Guest Blogger: Mary Lee Fowler

[EDITORIAL NOTE: No "Silver Threads" today as I'm at the SXSW Conference in Austin, Texas. Several elderbloggers have graciously agreed to fill in for me while I'm away. Today's guest blog is from Mary Lee Fowler who blogs at Full Fathom Five and she titles her piece, "Living in Contrast." Please welcome her and be sure to visit her blog.]

This week’s frigid temperatures have given us what Maine Indians call “snow-blindness days:” flawless blue sky and dazzling sun on snow, making our sunroom into a crystal palace. From there, we look on the full sweep of meadows surrounding the house, with distant trees casting deep blue shadows across the fields.

The contrast of shadows on snow reminds me of a recent post of Ronni’s (The Courage to Grow Old), in which she quotes Dr. William Thomas in his book What are Old People For?

“Old age may be a time of loss and decline, but it is not only that. There is a countervailing and equally significant increase in the power of adaptation.”

An example of this is that while physical strength may decline, elders often report an enhanced sense of well-being.

Perhaps this process of living in two contrasting directions, of declining physical energy but increasing contentment, is not entirely unconscious. Just as I’ve been irresistibly drawn to contrasts when I look out the windows these last few years, I find myself using it as a principle for our upcoming retirement.

My husband and I have talked about the importance of working some every day, so that our leisure hours are that much more precious, more enjoyable. We’ve talked about wanting to continue our exposure to new immigrants to this country, so that we’re more fully aware of our freedom in contrast to what our Afghani and Chinese friends knew. We’ve talked about balancing our constant reading with more writing, our long winter siestas by the fire with getting out on cross-country skis, our addiction to butter, cheese, and chocolate with smaller plates, reduced portions.

Every older person I know seems to be in the middle of a similar balancing act. “I hate to fly,” says my sixty-year-old walking partner about an upcoming trip. “But I love to people-watch in airports.”

My seventy-eight-year-old book group friend says she gets lonely as a single woman, but loves being able to turn on the light and read if she wakes up during the night. My sixty-plus writer friend who complains about her irascible new boss, says that she’s newly aware of how extraordinarily cheerful her dog is, and what a pleasure he is to come home to.

And my mother-in-law, now in her late-eighties, deftly wards off our questions about her ailing hip as she hobbles across her living room to the east window in her retirement complex. “That’s Richmond Island,” she says, pointing to Casco Bay in the distance. “And the sun comes up there, and shines right in on my pillow. It’s the first thing I see when I open my eyes.”