still and yet

Last evening, as I was rubbing cream on my legs, I was once again horrified by their appearance. Every colour and variety of veins were plentiful, shrouding the area from  my thigh to ankle.

This coming summer,  even capris might not cover this vein rainbow.

"Remember," I muttered to myself, "these are just veins."

I thought back to when I first began my blog. 

While walking with a much younger friend,  I mentioned my upcoming birthday and my age. 

She was aghast. 70!  

She went on to say that in medieval times this age was the beginning of what they called "decrepitude."

Sure enough, when I googled it, it was indeed the final stage before death!

Surprised that they were still available,  I quickly seized the domain names "decrepitude.com" and "decrepitude.ca" 

Still trying to imagine what the focus of my blog would be, I decided that my site was not going to be focused on aging, but rather would be:

"Observations from an up-front woman on the other side of seventy. Collector of random thoughts and interesting stones. Maker of art in the studio and garden. Purveyor of the ordinary and the magical."

This allows for a great deal of space and room to wander.

I've been lucky to have two walking partners, two women to be wide-open-honest with and who also walk as fast as I do.

However, with health and family issues, neither is available right now,  so I've been pushing myself to walk alone.

Not every day and not usually fun.

So I set out early this morning and surprised myself by enjoying the gentle shower and the occasional gust of wind. 

Everything seemed fresh and as if seen for the first time.

                                             these photographs were taken last week      

                                           

There were several houses for sale along Landsdowne Road and in front of one sat a walker and two bright yellow paddles.

 I walked on for a few minutes then turned back and knocked on the front door.  It was early, but I had seen the light of a television through the front window.  

The woman who answered the door said the walker was available so I placed it in her closed-in porch and said that I'd be back in less than an hour to retrieve it. 

Somehow this sighting seemed important.

She said that this was the last of four walkers that had belonged to her mother and father. She had been clearing the house, readying it to sell.

Returning to Landsdowne, I twigged my back while fitting this treasure into my Fiat. 

I'll be out walking again tomorrow; my veins and sore back merely an inconvenience.

*Tomorrow, Brian will take the walker to SOLID Outreach Society