Enjoying The Back Seat

At my age people are apt to take a back seat to many things. They become spectators instead of players. I don't begrudge anyone of advanced years who is continuing to demonstrate his or her abilities in physical ways such as running, playing tennis, swimming. That must be their choice and more power to them. For myself, I see these years as a time to enjoy a quieter, more mental form of exercise. I can picture enjoying a game of golf now and then, and I could still wield a tennis racket if I cared to. It's just that there are other pursuits I enjoy more. I find this a more thoughtful time of life, a sort of sitting back and going along for the ride kind of life.

"Taking the back seat" can also be taken literally. "Mom, you sit here," the kids always say after I've given one of them the keys to my car. They hold open the door on the passenger side for me but I decline, "No, Honey, I love to sit in the back seat. I feel like Miss Daisy." If no one else is sitting there I often choose the center spot which gives me a better view between the headrests of the front seats. Then I really feel special, almost queenly. I tuck myself in, fasten the seat belt, and settle down for the picture show of humanity on the go. I soak in the countryside, or pass pleasing judgment on the landscaping along broad streets in our neighborhood. I help to find parking places in shopping center parking lots, or, if we're traveling a-far and happen into a small town it is fun to see old houses where sidewalks serve shade trees and screened-in front porches.

In the back seat I listen to the front seaters work out family affairs and try to remember the name of some song of the 40's playing softly on the satellite radio. No more am I the mother figure in the family, hosting holiday dinners, packing school lunches, wiping away tears or laughing at my husband's oft-told jokes in company. The stories from school days have all passed me by now that my grandchildren are out of school. Instead I take loving hugs from their little ones who call me "GG Joy" (Great Grandma Joy). It seems most everyone calls me Grandma, even my own children sometimes. I used to mind that. I don't anymore.

They say older people need less sleep and I think it's true. I get up around five-thirty a.m. and even earlier some days. I sneak quietly into a dim-lit kitchen (my canary and finch are still asleep) to fix myself a bowl of dry cereal with sliced banana, berries, a Medjool date, a few chopped nuts, fresh berries and whole milk. (Not the chalky 2% or skim.) I brew a cup of coffee and open the patio door to hear the burbling creek next to my condo while it's still too dark to see it. Sitting in my Lazy Boy chair, I savor each bite and sip. Then I take in the morning paper but lay it aside for my journal and a talk with Muse. Muse and I go back a long way. We reminisce about our yesterdays and talk about todays too. If we look toward tomorrows it's not for long. I accept no reason to doubt that they are like good gift packages awaiting their time to be opened. Muse and I open to the next blank page and the pen begins to write. Write what? We never know ahead of time. An idea pops up and here we go on a pen and paper ride! This time we share the front seat.