My father-in-law turns ninety years of age this week. He is in good health, for his age, remains very physically active (except for a bum knee), his mind is sharper than most peoples', and he still drives everywhere - except people nuts.
My parents had me at an later-in-life age so I was relatively young when my parents died. Having a living parent at my age is a mystery to me - a precious thing - especially a parent that is fully cognizant, ready to go at a moment's notice and just may beat you to the finish line.......followed by a nap right afterward. After all, there are some perks to being ninety.
This ninety-year old occasionally forgets his age and has to be reminded that he should not paint the sides of the barn by standing atop a ladder that is perched in the bucket of a front-end loader - that he should not trim trees that are wider than the chainsaw he's using while standing atop a ladder that is perched in the bucket of a front-end loader. No one tells him he should stop driving his tractor back to the woods, chain saw in hand and 'chopping' wood, which he either sells or hauls back to the homestead and drops down his wood chute, ready to be used as fuel for the wood-burning stove that puts out more heat from the basement than the afterburners on a skyward-bound rocket. Certainly no one is telling him to stop making, perhaps, fifty or more batches of peanut brittle at Christmas time. The peanut brittle is a neighborhood favorite of caroling Mennonites who will travel some distance to sing to Ed and get handsomely rewarded with a container of peanut brittle. Grandchildren who live afar and cannot make the trek back to Grandpa's at Christmas remind their parents to bring back Grandpa's peanut brittle and homemade raspberry jam. No one has yet suggested that he stop planting his very large garden....the produce from which is generously shared with family and friends close by and far away. His children even have a traveling, shared cooler that transports frozen foods to and from Grandpa's and then is traded to the next traveling kin who come to visit during harvest season. No one is telling him to stop making his fabulous raspberry or strawberry pies, either.
Yes, he makes reaching ninety look easy, yet I know it is not. He has loved and buried two lovely women during the course of his life so he is well-acquainted with grief, yet his outward countenance is that of a happy man who has lived life well. He reminds me of the logo that is printed on the side of every issue of the Reader's Digest:
"Life, well-lived". That's Ed. I should start taking lessons. We all should.
Happy Birthday, Ed.
Ancora imparo
