A meditation on living a long time

Living a long time and loving it-Kathy, Roxie, Janis, Bettye

Here is a paragraph I transcribed from Ray Bradbury’s book, Fahrenheit 451, p. 156 – 157:

“Granger stood looking back with Montag. ‘Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.’”

When one reaches 80, one wonders what will be left behind when one moves to that Final Address. The Bradbury paragraph describes it as well—or better--than any I’ve found. I also have heard that as long as anyone remembers you, you live on.

Oh, I know lots of folks 80 or older—and thank goodness, a lot of them are my friends and relatives: Aunt Mary D., Frances, John, Uncle Norval for instance. Jimmy Carter, George H.W. Bush, Dot, Freeda and Gene, Bettye and Betty, Ted, Bill W., Cordell, Nelda, Faye, Pat, Patti, Jean, Arthur, Doris, Joan, Sue, JoAnn, Phil, Birma, Cathy, Sissy, Johnny, Charlie, Holland, Carolann, “Red,” Audrey, Jim, Versie, Anne–– not to mention my own high school classmates, who are now nearly--if not all--80.

But 80 is so young! ––comparatively speaking. I remember back a-ways, reading a book that began—and I paraphrase— ‘She was an old woman of 60’. I was livid. How dare an author make such a statement. How young must the writer have been?

At 60, I was single and raising a 6-year-old grandson. We moved to another county to take a new job, which meant finding a new home, getting belongings trucked down, meeting neighbors, work colleagues, school folks, and those at the courthouse.  It meant locating the post office, the grocery store, the school, the church, the print shop, the gas station, the school-uniform outlet—no activity for an “old 60-year-old,” right? Wrong.

Living to be 80 and older is, as they say, a luxury that a lot of folks don’t and won’t ever enjoy. But of all these people I’ve named, not one of them is sitting on the porch swing or in the rocker feeling sorry for him/ herself. They are all busy—volunteering, care giving, going to church, playing in the bell choir (see above), attending activities at the senior citizens’ center, weed-eating, mowing, walking, serving on committees and boards, making plans to travel, beginning new projects.

And each of us will leave behind “a child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted.” Or a book published. Or a smile given. Or a hug. Or a kiss.

And may we live and thrive—like some in the above list—to 90 and beyond.

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