dog has passed on and Grabber, our lodger’s dog, has ceased his grabbing and jumps onto an armchair, rotates a few times, and settles patiently to wait for nothing more than his next meal. Even the arrival of the dog walker hardly rouses him. Hence, no material for my blog, and as for the novels, well those seem too daunting given my many other commitments.
Writing was never my intended creative outlet. When not engaged in family activities or school, my childhood was regularly spent with an open book and a bar of chocolate or with a paintbrush or pencil, producing self portraits, pictures of the dog or of members of my family – when they were prepared to sit still for long enough. I was a prodigious reader so I certainly recognised good writing over bad and appreciated a decent plot, but my imagination never rose to the heights of creating an outstanding story or essay. The only time I remember enjoying the pursuit of writing was when kept behind in detention for, I guess, bunking off a swimming lesson – and getting caught of course. Our punishment was to produce an essay on swimming. I, who have never been good with certain types of authority, naively believing that my work would actually be read by my captor, decided to make this essay sarcastic. Of the main content of the piece I am unsure, but I know I explained that swimming could be undertaken in any liquid, and argued the relative merits of doing the breast stroke through treacle or front crawl in engine oil. I had such fun writing that essay.
The subject left to me for this blog, and it can sometimes be funny, is aging. I forget things, take wrong turnings in my car, go around roundabouts two or three times, wonder why I am staring into a cupboard or standing in the middle of the bedroom and worst of all, I forget the names of familiar people, or call them by the wrong name – especially my girls who are invariable called Ho-Mavis or Mave-Horace. But the thing that preoccupies me most these days is the shrinking window of opportunity to do those creative things I have been promising myself I will do for the past ten years. If I am lucky enough to follow the example of my mother, who is still grinding through life at the age of ninety-five with determination but less and less success, I have twenty five years of life left to me, and fewer of productive life. My father disappeared into his head around the age of eighty-five. Four years later, very suddenly and distressingly, he suffered anaphylactic shock after an antibiotic injection. With his eyes fixed on my brother’s and with my spiritual sister inside his mind saying stay, stay, we all love you, he replied, so she tells me, I’m too tired, and gave up the difficult task of living. He was nearly three years my mum’s junior so my productive window could shrink even further.
All this sounds rather morbid. I’m sorry.
I could improve my life span considerably if I paid my health more attention. Somehow, as I have aged, my weight has increased in direct proportion to my raised intake of food and drink and lack of exercise. I believe this is called letting one’s self go. You would think that being aware of my disappearing opportunity for an extended life, I would determine to adopt a healthy lifestyle. Recently, several of my contemporaries have succumbed to cancer but the only effect on me of this, is that every twinge or lump is a portent of impending disease. Still I take no action – apart from a futile visit to my long suffering doctor.
I’m not writing this as a complaint, I believe I have many years left, and like living my best life, dealing with my bad habits is on my to-do list. It is something I chant for daily. Buddhism is at the centre of my life and as such, supports me through all these negative thoughts.
There are barriers to changing this situation and they mainly concern the life I have created for myself thus far. A life, I hasten to add, that I love. I am a Buddhist, a gregarious person, an enthusiastic entertainer, an active member of a village. So, let us take a look at my diary for next week:
Monday: morning, chant for a successful Buddhist event then walk with a friend, afternoon, continue editing a novel for a client.
Tuesday morning: Meet a Buddhist friend for a chat and some study, afternoon meet another friend to discuss an exchange of skills: she will decorate our landing and stairs and I will do her hated computer work (note, I am filling up future diary dates here).
Wednesday, morning: Coffee/Buddhist appointment with a friend, afternoon, editing,
Thursday, see Wednesday,
Friday: visit an art exhibition at MK Gallery – hooray! I am very excited to have taken out membership of MK Gallery.
Saturday morning, Buddhist Discussion Meeting, evening, Dinner Ladies, a group of women dining together and enjoying one another’s company.
Sunday, husband and wife time.
To be fair, the Buddhist activities are not always this tightly packed. I am a district leader and I’ve been away a lot over the past month, so this week is full so I can catch up with lovely friends.
It is hard to change things. Some part of me watches and listens helplessly as my mouth says, ‘We must get together,’ or ‘That’s a great idea, it’s in the diary.’ As well as the above, regular events in the diary include:
Weekend visits to or from old friends: We have so many laughs, glasses of wine, reminiscences: Do you remember when Norman fell into the canal on that boating holiday? How about that friend with the false tooth, who would poke it out like a fallen tomb stone, at parties? We were so young. We were so naive. We were so free!
Visits to aging parents: watching their decline, listening to their own memories on repeat.
Visits to grown up children: How is the job going? What did you do last weekend? Where will you go on your next holiday? I interrogate them, desperate to feel part of their lives as they move away geographically and emotionally. Am I becoming their responsibility, their duty?
But, noting all of the above I see that I can do something to change things. I can free up more time to live the creative life I keep promising myself. I just need to stop booking up my time. The universe will respond positively to my happiness, my friends will understand and my to-do list will begin: Write, or Paint. This is it, the first day of my shrinking window. I can change. And I won’t have that glass of wine this evening!
One Response
So true Sue. There are many things I’d like to do, but just need to ‘shift’ myself, not put things off. Get up and go for those walks, do my sewing/paint by numbers etc. Thank you for your writing, it has certainly given me that push.