Yes, in this thing called retirement I have enough time to have deep thoughts, but not always enough time to record them. I spend most of my time contemplating mortality and old age. My mother has become just like Granny, and I still (again) live in the same house where I first knew both of them. All my working life I wondered what it would be like to be them: to be in this house all day, taking care of things and people and just being a part of life at home. Now I know, and it is good. Every once in a while, usually in the early mornings when Bob is gone and my mother is still sleeping, I get a glimpse into the past. It is usually a sound. With the windows open, I enjoy leisure with my breakfast and somehow the sounds that emanate from the yard are still the same. Of course, the mill sounds are missing and with them the heavy river, railroad and truck traffic. But there are enough of those to make a background. The birds are the same birds, and somehow when they sing, they bring it all back.
Is it good to be in the same place you were? Sometimes not, but mostly yes. Today I pick up a 90 year old to get her nails done and take her and my mother out to lunch. Tomorrow, I take a garden spade and dig the same ground my grandmother dug to coax tomatoes and squash. I sleep in the room where my parents slept.
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