Many years ago, my grandfather retired to his garden in Northern California. He had put himself through college working 40 hours a week as a gardener, and it had engendered a life-long interest in this activity. In retirement he woke up in the morning, donned his khaki working clothes, and headed out to his carefully tended fruit trees, plants, flowers and beloved roses. He would come in at noon, have lunch, and then after an hour-long nap in his leather chair would head out into the garden again. His carefully tended half acre thrived under his knowledgeable hand, roses blooming around a bird bath, and wisteria hanging in great purple strands around a picture window. He enjoyed and cherished his bit of nature and the time he spent in it. Then on one visit to his home, I suddenly found that he came in for lunch, changed out of his gardening clothes, and after his nap spent the afternoon reading or at his desk. With no fanfare he had found he could no longer give a whole day to the garden, and quietly cut back on his activities. Did he regret this or miss his afternoons under the California sun? I do not know, as he just graciously and quietly adjusted to what he now could do.
I am now at that age. I no longer waterski, I find daughters taking my arm protectively as I descend stadium steps at a band competition, and I tire walking from one end of the mall to another. I hope I am being gracious about these small diminutions in my life, but frankly these things are not where the problem lies. The real gracefulness test will be when I have to give up my car. The thought of not being able to walk into my garage any time I want and go anywhere I wish is something I do not even want to think about. I still remember, with a sinking heart, an older friend’s offhand comment made as I drove her to the grocery store. She said quietly, “Do you realize I will never be alone in a car again?”
I have talked sternly to myself about this, warned my long-suffering daughters, and we all await the inevitable. Will I have a senior fit in my garage, or will I accept my new carless life? Even I do not know how well-mannered I will be, but in a perfect world I hope I will live up to my grandfather’s standard. And perhaps I will, if I will only remember that grace, wherever found, is to be treasured.
