The three of us recently spent a long weekend. Hard to believe. We have known each other since 1965. And here we are, no longer even middle-aged; unless you believe 60 is the new 40.
Forty-seven years ago I shared my deepest thoughts and secrets with these two people. Teen-aged loves, musical loves: Simon & Garfunkel and the Beatles. Favorite TV show: “Man from Uncle.” The meaning of life, parents, God and death, and what to wear to the Friday night dance. Also, how to survive the toughest teachers. And did the nuns who seemed to have all the answers really know what they were talking about. We thought we solved many of those issues.
This past weekend we dined, drank, toured a museum, shopped and talked. But mostly talked. To the point I was hoarse by Monday when we parted.
We talk about when and how to retire. What to do once we are retired. How long will be able to travel? Can we still drive hundreds of miles to visit friends? And how much energy and inclination do we have to try new things?
We talk about the deaths of our parents. Of the three of us, only one still has a living parent. We are now the older generation. So we still talk about the meaning of life. And did the nuns have some or any of the answers.
I am the first of our threesome to retire. I write, blog, take writers’ workshops, paint, and travel. I also spend more time doing things just for me than I have at any other time since childhood. Exercise, projects around the house, walking the dog, visiting with friends, new and old. But seeing old friends is as good as it gets. They are my roots.