9 Days Out from 76

I’m breathing down the neck of 76.
I am glad for this at the same time I am astonished.
My granddaughter ran to me at day care after I memorized the code for opening the day care door.
Later, I wrote it down in my phone.

I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time.
This isn’t new. It’s always been this way. I wing it, but with a scary certitude.
I could have been a wing walker except I’m afraid of heights but like the attention.
She can climb into the truck on her own and sit in her car seat, it is a gift of doing.

I lay awake thinking of the next wonderful thing but know that time is short.
The goal is to be old and remarkable in some way, maybe different ways, old, new, assorted.
There is not time to do some remarkable things, climb big mountains or swim to Key West.
My plant is dying from overwatering, one of many miscalculations.

There are more plants where that came from. I feel free now to toss it.
Before, I’d pray over it, have regret fill the bowl, wonder why I thought I could keep a plant alive.
Now, I wonder if time is better spent building the muscle in my legs or perfecting my stroke.
Time leaks in big puddles.

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Photo by Andre Taissin on Unsplash