Desert Wildflowers and Aging
So this weekend I dragged my movie to Borrego Springs to visit Anza Borrego Desert State Park and see the spectacular wildflowers in bloom. By movie, I mean disabled Mom in a wheelchair, her caregiver, myself, a gel filled mattress pad, a suitcase full of clothing, a canvas bag of medications, quad cane, baby monitor, food and assorted sundries.
We were only gone for two nights, but filled up a four door sedan with stuff to make sure the routine we maintain at home could be simulated at a golf resort in the desert peopled with grey haired men golfing with their younger wives.
The visitor's center now has a paved trail that runs between the campground allowing my mother to get out into the desert and observe the ant hills, Golden desert poppies, bright yellow blooms on bladder pod, the red tips of Ocotillo like miniature flags in the wind. Blankets of rust colored grass and magenta Desert Sand Vergena teasing tourists to walk slowly, look closely.
Our biggest outing consisted of rolling the entire length and back again. We were surrounded by people with grey hair, strolling about with cameras and guidebooks and I wondered what happened to my life of hiking desolate trails and hearing the voices of those who lived before me. We also drove out a dirt road and ventured thirty feet into the desert - a lot of work for me as I had to pop a wheelie with my mom's wheel chair and drag it through the sandy wash. Then we sat there, in the sand surrounded by purple, white and yellow flowers. The stark mountains rising up to the north - a few scattered bushes on the south facing slope like my scarce moments of remembering who I am.
I saw my future. It is is my present. I don't want it to be. I don't want to be another grey-haired lady dining with friends in the hotel restaurant, shopping for t-shirts, and discussing how spectacular the blooms are. I want to feel the wind speaking to me, sharing tales of vanished worlds and lives still to be lived. I want to rise at dawn and feel the stillness all around, not start my morning off cleaning up urine soaked sheets and pillows.
Unfortunately, I'm living the life of an eighty one year old woman. Early to rise. early to bed. Indoor pool exercise. Conversation for three days about the flower we saw. What's next? Dying of old age by the time I'm fifty?
We were only gone for two nights, but filled up a four door sedan with stuff to make sure the routine we maintain at home could be simulated at a golf resort in the desert peopled with grey haired men golfing with their younger wives.
The visitor's center now has a paved trail that runs between the campground allowing my mother to get out into the desert and observe the ant hills, Golden desert poppies, bright yellow blooms on bladder pod, the red tips of Ocotillo like miniature flags in the wind. Blankets of rust colored grass and magenta Desert Sand Vergena teasing tourists to walk slowly, look closely.
Our biggest outing consisted of rolling the entire length and back again. We were surrounded by people with grey hair, strolling about with cameras and guidebooks and I wondered what happened to my life of hiking desolate trails and hearing the voices of those who lived before me. We also drove out a dirt road and ventured thirty feet into the desert - a lot of work for me as I had to pop a wheelie with my mom's wheel chair and drag it through the sandy wash. Then we sat there, in the sand surrounded by purple, white and yellow flowers. The stark mountains rising up to the north - a few scattered bushes on the south facing slope like my scarce moments of remembering who I am.
I saw my future. It is is my present. I don't want it to be. I don't want to be another grey-haired lady dining with friends in the hotel restaurant, shopping for t-shirts, and discussing how spectacular the blooms are. I want to feel the wind speaking to me, sharing tales of vanished worlds and lives still to be lived. I want to rise at dawn and feel the stillness all around, not start my morning off cleaning up urine soaked sheets and pillows.
Unfortunately, I'm living the life of an eighty one year old woman. Early to rise. early to bed. Indoor pool exercise. Conversation for three days about the flower we saw. What's next? Dying of old age by the time I'm fifty?
Labels: Caregiving, Environment
posted by Karin Zirk at
8:08 AM
2 Comments:
I know its hard... I believe you WILL have the future you want. It just won't come as soon as you would like it to. When this period of your life is done, you will move like a wind into the life you imagine.
>>>We were surrounded by people with grey hair, strolling about with cameras and guidebooks and I wondered what happened to my life of hiking desolate trails and hearing the voices of those who lived before me.<<<
You were hiking the trails listening to the voices of those who are living NOW. You should listen to them. They are here now. Be here now, girl. Dwell in it, soak in it, learn from it. Don't shut down.
Open up.
...and I love you.
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