GIFTS OF LATE LIFE

GIFTS OF LATE LIFE

This week in which I observe something of an anniversary -- my induction into the US Army, January 1943 -- I've also been awaiting news of a first great-grandchild to be born more than 700 miles away. It's been the usual days of now and then, here and there, past and present which pervade the thought and action of those in the 9th decade of their lives. Could I possibly have considered when I crossed my heart and swore allegiance at age 19 to combat Hitler's madness that I'd be around when and if Peace came, much less for the new millennium. Afterall, many high-school friends and young neighbors were already on distant shores and the high seas, the windows of some of their neighboring homes displaying the Gold Star mothers' banners denoting casualties. No point in speculating about what the future might hold.

But I'm here, I'm Still Here as aging chorus girl Carlotta furiously belts out in Stephen Sondheim's great musical Follies.  Here, and frequently awed that life can yet hold so many surprises, not least that of acknowledging that some of us don't know or concede of when to quit, relinquish the daily challenges and merely rest. Haven't we seen it all -- the good times and bad, health and illness, loyalties and betrayals, success and failure, the whole enchilada? Just last week, a younger friend (he's barely 65) suggested a Retirement Home would be wiser than to continue struggles at maintaining the family home, better to sell or lease the business with its demands for your hand-made products, safer to stop driving, depend on taxis or senior services transportation. Why should his advice trigger counter argument when chronic lower-back pain, labored breathing, treacherous balance requiring a cane, all of which he's observed, support the concern? Yet a few days after that unsolicited counsel, a long-time friend a few years older than myself, visits with two of his children. He is frail and badly bruised from a recent fall but in high spirit, delightfully interested in catching up on all our news, observant, intelligently discussing the arts and cultures, obviously savoring la vita bella regardless of the trials of later years. Another one who doesn't know when to quit. Our embrace is warm.

There have been times in recent years when our corrupt politicians, a weakened Washington, and a society grievously wounded by lawlessness, profanity and pornography, have driven me to find order and beauty only in the arts -- the best of literature, painting and sculpture, architecture, music, the performing arts. But, of course, that is fallacy. One has but to look on loved ones, the gift of family -- and on places and peoples one's loved -- to have disharmonies lessen. Perhaps saints have always known this. Perhaps many of we sinners must come of age before sharing it.

There is a season for all things. And maybe surprises in all seasons. Sixteen months ago I was gifted with a new, lovely if late granddaughter, Makenna, child as sunny as the coast of California where she was born. Now comes word of the first great-grandson, Marcello, born two days ago in San Antonio, Texas. Thinking back to that uniformed young man entering service to his county 71 years ago this week, I know he couldn't have imagined -- and certainly didn't believe -- that a long life weighted with rich gifts was in the offing.