The Age Of
I had a show this past weekend. A crimson maple festival. A celebration of the end of Summer and the welcoming of Fall. It is a time of mixed emotions for me. I find it sad, sometimes, to watch my hostas curl up and wither. To empty the clay pots of faded beauties, to cut back the dying foliage and to rake up piles of leaves beneath the shedding branches. I talk to my plants and thank them for such sterling service. For the breathtaking panorama. I walk through my garden and tidy up loose ends. Rake and trim. But as the dusk nears, the sun hovering on the horizon filters through the multicolored prism of red, yellow and gold, in a radiant fiery glow. I feel warmed and renewed.
I love the garden. Repeating lines and designs, the cycle of the seasons, the balanced palette of soft pastels and riotous color, the comfort of stillness and the eternal promise of Spring after a cold harsh Winter.
Is this the passing of time, running out of time or timelessness?
As did a woman in my tent this weekend. She lingered near one of my pieces a moment too long. Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "That's me... starting a new season." She was scared. I stood quietly beside her, put one hand on her shoulder and said to myself..."50". The big five-ohhhh. Been there. Done that. I do remember it. The "pause", the intake of breath just before acknowledging such a significant passage of time.
I had to catch myself. Temper my words carefully. Fifty, for me, was a problem only on the "day". Friends, family and coworkers love to drape you in black, mark you "over the hill" and laugh at your expense. It's all in good fun, but what they didn't know, is that the next day, fifty years plus twenty-four hours, I would have a private party. No more rules. None. A free woman. To think and do and be whatever I wanted. More of this and less of that.
Like a snake shedding its skin, or a tree losing its leaves.
Whew! A hot flash followed by a cool breeze.
there are only three important things to remember
on the eve of your fiftieth birthday...
One...Here. You are still here.
Two...There. The past is exactly where it should be. Past.
Three...Anywhere...you choose...is where you are headed.
Women entering the third "season" of life need new accessories. I know the fashion magazines dictate that this is the season of black and beige, but this is no time to be colorblind. This is the season to be vivacious, voluptuous, audacious, bold, daring and spectacular. This is your time to startle, astound and amaze. Glam it up with large dangling earrings and a slash of red lipstick. Think candy apple red thoughts, be as cheeky as cinnamon, and load up on just enough sass to keep you on the edge of the trouble pit, without falling in.
Growing older is a gift, not a curse.
Open the door for...
Overnight the wind changes direction
The color palette softens to sienna, ochre and umber.
The third season of life is best viewed in diffused light.
But do not be lulled because what follows is:
Leaves do not age gracefully. They have a riot.