One year a teaching colleague and I went over to the home of another colleague, recently widowed, and we put up her artificial Christmas tree for her. She was very grateful. That woman’s house was peaceful and clean, absolutely sparkling, as if all she did was clean. I guess we thought that she needed a little boost, what with being an old lady all on her own. I wondered at the time if she was lonely and at loose ends. 

It occurs to me that  I am probably older now than that lady was at the time. 

Yesterday, I spent a good chunk of yesterday curating one of my Apple Music playlists (it’s over thirteen hours long, down from nearly fifteen hours) while finishing up reading a murder mystery, writing a novel, doing my French homework and listening to a French podcast, learning some pre-algebra, drawing an insect, writing in my journal, transcribing parts of old journals, and posting to my blog. I also did my stretching routine, and went for a walk.  

I also had conversations with the audiologist and the street cleaner who does my neighborhood (I gave him his Christmas tip early, and he swept the leaves off my steps). I also talked to my friend Ray about her mother’s wedding, to my adult kid about parent conferences next week, and to my friend Crys about how they’re doing.

There was a fair amount of time somewhere in there where I wasn’t doing anything. I think. Or maybe telling my cat it isn’t time to eat yet counts as doing something, I don’t know. 

Today I will go to French class, volunteer in my grandson’s library, and prepare myself for my monthly trip to New York City on the train.

Let me know when I’m so old I can’t put up my own damn artificial Christmas tree. I don’t have time to think about how old that is right now.