It’s not quite 10 a.m. as I sit down before my keyboard. I glance out the double window of the ancillary bedroom I use as a home office to see my front yard, whose grass I trimmed in exhausting heat only a few days earlier. It all looks somewhat idyllic – serene, and oh so green.
I enjoy the look of my yard, but I’ve never appreciated the process of creating it. If I enjoyed yardwork, or “gardening” if you want to be fancy, perhaps I’d feel differently about it. But, no. For me, it’s always been a chore I postpone nearly to the point the homeowners’ association might send me a letter threatening a $100 fine if I don’t get my yard in order.
Monday, after everyone in my neighborhood previously received an HOA advisory that beginning July 1 it would inspect our lots and enforce fines, I knew I had to get busy. My front yard, the only part of my lot visible due to strategically placed gate walls I had built three years ago, needed attention. I’d give it one more try. But when the heat, combined with my age, required I take about five rest breaks, and an electrolyte drink, while pushing my rechargeable electric mower over only an eighth of an acre, I called a friend who long ago gave up the yard care game to a paid landscaper.
“Who’s your yard guy?” I asked.
A few days later, a gregarious man who looked like he could be Kevin Bacon’s father appeared at my address. And after a few minutes of examining my lot and listening to what I’d like to see happen to it, he offered me a rate for twice-a-month lawn care that was so affordable I could hardly believe it.
Hell, yeah! You’re hired!
I didn’t put it quite that way, but I certainly hoped my struggles with yard maintenance were over. He starts this Thursday, mowing and edging everything, and I can’t wait to see how things look once he’s finished.
Yet, this event brings some sadness. The AARP and practically every other organization focusing on senior life promotes “gardening” as a healthy and life-extending activity. I had resolved to manage my own until I could no longer walk. I finally had to admit it was time to let this job go to someone with better equipment, more knowledge, and employees to help him.
This is one of my first concessions to aging (other than gaining weight over the past decade and chronic sciatica). From my own experience and that of some friends in my age cohort, I know it won’t be the last.
That’s a thing about aging. While retirement, for me at least, has been pleasant, I am becoming ever more aware of the importance of being able to gracefully let go of notions and activities my mind and body will no longer support.
It’s not an enjoyable realization, but a necessary one.
A few years ago, a high school classmate returned to our home town with her husband to build an impressive two-story home within walking distance of my late parents’ house. When she told me how disappointed she was she could no longer clean and maintain it without paid assistance, her experience didn’t resonate with me.
Until now.
I also have two friends who have voluntarily decided to no longer drive at night, their vision having declined to the point that the practice feels too dangerous to them. So, they’ve let it go and are adapting.
I’m not there yet.
But if my vision similarly declines, there are activities crucial to my creative wellbeing I’d need to relinquish, such as directing local theatre. Rehearsals almost universally occur at night because area actors must work their day jobs. So, in addition to giving up night driving, I’d also be forced to give up theatre.
For now, I’m giving up yard work. Otherwise, I’m clinging to everything else I’m currently able to do as tightly as I can, with the knowledge settling into my brain that letting go is an inevitable fact of life.