Monday, May 30, 2011

For the past two weeks I have been a human tractor: digging, mowing, digging, mowing, hauling manure, digging, digging, digging. T0day I am tired, tired, tired. But I still have corn to plant.

[Small digression into the memory of last night's excellent meal: swordfish steaks marinated in lime juice, garlic, hot pepper, and marjoram. Served with couscous salad. Followed by pitted cherries with whipped cream.]

Today the temperature is supposed to reach the mid-80s. Spring, we barely knew you. My drawers are still full of wool sweaters.

[Small digression into a small rant: Who the hell are these women? Do they really exist? Or am I living on the Planet of the Apes? To the best of my knowledge, I don't know anyone--anyone--who deals with aging like this. I think this is sick . . . and I speak as a woman who does wear a minor amount of makeup and does shave her legs and does worry about her looks to a certain degree. I don't color my hair, though I occasionally consider it. I don't wear nail polish because I hate the way it makes my nails feel heavy. I do feel melancholy about growing older. But perhaps I've been under the delusion that melancholy is an essential element of the human experience.]

[Small digression into poetry: As my friend Baron Wormser writes in his poem "Mulroney," these are the women who are "groomed to run the show."

As his character Mulroney remarks in reply, "How sad."]


Ruth said...

Dawn, ALL of us get older because of the natural passage of time, some of us age physically, some of us are old from birth, until our peer finally are the same age we've been since the beginning of time, some of us fight growing older (how silly)and some of us ( I suspect that is you as it is me) are young eternally because of attitude and dedication to life. I personally know only one person who "refuses" to age. I do take great delight (God, forgive me this pleasure) in announcing me age. I will be 64 and I am who I am. I look at pictures and I do look like my mom and my grandmother, I remember that my grandmother was voted the "Most beaturiful girl at the Hamburg (CT) Fair. One could only wish from such accolades. However, my beloved honorary grandchildren and grand nieces/nephews and truck stop children really DON"T give a damn about my age or looks. That is what is really important. happy day. See you soon.

Dawn Potter said...

In 1981 my junior prom date was 17-going-on-50. When I saw him a couple of weeks ago, he was 47-going-on-50. That was eerie.