I’m 45 years old. After much prompting, the kids are slowly transitioning from calling me Old Man, to “Cactus” (Simon’s idea), or “Darth Father” (Jasper’s). I’ll take either. I hate getting older. The wisdom thing is great, but not so much the pain in the hip or the hair in weird places. And although I feel I have a lot more to share now (and I definitely care less about what people think about what I think), my 10PM bedtime makes blogging less possible.
Even though time is passing more quickly than ever, I’m conscious that there are still many things I could be doing now that will help me down the road. For instance, I was deeply disappointed in 1995 to learn that it can take up to 5 years before a planting of asparagus can be harvested. So when I built the cabin, I didn’t plant. That was 19 years ago. Similarly, I remember the sense of possible that I felt one Christmas in the late 80s when I first got Men’s Health in my Christmas stocking. “Rock Hard Abs by Spring!” (1987). The stocking also contained a box of chocolate macaroons.
Life is so Now Now Now. Yet I’m old enough to notice that what I’m most proud of in my midlife is stuff that didn’t have an immediate payoff. I am absolutely most grateful in life to whatever prompted me to buy a clear cut and plant 8000 seedlings. So much good has come from that simple action. So much wonder stirred within my little boys. If I die tomorrow, please bring some boughs of spruce and pine and larch to whatever gathering is held. The gathering isn’t planned. I haven’t done that yet.
