Curiosity

Someone should investigate curiosity as the best prevention for diminishing mental capacity as we age. Really.

Al and I are about to visit Death Valley. The choice of destination might surprise those who know me. I am definitely and definitively a tree person. A hardwood forest surrounded the home of my youth. Majestic cedars and pines drown the small town of my working and retirement years. Walking down a wilderness path next to a burbling stream my very breath comes more deeply and my heart is at peace.

So Death Valley came as a bit of a shock even to me. But like almost every place I have had the pleasure of visiting, the more I read the more eager I am to arrive.

I put it down to the pure, unadulterated and untamed curiosity; my companion since forever. I want to know. I want to see. I want to learn.

So, despite no trees, no brooks, no cool breezes I can't wait.

Bring on the "raceway" stones that move great distances without apparent cause. Bring on the play of light on multi-colored stone. Bring on the sand dunes, borax works, ghost towns, Devil's golf course, Badwater Canyon and Devil's Cornfield.

I believe there is something for me everywhere. And I don't believe curiosity killed the cat; I believe it is why a cat has nine lives.

LITTLE LOSSES

A wise woman once told me that the rule of thumb for fashion - at my age - was that if you had worn it the first time around you should definitely NOT wear it now. Mini-skirts, hip-huggers, platform shoes, peasant blouses, skin tight, belly revealing and so forth.

And if you think you are the exception...you're not.

Well, I was okay with that. Proudly I knew I could, would - was - aging gracefully; combining dignity with just the right amount of dash to keep things interesting. Understanding all too well that my mental picture had stopped aging in my thirties and resolving to live and dress according to the mirror not the internal image.

Even with the occasional blunder, (Damn, that is really a cute dress.) I shopped and wore with a blitheness that ignored the unseen and unsuspected future. Until I retired. And was looking sixty in the eye by a lash.

Even my occasional free-lance jobs, my charity speaking engagements, the occasional nights out can no longer obscure the fact that my fashion choices have narrowed. It's not that I really miss most of them. It is just that I miss the potential they represented.

Sigh...Tall high-heel boots? I look at the ads and simultaneously wonder why I ever wore such monstrosities and also why I miss the excitement of the purchase. Itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny bikinis? Shame on me if I fail to blush. Low rise jeans (hip-huggers reincarnated)? Let's just say my tummy has lost it's suck.

It's the little losses with age that wear on your mind. Knowing that once, you could do or be anything you wanted. Each year knowing that you were making choices; not doing some things that were still possible if you made other choices. Then knowing that choices had been made that ruled out some possibilities.

Eventually, knowing that no matter what choices and changes you might make, some possibilities were gone forever.

I'm grateful the boots and bikinis were once part of my life. While secretly I'm rather glad they're gone, I mourn their passing as my own.