Sixty-Seven Days Between Enthusiasm and Depression

I like myself! I like my life!
What's wrong with me?

On June 29th I committed to the Mandela Day Project. I would knit 67 minutes a day for 67 days. The nagging thought "what am I doing on this earth" had slipped into my daily monologue again as it does periodically. When I marked 67 days on my calendar I realized that the last day would fall on my birthday. I took this as an omen. A good sign! Worthy of my enthusiasm! For a while it lifted the dark veil off the fact that I would turn 75 and it allowed me to think colorful thoughts. I was in the midst of making brightly striped Bears as part of a group I had named "Gelato on the Piazza" and I loved the way they turned out.

Knitting Bears for the Mother Bear Project is like meditation for me. It relaxes me, makes me happy. Knitting Bears for the Mother Bear Project and thinking of my hero, Nelson Mandela, is even better. So, What's wrong with me?

I put the finishing touches to six Bears, knitted sixteen brand new ones, and started two during these 67 days. All in all my hands touched twenty four Bears (#254 to #277) I switched from the colorful Gelato series to the mostly green Sinking the Chi group.




Bears 270 to 275



















Bears 276 and 277 in progress


I wrote a list of complaints, participated in a retreat, sulked and brooded and laughed and cried. On August 29 I consulted with Mother who had died exactly two years earlier at the age of 99. She informed me that I am absolutely normal and that my behavior is age-appropriate. As she had done in life she made me feel good about myself. No, not to worry; I haven't lost my mind; I just make it a practice to connect with spirits of loved ones and imaginary mentors. You can call it a monologue - but for me it is more like a conversation.

Two days before my birthday I ran away from home. I sun-bathed in a gentle breeze at the beach in Monterey, debated the taste of buffalo mozzarella with a smiling hostess at Rappa's Harbor View at the wharf, and entertained a hungry seagull with a poppy seed muffin.
























For good measure during the past 67 days, besides knitting, I filled a journal with lots of photographs and a few words, doodled on my iPad, labored over this blog, exercised and lunched with friends who are my age and can relate to my concerns. Some family members, though, seem a bit surprised by my dislike of my 75th birthday. It is supposed to be a milestone, like 18 and 21, and 50, my son said.

Well, I think it is a milestone that attracts aching hip joints and stiff fingers. How many people my age can sink into a low to the ground beach chair with grace and dignity? Maybe that beach chair is my reason for being so grumpy. I wanted to buy one the other day, wanted to use it at an outdoor concert, but I couldn't figure out how to lower myself into it without looking like a whale rolling around in the sand.

Shouldn't I be happy about having gotten this far? I survived cancer. Where is my gratitude?
Of course I am happy. Can't you see me smiling between clenched teeth?
If I remembered the adjective for gratitude I would be IT too.

Yes! Right! Grateful! I am grateful to be alive! But couldn't wrinkles and leg cramps and forgetfulness be postponed?





Finally I have to dig into my "deep down." My "deep down" seems to crave changes to my life style. But where to start?

O.k. I will get rid of some stuff. I will stop eating peaches or chocolate at midnight. I will reconfigure my budget. I will walk more. (I always say that!) I will start a new bunch of Bears. Use stash only. Oh my! What a concept.They will be called "Lovely Leftovers - Pulled Together from Around the House and Around the World."

As of this writing - two days after I turned 75, I am enthused again.

I like myself! I like my life!
Nothing is wrong with me!