“When you come to a fork in the road,
(Yogi Berra had the right idea.)
I love to reminisce and write about bygone times,
remembering the people I’ve known,
especially those who have made a difference in the ” me” I’ve become
at the “ripe old age” of 83.
I once thought 83 was really, really old.
Actually, I once believed that 50 was old.
As I recall, 50 was old
when my grandmothers were alive.
I was devastated the day I turned thirty.
Life was over.
I was no longer “twenty-something”.
Looking forward, there was nothing left to life.
Ahead were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.” There was nothing new to do nor places to see.
There were no college years for me.
When I am required to check off my level of education on an application,
the box to check must be
My Dad always commented,
” Some folks attend college
and still don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”
I feel good about his comment
because my high school education helps me to remember to carry my umbrella on a cloudy day.
That reminds me,
a week or so ago I purchased a new umbrella.
It was very easy to raise,
but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out
how to lower it when I got inside a building.
You’ll be happy to know, with a great deal of concentration,
I finally returned it to its original closed position
by pushing the little “down” arrow
right underneath the “up” arrow.
Who says a high school education isn’t worth much?
I grew up in a small northern town
in the lower peninsula of Michigan.
My family moved to another town, thirty miles away, when I was seventeen. When we are living them, the years seem long.
One could hardly think of me as a world traveler,
but I’ve observed much about life
from the shores of Michigan’s largest inland lake; Houghton Lake.
Married sixty-two years, my husband and I raised three sons.It’s difficult to imagine someone as young as I
having sons who are now in their fifties and sixties.
Life is like a dream.
Facts are not always as they seem.
I heard someone make a statement just the other day about “alternative” facts.(Perhaps I should research some of those when describing my attributes.)
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one to where it bent in the undergrowth.
And took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day,
Yet knowing how way leads unto way,
I doubted that I would ever be back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
And I, I took the road less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Photography by Mary Anne Tuck