Over-the-Hump Day, 2023

It’s July 2.  183 days down; only 182 more to go.  (She said, as if that’s a good thing.)

I’ve written several posts over the years on the “twelve little words” I try to come up with at the beginning of a new year, ones which describe and put in some perspective the previous 365 days.  Today, I’m instituting a new tradition.  Herewith, my six words for the first half of 2023:

1. Wet:  Lord, it’s been rainy.  I’m not complaining, though (just yet).  Usually by this time we’re well into the summer doldrums and 2-3 week stretches with no rain at all are common.  Since I planted four rather large trees (two sweet gum, two maple) up the hill a month or so ago, and two smaller pink dogwoods a little lower down, I’m very grateful for the rain; otherwise I’d be watering them by hand every other day and stewing about the water level in my well.  Ditto for watering the garden, which is coming along nicely.
2. Work: See mention of the “garden,” above. After several years in which I’ve wondered, from time to time if it was worth it, this year I’m starting to see the results. And they’re worth it.
3. Friends: Both old and new.  Thanks for sticking with me, thanks for taking a chance on me, and here’s to a bright future for us all.
4. Reinvention: Tomorrow marks the third anniversary of Mr. Right’s death, and–at last–I am finding myself branching out, exploring new interests, and moving on to the next phase of my life.  I know he’d not have wanted me stuck in place forever, and I know he’s cheering me on.
5. Family: The glue that holds it all together.  I’m blessed with a marvelously eccentric and long-lived set of relations and–a glorious surprise–a niece who just turned two the other day.  My granddaughter, about whom I’ve written so often here and on Ricochet is fifteen and in high school (the mind boggles).  And in a couple of weeks, we’ll get together, from all corners of the earth, for a Zoom chat (at teatime!) to celebrate what would have been our dear departed Auntie Pat’s 100th birthday.  In the much-desired event that my niece should live to her centenary (quite likely; several in my family have done so), I’ll be a linchpin in her memory connecting over 250 years of family history, starting with my great-grandmother who was born four years after Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, and who died when I was fourteen, a few months before Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.  That’s plenty enough legacy for me.
6. Contentment: I suppose it’s the word that sums up the rest, and best describes where I find myself in my soon-to-be sixty-ninth year. The ups-and-downs of the previous sixty-eight (and there have been many) are receding in the rear-view mirror.  I’m not so naïve as to think there won’t be any more of either or both, but I’m settled, I’m where I want to be, I’m surrounded by family and good friends and–when it comes to life–I’ m pretty much regret-free.

Although–speaking of regret–as I enter the downhill stretch of 2023 and December draws ever closer, I am beginning to wish I had left that damn Christmas tree up.

Here’s to the rest of the year.  May it find you all content and at peace with yourselves.