Being 62

It's a gorgeous Wednesday August 1st, and I am sitting here feeling 62. Whatever that means. Woke this morning with a wonderful breeze wafting in my window - it rained in the night, and I could smell summer - wet grass, lavender, jasmine, rosemary. On my computer, already, were many messages through the wonders of Facebook. While I was checking, my daughter instant messaged me. There were texts on my cellphone, and I checked my new discovery - Twitter - to learn that Canada had just won a silver and Gore Vidal just died.

I'm up to date.

So - 62. Never felt better.  Never more grateful. This is a blessed time - because the reality of great loss is just around the corner, that is sure. Vital to appreciate every moment, right now.

What I am especially grateful for, besides my health and that of family and friends and the presence of those family and friends and the fact that I live in a country at peace and make enough money to live there in relative security ... and my teeth and ears and eyes and limbs that still work ... I made a list, and will add to it through the day:

Bicycles. Libraries. CBC radio. Jon Stewart. The Y. Peaches and dark chocolate and chevre. New music and old and learning to sing. My cat's grey stripes and little white boots. My neighbourhood in the heart of the city, with its narrow houses, open neighbours and its very own, if battered, farm.

This city itself, where I lived in my early twenties and moved back to at 34, where my children have chosen to live as adults, facilitating joyful events like today, when they leave their own busy lives and come over to the old homestead, to the garden they have played in most of their lives.

That garden, long and narrow, its birds and ivy and scent. Sanity safety sweetness.

And most of all, Eli. I sent a picture of my grandson and me to an old boyfriend, and he wrote, "Looks like you've found the man of your life."
"You're right," I replied. "His conversation is limited, so is his diet, and he's very short. But otherwise, he's perfect."
And if he would just get his finger out of his nose, he is.

PS. A literal truth for me:

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:

Since my house burned down / I now own a better view / of the rising moon. 
-Mizuta Masahide, poet and samurai (1657-1723)