I Could if I Wanted to, Maybe

I was asked to write a blurb about the island Labyrinth Tour that is coming up, and I realized that the blurb needed a picture.

I mentioned this in an email to my friend Susan, who is a retired journalist, and told her that it would be hard to get a good picture of a labyrinth because a labyrinth is a pattern on the ground, and I wasn’t sure how I could get a picture that looked like anything more than a lumpy bit of lawn with some rocks set in. I mentioned that perhaps I could climb up on a bench that sits at the edge of the lawn where the labyrinth is located, and from that height I could get a better picture. She immediately replied:

"DON’T STAND ON A BENCH TO TAKE A PICTURE. I FORBID IT. IT’S DANGEROUS. TELL THE PAPER TO GET A PICTURE TO RUN WITH THE COLUMN. I MEAN IT!"

She went on to remind me that not only do I have bad knees, but I have lately had a bout of vertigo, that swirling sensation where I feel like I’m falling. She saw my climbing up on a bench as a disaster that had found a place to happen.

Being the stubborn, ornery sort that I am I drove up to my church where the labyrinth is located, thinking, "Well, the bench is a sturdy concrete structure, with a large level surface. I could probably stand on it safely."

When I got there, though, I walked up to it and realized that with my knees I would not be able to get up on it in the first place, so there was no danger of my falling off.

I took the picture of the labyrinth, which indeed came out looking like a lumpy lawn with some rocks set in, and I thought about the disconnect between what I think I can do and what at this age and stage of decomposition I am able to do.

See, all my life, despite my reckless disregard for exercise and healthy eating habits, I have been able to do whatever I wished to do physically. Granted the bar was set pretty low, but if I wanted to, say, paint the living room, or sit on the floor and stand up again, or climb up on a concrete bench to take a picture, I could do it.

That has all changed in the last few years, but my clever brain has not yet heard the news. It will think, "I can climb on a bench!" and my knees will reply, "Hey, genius, we’re not doing that."

It’s one of the really annoying things about getting older. In my mind I am forever young and have no limits. In the real world these days – limits.

I read once that it is the accumulation of the effects of accidents that makes our bodies age. I believe there is a lot of truth in that statement. I think if it hadn’t been for that torn meniscus, that crushed vertebra, that broken arm that healed about a half inch shorter than it used to be, I’d feel a lot better and be a lot more able to do things, and I wouldn’t walk as funny as I do, on the days I can walk.

When you’re young you think you want to live forever. You don’t realize that you’re not always going to feel good, or be as capable as you were in your youth. I have been blessed to live this long, and I’m happy to be here. I don’t know when I’ll grasp that there are things I can’t do, though. Not yet.

Note: my friend Susan, quoted above, is the one being treated for stage 3 lung cancer. At this time, nearing the end of a course of radiation, the tumor has shrunk dramatically, and that’s the good news. She has a long way to go yet, but it’s good to have some hopeful news.