I Think Maybe I am Getting Old

I think maybe I am getting old. In recent weeks I have had a hankering to make contact with some old friends. I followed through on those yearnings. I called an old friend I had not spoken with in a few years. He told me the sad news of his oldest son being killed in an automobile accident. In the course of that week I spoke with another old friend and learned some of the stresses of his life. It is late in the year and I had some vacation time I needed to take. So this last week I drove to Missouri to see an old friend. We had an enjoyable visit.  But he has a few health problems that concern me and I know they trouble him. I move on and go see my mother and father in-law. I enjoyed the evening listening to their stories. They don't have any sons but since I married one of their daughters they claim me and I am proud of their claim. On the way home I meditate on my visits and I have a fresh reality that getting old has some challenges. And I think maybe I am getting old.

 

I get home and sleep in my bed one night and then take off in the in the other direction to Kentucky. My purpose is to attend a funeral visitation for the father of a pastor friend of mine. My friend is not as old as I am but I know from experience that losing your father will make you feel old. I continue on my journey and go spend the night with my aunt. We set up and talk past midnight and I am pretty sure that is past her bedtime. But I don't want to miss the opportunity share some old memories. Because, I think maybe I am getting old. Next morning I drive over to the town where I grew up. I go to the cemetery to visit the graves of my father and mother. I inspect the flowers resting on top of their stone and I surmise that they are in good enough shape that they don't need to be replaced just yet. I had made arrangements to see another old friend. His son is about the same age as me and I had spent a lot of time at his house when I was growing up, particularly on Sunday afternoons after church. We have a lot of church stories to tell and a lot of people to memorialize. I discover that this old friend and I have more friends in common that are dead than are alive. I think maybe I am getting old. 

 

I get home and I read an obituary in the Illinois Baptist. A pastor friend with whom I have enjoyed many moments of sweet fellowship has lost his wife of 52 years. I call my friend and he reminisces about her life and her home going. She had been suffering from cancer and her death is bittersweet. I think my friend feels old and I think maybe I am getting old. 

 

So I am absorbing my recent experiences with old friends. It causes me to understand that I don't want to spend much time in puny arguments. Life is short and there is simply too many difficulties and too much sorrow to waste energy squabbling. I would rather give my life to loving one another and rejoicing in the love of others.  That is my opinion. But maybe I am just getting old. 

An Old Family Seat

My Great-Great Grandfather George Cloyd owned the first horse drawn mowing machine in Laurel County, KY. I am not sure how long the useful life of the mowing machine lasted but I am in possession of the cast iron seat that came with it. My grandfather found the seat to be more comfortable than those on the other horse drawn implements he farmed with so he would exchange the seat from one piece of machinery to another. My Dad remembered using the seat himself as a young boy growing up. By the time I came along we had long since ceased using horse drawn equipment. But my Dad wanted the seat to keep as a family heirloom. I remember going with him to retrieve it. It was attached at the time to a horse drawn hay rake. We unfastened it and took it home. Dad painted it and mounted it on the deck at the back of the house. I acquired it about 15 years ago and a few years back I got Jeanette’s Uncle George to mount it in a suitable and usable fashion. I have sat in it a few times. And my children have taken their turns lounging in it as well. Frankly, it is not that comfortable. I am glad I never had to use that seat in the course of day’s work. In one sense its significance is ornamental. But I treasure it for its historical and sentimental value. It has been in the family for six generations. In that span of time there have been a lot of Cloyd bottoms in it.