Whimsy doesn’t have to be limited to childhood.
“As we grow, we often have more fear of failure; our comfort zone shrinks, and we take fewer risks.” The quote, attributed to Yehuda Berg, delights me. I delight in rejecting it. Although maybe I should be more careful.
A couple days ago, Bill and I stayed at Cottonwood Cove resort, part of the Lake Mead park system. Some of the marinas and beaches around Lake Mead are closed now, what with the drought and the lake level having sunk almost two hundred feet. I figured I’d never see it again, because of that and the fact that it’s getting harder to do everything. Like lug picnic stuff through triple-digit heat to a boat, and for Bill, getting back into the boat on those cheesy little ladders. But last weekend, we did one more sentimental trip.
Bill took the above picture of me, and then, taking my hands off the wheel, I took this picture of him. While the boat was still in motion.
Suddenly the boat turned sharply to the right. It was a little boat on a big lake, not going that fast, for Pete’s sake. Had my hip not bumped the wheel, it could have steered itself. But that’s not what happened.
The engine changed pitch to a loud roar. The boat wrenched hard to the right. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I felt disoriented. Bill’s voice cut through my shock: “Throttle down!” I pulled the throttle to neutral and the boat stopped. I sat down, breathing hard, horrified at my stupidity. The boat had done a complete 180.
And we weren’t even drinking yet.
Afterward, I asked him if I’d fallen out of the boat, did he know where the vests were? He didn’t.
Now, looking at my photo, I laugh. I look so proud, happy, and carefree. Not like the idiot I was.
But in spite of that, we were glad we went, and we’ll go again. Lake Mead Recreation Area is where Bill and I began our relationship, twenty years ago. We boat-camped at a deserted beach we named Donkey Poo. Guess why.
As the years passed, we vacationed at the various marinas and resorts around Lake Mead with everyone in the family. It’s such a sentimental place for us.
Cottonwood Cove marina at sunset
As Bill and I get older, we have more physical limitations. He’s 68; I’m 61. Not that old, but everybody ages differently. It’s wonderful to be a team, to be able to look out for each other. Because at this age, stuff happens.
On Tuesday at dawn, we were all packed and ready to leave the hotel. He was in the car, waiting for me. I was still in the hotel room, making one more just-in-case trip to the bathroom. I reached around to flush the toilet and my back started spasming! I could hardly stand. Barely made it to the bed, where I sat and though, “WTF do I do now? Can I even walk?” I couldn’t communicate with Bill or let him into the room. The key was on the dresser.
I did some deep breathing, tightened my abs, and stood. A few minutes later I wobbled out to the car, whimpering as I climbed in. We sat there for a minute, engine running.
“I can’t close my door,” I said. He unbuckled, climbed out, and shut it for me. It seemed chivalrous, although it wasn’t the most romantic situation. The car seat was comfortable, though, and I figured I’d be fine after resting my back all the way home – a four hour drive. As we drove out of the cove, Bill glanced in the rearview. “Oh, man, you should see the lake.”
“I can’t turn around,” I said.
He turned the car, facing the lake so I could see.
Cottonwood Cove at dawn
I love this man. We are bumbling and fumbling our way into old age together, laughing as we go. Sometimes we get scared, but we refuse to be limited by it. Life is what it is. Nobody lives forever, you get weak and die, but – within the limits of reality – you have to keep trying.
Maybe age is daunting, but I will never give up. I will deal with my aches and pains, and keep fighting, because you only get one shot. And I am so grateful to have Bill in my life, who twenty years later has become my soul mate.
My dear Lynne,
Just checking all the posts this morning which i missed last month, thus my tardy response. Can I just say “I adore you” and love this post!! I am older than you (65) and was once a fairly decent athlete — however, lately after walking 3 miles with my husband each morning, my hips kill me! I cannot live at the chiropractor’s office either (have to watch the retirement $$) so i hobble around for a while. Resting is a large part of my daily routine.
You make aging (with AST) a journey of funny shared experiences that include many paths to wander down. Also there are no limits and few judgments. Wanna care take (babysit) for your family to feel good? Fine go for it. Tired of care taking others, and wanna go paint (or write) in a studio alone? Fine go for it. Wanna try to do both. Good luck and go for it.
A year ago, I started working on a book (gosh what else can i do while resting?) — HOLY cow i am in awe of writers, and i struggled getting 20,000 words down and typed. I’m not even sure if there is more in me. The inner voice keeps asking, “Who cares what you have to share?” Anyway, i wished you lived around the corner and could metaphorically slap me upside the head into positive thinking. Thanks for being you.
~Heather
I wish you lived around the corner, too!!!!!
Whenever I walk, I feel grateful that I can. I don’t do 3 miles but I’ll go a half hour on the treadmill, or around my neighborhood. And that’s about it. Recently, something scary happened: I was walking for about 15 minutes, and I got weak. My legs got wobbly, like I had to think about placing them where they needed to go. When I saw a place to sit, I sat and was grateful. I felt shaky. Probably it was dehydration (and why? why all of a sudden, that?) Or maybe something worse is coming on. It happened again a few weeks later. My husband was driving back from the grocery store and I flagged him down for a ride back home. So grateful to have it. Anyway, it makes me think maybe I should stick to the treadmill indoors in case anything happens. I hate having that vulnerability in the back of my mind. I’m sure you’re going through the same, and the only antidote I can think of is to keep trying to find workarounds. Whether it’s exercise workarounds or intellectual (like writing), keep fighting! And as to “who cares what I have to say?” that’s the sweet spot that writers have to find. Is there some gift in you that you’d like to give others? It doesn’t have to be life-changing. Just your comment was a gift to me–the gift of shared experience, shared difficulty, and friendship. So keep fighting, Sis.
Love this post. I always feel like your just chatting with me over a glass of wine!
My husband and I are both 68 and we are leaving for a month long trip to Columbia and Ecuedor. We plan to move in 2017 and I could not do it on my own. For us, exploration is a team event.
Thanks Lynne
Kate, let’s pretend we are! What a neat thought.
And re your trip, I’d love to go somewhere for a month, but in my case, alone and for the purpose of writing. A solo writing retreat. The only thing is, I’d miss my family too much. Ah, well, nothing’s perfect.
Love that you’re happy with your sweetie pie. Nice to hear good things are happening in the world. Best wishes.
I loved this post, Lynne, as well as the photos. I am not afraid of failing, but I do fear falling. That doesn’t stop though. I laughed out loud at your boat incident. It reminds me of the time, I was driving the speed boat, pulling my son out of the water to start skiing. When he struggled with the rope, I was supposed to stop; instead I hit the gas. He hung on and dislocated his rib. I could also relate to your back incident. I have had those moments when my back locks up and I have to crawl. So glad that you have a good man by your side.
Oh my God, Pat, his rib!!!!! That’s worse than what I did: my son was about 12 and had a paper route (back when they still let kids do that). It was a rainy cold morning so I offered to get up early and drive him. He was outside the car when I rolled forward and ran over his foot!! Luckily it was a very sandy place so he just yelped and now we still laugh about it.
I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one who has this type of incident! I’ve done some scary slipping and sliding on our deck. My best friend has been a heating pad for the last few days, simply because I overdid my workout at Silver Sneakers. Why did I think I could keep up with the 40-year-old instructor? Next time I’ll use lighter weights.
Keep on doing as much as you can for as long as you can. That’s what I plan! By the way, I’m the same age as your husband.
Honestly, the things that happened to us at this age are just appalling but humorous. I have a friend who broke her ankle by stepping off her carpet. She caught the edge, about a half an inch in height, her ankle rolled, and the bone broke. So things are pretty crazy these days! BTW, 68 is a fine age.
I’m so sorry about your silly boating “accident” (mostly sorry that you felt like an idiot) and your back spasms, but what a wonderful post! I just love that he turned the car around so you could see the last rays of the sun over the lake. Those men that we find so exasperating sometimes are the very same ones that add such joy and beauty to our lives as we journey together into the sunset.
Amen to that, Janis. We’ve had our rough patches, a really big one a few months ago. Almost got divorced! But instead we recalibrated our marriage and now we’re better friends than before. Weird, because we were agonizingly honest with each other, but it ended up working for us both. Bottom line: we wouldn’t be happy apart. Big Twenty-Year Reassessment. Scary but all’s well that ends well.
Love this , Lynne. It hits home! What a gorgeous destination, despite the back story of physically getting there ( and the real back story!)…bumbling and fumbling. We’ve gotta work with what we’ve got. You go, sistah. 🙂
Thanks Kathy! It is great to hear from you.
Very nice pictures, Lynne, especially the last one. I can relate. I will be 60 in a couple of months, hubby is 61. We are both recovering from colds right now. Yesterday his sister called to tell us she has uterine cancer, level one. She will be having a hysterectomy later this month. She is 71, and the doctor is optimistic about her prognosis. My sister had surgery in July to repair a brain aneurysm. She is 65. My point is, as you so succinctly put it, we are all fumbling and stumbling into our “golden” years. I will be celebrating 19 years of marriage to my husband next week. I said to his cousin just the other day “I don’t know where I would be today if I hadn’t met and married” him.
Oh that is so beautiful. Boy, your story of your family’s health issues really brings it home right? We have to enjoy the good while we have it and fight like hell when we don’t! Very best wishes for everyone’s recovery and good health.
68 and 61? I don’t know what to say…you guys are just kids! The longevity revolution deems that you will live at least another 20 years (more if you take care of yourselves). I know, as you say, that “stuff happens”, and we have no idea of how long we will live. I used to dwell on my age, but somewhere along the way, I lost that perspective. It’s taken me a long time, but I am “living in the moment” more and more. Age just does that to you. I’m a member of the lucky few, as you can see from my blog. Love being there! Thanks for inviting me to share! Diane
Diane, my mom, who is 90, makes fun of me when I moan about aches and pains, etc. And I do feel relatively youthful and vibrant, but as I tell her, this is the oldest I’ve ever been, so it’s a little disconcerting! The changes stand in contrast not to her but to my younger self. Still, I’m grateful and do everything I can to stay healthy. I will go check out your blog right now. For readers, that’s at http://www.stilltheluckyfew.com/. And for anyone else interested in reading about what Diane calls “Pre-Boomers” (clever!) there’s also http://70candles.com/
With every near miss that occurs at this age – like your boat mishap – it’s a reminder of how quickly life can change…and how we need to be present and mindful and grateful for what is. Thanks for sharing this story…and I’m glad you’re okay!
More red-faced than anything else, but thanks. As to “how quickly life can change,” you are so right! Yesterday, I tripped over our big living room area rug. Just caught the corner under a toe. Luckily I was limber enough to correct myself, but if I were a lot older, it could have taken me down. It felt like I had stumbled over something the size of my husband’s shoe. Imagine my surprise when I looked back and there was nothing there. Sheesh.
I’m rolling on the floor laughing at your experience. Thanks for sharing. As for being older and things getting harder, just wait another ten years and try relocating to a new state! My mother told me to do it before I was her age (younger than I am now) because “It’s too hard at this age.” I don’t think age has as much to do with it as the incredible degree to which EVERY transaction has become 2,000% more complicated and it’s getting worse. But you’ve discovered laughter, the primary survival tool!
With that amazing man at your side, you’ll have it licked at any age. Live, love and be happy.
I love the energy and joy in your comment, Sharon! Thanks for sharing.