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Mud Pies and Spinning
November 14, 2007What do I regret about growing older? It’s being unable to do the things I wish I could. For example, if I find myself on a long walkway with nobody else but the little girl to keep me company, I’d feel far too old to play tag with her. Sometimes, however, I cheat and run circles around her while the hub frowns in disapproval.
It’s little things like that - playing tag; dancing in the rain; flying kites, breaking into spontaneous, off-key singing; watching all the TV my eyes could take; baking mud pies - which make growing older slightly less palatable, if only because I could no longer do all the silly things I want to.
When I was younger, I’d take walks in parks dotted with trees, and if it’s quiet enough and windy enough, and if I feel happy, and the sky is bright with stars, I’d fling my arms wide open and spin, spin, spin until I collapse on the ground - tired but happy, exhausted but sated. On days when it rains, I’d scoop clumps of earth onto Coke caps, bake them in the little fire my sisters would keep going, and then serve them brown and dainty, with shreds of pink and yellow petals sprinkled on top.
In my head, there are things I’d still like to do but know I can’t because at 25, I’m wife, mother, big sister, eldest daughter, and boss and it’s just not possible to spin around in parks or bake mud pies without being thought cuckoo by everyone else.
Still, I don’t give up these secret longings. I do them mentally, instead. I sit here, writing requests I’d later on send to another part of the world. In my mind, however, I am dancing in the middle of an avenue lined with trees, my arms flung wide open and my hair dappled with light from a sky streaked with stars.
Yes, at 25, you can still spin about and make mud pies in places only you can see and find. While growing old is inevitable, aging in heart and spirit isn’t.
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