Turning
Pages
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“Sure wish I’d known forty, fifty,
years ago what I know today. I might have done some things differently,” I told
my daughter. I was bemoaning my financial status, not for the first time, more like
a recurring toothache or a grumpy relative one feels obliged to visit.
“There you go again, bad-mouthing
your ‘lack-of-planning’ choices. Most people work their whole lives for
retirement and then never end up getting to do anything with it. When you
worked, you worked hard. Then when you played, you did what you really wanted.”
She was on a roll. My daughter gets
that way. I could see her snap her eyes even with a twenty-five hundred mile
stretch of country between us. It’s a straight shot, north to south so not much
spark is lost along the way.
“Pacific Beach for a week of R &
R? Done. China? Done. Retreat on Molokai? Done,” she continued. “You have
everything you need in a place you love. Riches in the bank? No, but you have,
and continue to have, experiences so many people dream and wish to have. Some
race-race-race to keep up with the latest car, newest gadget, biggest house,
etc. That was never important. You only wanted to have great experiences. And
you have had and still have great experiences and the ability to say you enjoy your
life.”
Whew. That set me on my feet. Guess
she told me. And, of course, she is right. If I could have done things
differently, would I? Probably not. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on
one’s perspective, I was never motivated by money or by bigger-better things.
Neither way is right nor wrong, just different.
Let’s pretend our lives are books.
Each book is made of chapters and pages—just like old-fashioned tree books. A
chapter for baby-hood, one for grade school, and so forth. Maybe your present
chapter is titled, “Linda and Gary, from the farm north of Havre” and that is
one very, very long chapter. That is good.
My book seems to consist of many
short chapters, such as “Sondra in Etzatlan” and that is good too, just
different. Would I like to trade my chapter for your chapter? Very often, yes,
I certainly would.
Since we are pretending, let’s
assume we don’t skip to the back to read the last page, to see how the book
ends. Oh, you’ve been guilty of that too, have you? So all we can read today is
the page we are on, right? We don’t know how many chapters we have. We don’t
know how our book will end. Or when.
All the time, my friends, even
strangers, ask me, “How long do you think you’ll stay in Mexico?”
“For the duration,” is my usual reply.
But what do I know? I like my chapter, living here in Etzatlan, frequent trips
to Guadalajara, to Mazatlan, to smaller towns. It’s a restful chapter,
rejuvenating. I get to look at the world around me without preconceived notions
of what it should be. Every day things appear to sparkle, refreshing.
But every now and then I get a
niggling feeling there might be another chapter ahead, a different place to
write different pages. I’ll tell you, that thought scares my liver right down
to my toenails. So I shove the thought back into a high shelf in my closet and
hide it under blankets. It doesn’t do me a bit of good to think about it. What
do I know? Nothing.
A New Year’s a-coming. Each day
another page. My today page is mopping my floor, watering my extensive garden,
making beans and biscuits. I think about you north of town, throwing feed to
the cows, or you, over there on 3rd, changing that flat tire in the
ice and wind, or you in the blue parka, walking in the dark, going to work at
the bakery. I think about you.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
December 28,
2017
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