Saturday, June 26, 2004
Aging Process
It is currently dark, overcast and pouring down rain and instead of making me feel gloomy, as days like this do to many others, it brings me a sense of comfort and I become totally relaxed. I love to stay in bed, curled up underneath the down in flannel pajamas, with a book in hand or just lay back and go over memories.
Some of my fonder memories are of my grandmother’s house when I was growing up. I think it’s part of the reason I love old things to this day. I love the old claw bathtubs and stand alone sinks. I love the mesmerizing if not hypnotizing creaks from old chairs or floorboards when you sit or rise in them or walk across them. I love the scent of old wood as it continues to age.
My grandmother’s house was a mixture of many scents like this. She had quite a few antique pieces; sewing machine, grandfather clock, tables, dressers, etc. and they each gave off a scent of history and fascinating stories. I could smell the pages of the old books sitting on the shelves; the oils of many hands rubbed off on them from eager readers over the years. Everything in this house had a scent that I labeled, “Grandma” and if I ever catch a whiff of it in the present, I’m immediately at ease and feel at home.
It never seemed to be noisy around Grandma’s house. Maybe part of this is because she lived next to a creek at the end of a dead end street but I just don’t recall a lot of racket when we went to visit. Perhaps it had to do with the the thick windows or maybe it was the thick walls that come with older houses. However, I could go outside and climb on to the tire swing, and the only sounds I would hear were the rope as it squeaked across the groaning branch above, the faint rippling of the creek and the rustling of leaves. Every once in awhile I would be treated to the chatterings of squirrels as they scampered on the floor of the yard looking for food. But I never heard traffic, I never heard people talking or yelling. I never heard booming music. All I heard was peace.
It is because of these memories that I actually look forward to getting older. I can’t wait to own a couch with a knitted afghan tossed over the back for guests. I can’t wait to wear a delicate, old shawl around my feeble shoulders. I can’t wait to sit in a rocking chair and be lulled to sleep by the ticking of the clock while the cat sits on my lap. I can’t wait to set off the aroma of tea freshly brewed, cookies and pies cooling on the window sill. I can’t wait to sit out on the porch at night time and enjoy the silence while viewing the massive universe laid out above me.
I want to have floorboards and chairs that creak, I want to have the smell of old wood and old books. I want to have a tree with a tire swing hung from it even if no one uses it. I’ll still hear the branches complaining when the wind blows. And I can’t wait to find a place that is so quiet that when it does rain, I’ll be able to hear it spatter on the roof of the house and I’ll pick up a good book, curl myself up under my down comforter or I’ll lay back and look fondly on old memories.
