Barbara J. Hamby

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Leafing Down

The trees around here got a good shaking yesterday; none came down however. Now we have so few leaves on some that they could be counted, if one wanted to waste time that way. In the height of yesterday’s storm, I was having a conversation with an old friend about how the numbers of our peers are diminishing. Actually, he’s a few years younger than I, but we have been friends for more than 25 years. At my age, I like the analogy to autumn, although truthfully, I’m more likely into the winter of life. My old friend and I don’t see each other often, but talk on the phone every few months and, it seems, each time at least one mutual friend or acquaintance has left the ranks of the living.

This friend has an interesting lifestyle. His significant other owns a farm in the Midwest and he owns a home in a suburb of Portland. They both also have rental properties to supervise. They spend time together in each place and brief periods alone in their respective homes. For several years now they’ve talked about finding a home where they could live together, but so far that hasn’t happened.

Back to leaves--I rejoice that I no longer have to worry about getting rid of them. Men from Mars, wearing weird, noisy machines descend on our yard and parking area and blow them into piles, then haul them away. That’s one of the numerous perks (albeit not a totally desirable one, considering the noise) of being a renter. Part of yesterday’s conversation was comparing the relative merits of home owning and renting in older years.

This afternoon I went to my writing critique group and got great suggestions to improve my account of our Maui trip.

Later, I forced myself to go to the pool and spent 40 minutes working out and swimming. The sciatica was painful while I was in the water, but I felt better when I got out. We’ll see how I sleep tonight, after three nights of very limited rest.

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