Not a very regular letter-writer anymore but I guess few are. We seem to communicate ever more via social media but in tiny bursts and sparkles, not nearly as illuminating as those fine long hand-written letters used to be. So this is my attempt at a catch up, small as my news is, with all of you who still mean so much to me.
I’m 75 this year, days away from having to confess to 76, at which point I will be 1.28 years away from life expectancy for women in America. What a thought! For long years it seemed as if I and all the friends I saw regularly barely seemed to age, year after year. We felt 25. We looked to be healthfully in the adult middle somewhere. But then came 70 and one by one I see us all coming nose to nose with the discovery that our elders weren’t kidding. We still feel 25, well, maybe 40, but old age is real and sometimes daunting and we are all holding different karmic hands. Suddenly from one day to the next there is a pain that was not there before, or a body part that refuses anymore to work properly. Our youthful beauty and grace are almost entirely found only in old photos - that now astound us - as we take full measure of the distance we have traveled. And there have been deaths among my circle this year and last. That too is real. For myself, none of the cards laid down so far have been mortal. I have some symptoms of spinal stenosis now, sore sitting bones and an arthritic hip that keep me from easily traveling far, sitting long, or walking far. But with a bit of experimentation I can still do all of those. And still teach - 10 hours a week - and love it. And still walk the giant white dog Enzy from downstairs on slow rounds through local forests or by the beach - almost every day. We adore each other.
I even managed a real trip last summer, the first since settling in to take care of Mom in 20014. I flew to Portland to stay with a delightful new friend, Aliza, and her husband Alan. Three days of great conversations and meals and very limited walks, and a final wonderful literary breakfast with my kindred spirit cousin Kelley who made the time to drive down and hang out with us in Aliza’s kitchen. A few more days for a quality visit with my brother Chris and his wife Paulette in their wonderful Oregon country home. Then the flight back, wandering through a sky city of white clouds in battlements and mist meadows. I had forgotten how magical it is to travel, every minute. But also felt intense relief to be home at the end. Oh yes. 75. Real.
Home is still my sea-view apartment in Santa Cruz which most of you have visited. I have covered the walls with new sets of my photos as I take a renewed interest in photography lately and spangled the outdoors with lights and flowers. I share it with a delightful slight middle-aged woman named Gloria, who works marathon hours and rarely emerges from her room but, when she does, we get along splendidly. What a relief to find such a perfect person. We each have a cat, dedicated to reminding us of the virtues of taking naps and living precisely in this moment - at least between snacks.
The book I published last year, Leo Learns to Meditate, won its first prize a couple of months ago and putters along in sales. Never likely to make me rich or famous, but I am indeed glad to have added it to the world’s conversation. I am currently working my way through a series of retrospective articles that will make a kind of memoir. Almost finished, and not at all sure who might ever read them, but creativity and sharing, in whatever form, is so essential, I think to being alive and feeling good about it. I’ll let you know when the book is (self) published if anyone feels curious to take a look.
And so my darlings, let us renew our courage for life and wish each other Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukha, Happy Solstice, and a new year coming. May humanity survive it. And learn from it, and find a way through to being better than we ever have been. That is always and ever possible.
Much love to all,
Cesca
