The Trajectory of Renewal

This past weekend, my family and I visited Grandmother, who is ninety years old. Ninety! She is in wonderful shape despite the arthritis with which she must contend. She exercises daily. She travels. Years ago, she was a high school history teacher. Now she teaches courses at Notre Dame College, where there is a Renaissance Institute for adults who still love to learn. Returning to teaching has been in itself a "renaissance" for her. Contemplating this made me consider my own ongoing renewal, in that I'm enjoying re-discovering many of the things I loved when I was young.

I live across the street from the Hudson River, which formed the basis for many of my childhood activities. I used to race down our neighbor's driveway to the water to climb trees on the beach or perch on the trapeze he had constructed for me. I would swing out over the water or go mucking. "No, my paws are NOT wet!" I would tell my parents upon arriving home looking like a drowned, albeit happy, rat. I would build forts on the beach with my friends. One year we tried to plant a garden, though my mother tried to convey diplomatically that nasturtium did not usually do too well in sand. One spring, a giant raft washed up on the shore. It appeared to be the side of a very big packing crate. My friend and I couldn't believe our luck and immediately boarded our new vessel to set sail for unexplored territory. We would be pathfinders mapping wild and exciting pursuits. Except that the raft promptly sank underneath our weight, and we were forced to wade back to shore ("No, we were NOT in the river...!").

But a few years later I went to sailing camp and came to know the river on another level. It was incredibly liberating to be out on the water in the small sailboats. I preferred free sails to racing--I was not as interested in following a tight, sometimes difficult course with countless rules to the game as I was in attempting to sail across the river, escaping to the opposite bank. After all, the GM plant beckoned to us. What was somewhat alarming, looking back, was that my friend and I were often able to reach the opposite bank without anyone noticing. Oh well, we were good swimmers!

But then I did not wander down to the beach or sail for years; it wasn't cool in obedience school, and later there was little opportunity. My father de-accessioned our family's sailboat because it was used so infrequently. But then one day this past summer my partner and I rented a small catamaran and sailed off the coast of North Carolina. We pulled off our collars and watched the Outer Banks from a distance. The wind was light and somewhat fluky, but we had an inordinate amount of fun. At one point, we actually ran aground because of a freak sandbar. It was funny to jump into the Atlantic far from shore and nudge the boat into deeper water.

The familiar joy I experienced that day made me determined to once again pursue things that I used to love. I am older. I am creakier. The world definitely seems more complex than it did when I was a pup, with terrorists flying planes into buildings, bombing night clubs and embassies, and gunning down people bold enough to acquire gas for their cars. Seemingly insignificant everyday pleasures can be welcome balm to the overwhelming horror and grief that reality sometimes unleashes. I am going to continue sailing. I am going to dance, even if it's in my car on the way to school, and even if I no longer remember the choreography to Paula Abdul's 'Straight Up.' I am going to read Sue Grafton novels, my 'fun' reading since middle school. I will watch Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in 'Top Hat,' one of my old favorite musicals. I will go for bike rides, make jewelry, and pick up my long-since discarded flute.

Autumn seems especially timely for personal renaissance. As the leaves fall from the trees, pumpkins can be carved, leaf piles can be jumped in, apples can be picked. The Hudson proves a useful analogy to these cycles of existence. The tide is in and it's time to take heed.