How many of us have a maternal or paternal instinct that overrides our own interests?
I never thought about age differences thirty-three years ago when I married Arthur. Somehow when you are really young age difference matters, then it disappears in adulthood, and suddenly the awareness reawakens as you get older. It really is a strange dicothemy.
My husband is thirteen years older than I am and when we got married, I didn’t even think about our age differences. My parents were ten years apart and it worked out just fine for them.
It was only when we celebrated Arthur’s ninety-first birthday, that I realized how lucky I am. All of his friends are gone and he is standing alone and quite healthy in his nineties. The odds are that it could be a quite different story for both of us. Sometimes I think he has more energy than I do!
To celebrate his milestone I recently interviewed my husband about how it feels to be in his nineties.
Copyright Sandra Hart©2017. All Rights Reserved
I recently had to go in the hospital for a cryoablation for heart palpitations I’ve had since my twenties. I had a procedure done twenty years ago to ablate the pathways that were causing my heart to fire those extra impulses. Well, through the years they grew back and I have had to have another procedure to ablate them again.
It just so happens that my cardiology surgeon is a big Tonic fan. Although we have had many phone conversations about the new cryoablation procedure, I hadn’t seen Dr. Todd Florin since my radiofrequency ablation in January, but he remembered all about Tonic when we met again pre-op.
This time Dr. Florin spent at least a half hour with me just going over my procedure and generally chatting about life before l went into surgery. When I was finally prepped and wheeled into the operating room, he came over and said he wanted me to meet someone. He gestured to a handsome young doctor that was a part of his team to come closer.
“Would you believe, this young surgeon is also a fan of Tonic. He must have been 12 when that first album came out! “ he said kind of amazed.
Well, it turned out this doctor not only was a singer/musician himself, but knew all of Tonic’s music. The last thing I remember as I was going under is being serenaded by him with his wonderful rendition of “If You Could Only See The Way She Loves Me.” True Story.
Copyright Sandra Hart 2017©
When your children grow up and leave the nest the parent/ child dynamics change. No longer under your roof, their lives continue with you in the background; nose pressed to the window of their lives looking in.
A recent angry force of nature made me leave my nest at an odd time of the year and take refuge with my youngest bird of flight, my son. Hurricane Irma gave him fears his old mum’s nest just might be blown away. So it was that I landed outside the boundaries of a holiday celebration visit in Nashville with my son and his family.
It just so happens that Emerson is a platinum awarded singer/ songwriter who spends a lot of time on the road doing what he loves to do; entertain by telling his lyrical stories. Once in awhile if he is performing within driving distance, my husband and I will make the journey to his concerts and a few moments of private time with him. But in a lifetime that is not much.
You might say we are distant groupies most of the time, however, this time, my only positive Irma experience is that I was given a performance day with my son that I would never have had.
Squeezed within the sixteen day visit of watching my son be a good husband and great father, was a full day of a mother’s heart singing with joy that her son is able to have a satisfying creative life, doing what he was born to do.
Can’t get much better than that. Come along with me for a capsule of my day before a concert hall performance of Songs and Stories in Nashville.
Copyright Sandra Hart©2017
I know it’s much more difficult to write about ones life than it is to pen a novel. The latter is fantasy, make believe. Journeys you take in your mind that release you from your own reality.
Facing the truth in front of your typewriter is another story. Sometimes is extremely painful to write about ones own life’s reality. Those events are never erased, but lived over and over again. Pages ripped from your past that come back to haunt you and resurface things that you had hope were buried so deep that they would never resurface.
It’s hard to be a writer. It’s hard to write about the truth.
Copyright Sandra Hart©. All Rights Reserved
Someone asked me the other day how I feel about aging and the physical changes that happen along the way.
I didn’t have to even think about that when I replied, “Time.”
I want more time. I want to watch my children and grandchildren experience more milestones in their lives. I want to be a part of their journey longer than probable lifespan allows.
There are so many things still on my bucket list that I want to do. Time, not the physical changes, is what I think about.
Now I know this person was talking about our physical losses as we age. Our beauty. Basically, our aging morphing us into something we never expected, physically. I get it. It’s rather scary when I look into the mirror and see my mother looking back at me. I’m not the girl I used to be on the outside, but I have gotten so much smarter and wiser in the inside. That’s a plus in my mind. I don’t feel sorry for my aging self on that level.
I can’t stop the wrinkles or jowls, or the natural physicalities of aging. Sure, I can slow it down by exercising, eating right and proper skincare for my face and outer shell. But we all age if we are lucky enough to still be here, we can’t stop that.
My advice to those not yet worried about aging is to get going early on your bucket list. Don’t worry about failure. Take risks. Enjoy every minute of your life while you still have the energy to do it…… and wear sunscreen and a big hat in the sun!
Life is gosh darn awesome if you are not afraid to jump in with both feet!
© Copyright Sandra Hart 2017
All Rights Reserved
It was the kind of evening when the wind found every opening in my heavy winter wrappings. There was no escaping the chill that went through my bones as I sat on the deck of the Queen Elizabeth as it sailed down the Hudson River toward the Atlantic and the beginning of our 109 day world cruise.
With my beret pulled down over my ears and scarf wrapped around my neck as high as possible, I leaned against the railing facing the winds watching he magnificent New York City skyline, swimming by so slowly.
Weeks before my friends Lou and Cathy who live in the Village vowed they would add to our send-off by signaling to us from the end of the Christopher Street Pier as we sailed by.
It seemed a great idea at the time, until our sailing was delayed into the darkness and severe winter weather was moving in. So much for a sendoff, I disappointedly thought. Lou would be working and Cathy would be alone.
As we moved along, suddenly I saw a flicker…a blinking beam of bright light coming from the Christopher Pier. Once, twice, three times. She had come. She had come in the darkness and waited in the cold to wish us a bon voyage as she had promised. Cathy’s life was all about the gift of caring. I will always miss you my dear friend.
Copyright Sandra Hart©2007. From Read Between My Lines: What Was I Thinking. All Rights Reserved