As I sit safely ensconced in my second-story office/library/spare bedroom in our beloved Westside home, it’s a bright and sunny December morning. The dogs are quiet and content, Karen and I are both in reasonable health and nothing needs immediate repair so I should be cheerfully optimistic. Yet I’m not, and most of my friends seem unreasonably gloomy as well. Part of it is seasonal affective depression, triggered by brief days and interminable nights, and some is just the pessimism of old age.
Combine that with shoulda/couldas, and you can spend your remaining time on the planet making yourself miserable. That’s easy but finding ways to be happy is more productive. Here are some suggestions:
Dogs, dogs and more dogs. You can only have four if you live in the city, but three is just right. We had three wonderful old dogs that died in the space of a year, leaving us bereft and mourning. So, we adopted three more, a Chesapeake Bay Retriever, an Aussidoodle and a Bernedoodle. Now at 1-, 2- and 3-years-old, they’re all strong-willed, remarkably intelligent and full of love and mischief. Thanks to the dogs, we’re not just an elderly couple but a family – delightful, unpredictable and fun.
Books, books and more books. My mother was a bookseller, my grandfather had a library in his spacious home, and I have both inherited and bought books. I’m still buying, although I have hundreds that I’ve yet to read. Now reading “Suite Francaise,” an extraordinary novel of France in 1939-1942, secretly written by Irene Nemirovsky and discovered by her descendants sixty years later. It’s transcendent and moving, a great book by any measure. Nemirovsky died in Auschwitz in 1943.
Before “Suite Francaise”, I read “Under the Wide and Starry Sky,” Nancy Horan’s lightly fictionalized 474-page biography of Fanny Osbourne and Robert Louis Stevenson, first published in 2013. It was discarded from the Pikes Peak Library District a few years ago, apparently because no one had read it or borrowed it. It’s a great read, especially since I loved Stevenson’s books as a kid and even imitated his life by sailing off to Polynesia as a 21-year-old. I was also entranced by Fanny, a 19th century American woman who seems as confident and powerful as her 21st century counterparts.
And finally, art, art and more art. I’ve long confessed my addiction to art, and it both energizes and depresses me. Energizes because I love it, depresses me because I know we’ll have to move to a smaller single-level house next summer, and I’ll have to sell, give away or abandon some art. But why worry – celebrate the day! The dogs are whining to go out, the sun is bright and fierce, so I’ll put on a light jacket, take the dogs out to cavort and sit happily in the noonday sun. In the 85th year of a well-lived if undistinguished life, something interesting might happen … please!
