Today is January 1, 2019, the last “teen” year I — and probably you — will ever know. I read that on facebook. Does it matter? Maybe. Add it to the growing list of other things I will never again experience.
I expect I’ll never see elephants walking down Main Street in my town again. I did once. They walked from the train where the circus disembarked and ended their Main Street stroll at the auditorium where the Shriner’s Circus was setting up. They did not obey traffic lights.
I will never again wear the Armani silk, size 8, suit hanging in the closet downstairs. I am no longer in the business world. Do business people still wear silk Armani suits? Even if the jacket has an amazingly cute Oriental collar and a Rockette lineup of buttons cutting through the front? “Office casual” has taken over. I don’t know what that means.
 |
| THE CAR WE BOUGHT...ONLY WHITE |
I will never buy another new car… as soon as we finish the negotiations to buy this one. It’s too hard. First, the cars all look exactly the same; it’s hard to remember which ones you test drove yesterday or last week. Every single car is apparently a prize winner. I’ve never heard of any of these prizes. No matter what amazing clearance sale is advertized, after all the discounting, the price comes out the same.
There are places I will never visit again — the Liberty Bell, Old Faithful, Disneyland.
I will never own a cat. That window has closed. I don’t much like cats. I read Ursula LeGuin’s last book “No Time to Waste” which I liked. She wrote a lot about her cat. It obviously brought her much pleasure and comfort. I was not persuaded.
I refuse to invent New Year’s Resolutions ever again. If I haven’t tackled it, tried it, tasted it or visited it by now, I never will and probably didn’t much care in the first place.
How to react to this new reality? With some relief, some nostalgia and some sadness for the list must include “I will never create another garden.” And “I probably will never again breathe in the smell of a newborn baby.” Some things about growing old are unexpectedly blissful; others are heartbreakingly sad.
The trick is to find grace in both.
