Blowing Out Candles and Butterflies

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It’s been a long hot summer, not a drop of rain.

— Robert Earl Keen

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I marked another birthday a couple of days ago. To do so, I took off from working at the library, woke up early, accepted birthday greetings from my Beautiful Mystery Companion and hopped on the zero-turn mower before the sun was high in the sky to mow the front pasture, which consists of about 3 acres. Mowing while listening to NPR through noise-canceling earbuds — wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants bucked into my Red Wing boots, topped by a wide-brimmed hat — seemed like a good way to reflect on how I have arrived at 68, what it means, and what might lie ahead. As a friend said, “Time marches on but without my consent.”

I can’t say I produced any concrete answers, but the parched yard is now neatly trimmed. With 100-plus degree temperatures predicted for the next 10 days or so, and not a drop of rain ahead, I likely will not have to mow again for a month. It was hot, dusty, and not particularly pleasant. It has been one of those summers where my BMC and I dream of being able to steal away somewhere cool for at least a couple of months.

As I mowed, this refrain played a frequent loop through my brain: I am 68 years old and my 50^th high-school reunion is just weeks away. Man, that sure got here in a hurry. I am rapidly becoming the only person in the circle of friends and acquaintance of my age range who is still working. That is fine with me. I am still happily working in the library, teaching an introductory photography course, plugging away at writing, taking another graduate course at UNT, walking three miles each day, and reading every chance I get. The shoulder surgery, and a dental implant a few weeks after that, in late spring were reminders that parts are beginning to wear out, but overall, I am decent shape — and always grateful for that fact.

After mowing, I peeled off my soaked clothes, took a shower, put on shorts and a T-shirt, and took a short nap, about 30 minutes. I nap under a quilt my BMC had made for me a couple of years ago out of 30 T-shirts I was willing to give up. The T-shirt quilt is a roadmap of past adventures we have shared — hiking along Washington’s Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park; watching David Ortiz, aka Big Papi, play one of his last games in Fenway Park; taking the tram to the summit of Pike’s Peak; visiting my native New Hampshire and neighboring Vermont; and much more.

My closet is again filled with T-shirts marking trips taken since then to Germany, Portland, Oregon, and Destin Florida. God willing, we plan to make many more memories over the coming years, trips to places we have never seen or back to spots we love. Someday, we will have another T-shirt quilt made to preserve the souvenirs.

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As I write this, once again ensconced in air conditioning and looking out at our refurbished backyard filled with heat-tolerant flowers, I see butterflies flitting about. I regularly water the fenced yard, so the contrast of its green Bermudagrass with the straw-yellow Bahia on the other side of the fence is striking. The butterflies and bees love the flowers, as do the hummingbirds sipping from the feeder or the blossoms.

Both cats, Tater and Olive, are sleeping in chairs in the sunroom, while Gatsby is stretched out on top of the couch. Mollie is in my BMC’s study, curled up in a chair. I spend a bit of time preparing for the next day’s photography class, then pick up the novel I am reading – a birthday gift to myself, reading during a weekday afternoon when normally I would be working at the library. It has been a fine day for a birthday, topped up with a quiet dinner out with my BMC. Tomorrow, back to the routine. It is a good life.

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