Judgment Day

I can’t speak for others of my generation but, for myself, not a day goes by but this one niggling Shadow taunts me: “Why are you here?” Like shadows do, it changes its position, rephrases its question: “How are you going to make up for lost time?” Or: “Do you deserve to be so contented?”

Then there’s the most recurring question of all: “What are you going to do today to warrant your good fortune?”

 It’s not to impress the world I write down my thoughts in a blog. It’s more like launching a bottle out to sea with the message in it: “Whoever finds this bottle, please get back to me if you are of a kindred spirit. Or, even if not. But if the person who finds this is in their eighties or nineties and would like to share your life story, all the better.”

This morning I filled out another of those ubiquitous surveys that ask your occupation. “Retired” and none of the other usual answers seem to fit me. Somehow they don’t capsulize adequately my unique (I’d like to think) occupational categories. Here’s a run-down (not in order of importance) of some titles I could claim:

Canary keeper, dog sitter, housekeeper, world-watcher, clay sculptor, writer, reader, grandmother, mom, friend of a few, enemy of none, and glad-to-be-alive grateful citizen of the USA.

 

Somehow the niggling Shadow I mentioned above tags along with me asking those questions of accounting without actually accusing me. He, she, whoever it is, does not deny me the pleasure of just savoring the joy of any given moment. It never takes over like a schoolmaster or life regulator. It seems to know I’ll do just as I please anyway, but doesn’t give up in urging me to do better whatever I choose. 

It’s been said that every day is judgment day, but if there is to be some final judgment, I’d dread most the one that would parade in front of me all the things I could have accomplished in life and didn’t because of wrong choices, lack of motivation, or simple selfish desire. I've had my share of sins of commission, but it's the sins of omission I most worry about.

I have a couple of friends who are slightly older than I and someday I may talk to them about this. For now we just enjoy each others’ company, reminisce about the olden days, and share a few outings now and then. In between our infrequent get-togethers I keep nearly daily company with a dear daughter who lives in this same block, enjoy occasional visits with one son, a weekly Skype hour with another son, a gathering of grandchildren and sweet great grandies on holidays, and daily exchanges with my Muse in a journal. The latter have become increasingly more public with blogs like this. (I laugh at the word “public” when I remember how few even read them. And that’s OK. It helps me open up.)

So, when my niggling Shadow asks what on earth I’m good for now-a-days I just say, “Sit down here beside me. Look around at all the beauty you see, be grateful for relatively good health, have a bite of lunch on the patio next to the creek, give tasties to Dolce, your granddaughter’s little dog, listen to Tommy the canary sing, and quit talking!” Then I pat the little fellow on the shoulder and apologize. “I’m sorry, my friend, you’re doing a good job keeping me enough on track to not fear too much any kind of judgment day, whether daily or final, and I’m grateful to you for not being too hard on me.” 

As for the occupational query on that survey? I just wrote: "Read my blog."