Driveway Photo

Before the contractor installed the driveway we parked on the chip and seal road. We specified a concrete driveway, although in retrospect, today I’d install asphalt. Concrete held up over 30 years and is good for many more. The asphalt just looks better and its dark color absorbs heat from the sun, benefits I hadn’t considered in 1993. Rain is forecast, so the concrete cracks will soon be showing themselves again. It’s just a thing in the life of a septuagenarian who lived in the same place for more than 30 years.

In the end, our home suited me as a writer. In a rural subdivision we are far from city life, yet there are enough people around to help in case of an emergency. The state park is a three minute walk with its five-mile hiking trail. Because of the lakes, there is an abundance of waterfowl. I believe we’ve seen specimens of every bird native to Iowa here. We also see most kinds of mammals, a snake or two, and amphibious creatures at certain times of the year. There is a lot of inspiration in that.

As home construction began I made at least weekly trips to observe progress. One time I parked on the street and walked over to the high wall that had been dug for the foundation. I sat on the edge and had a moment’s quiet while I looked over the footings toward the lake. I felt then this would be our home base for many years to come.

I left on and returned from a lot of trips on our driveway. Other family members did too. Travel is mostly finished except for errands and visits to immediate family.

As I begin year three of my eighth decade on Earth there is a lot to do. I have a reasonable rasher of good health, a secure home, plenty of good food to eat, and enough of a pension that finances get tight yet we make ends meet. Importantly, my ability to think remains reasonably sound, as far as I can tell. I do forget things now and then. It seems like more than I did, but not enough to worry. All of this, combined with seven decades of experience, and there is plenty of material for writing.

The challenge of aging, especially in America, becomes dealing with isolation. I wrote about this before. Being a writer requires a balance between isolation and being with people, so writing is a natural occupation for a septuagenarian. The scales tip toward the isolation side as we age. Without the continuous commotion of being at events or with other people, I’ve been able to discover myself in a way that was unexpected. At some point, I’ll know who I am and be ready for a new debut in society. If anyone will have me, that is.

The recent winter storm brought me indoors. For a while, I need that. I’ll also be ready for spring and trips to the vendors that support my garden. There is a lot of catching up to do. For now, I’m feeling isolation and coping with it by writing. It is the one thing I know how to do that works.