"Move over, I'm driving."

Why is it that it's harder to drive straight? Weaving in and out of the line seems to require more energy and action. I guess if you're all dooped up no thought is needed and you're not really caring about lines - wherever or whoever draws them.

So, I continue to draw and follow my own lines ignoring those who criticize how straight they are. I know too many who went astray, went off the road, and messed up, to give up my drawing chalk.

Yet I can't help but be resentful for always being on the straight and narrow. I'm constantly trying to do what's right, play the "responsible" role and set limitations while avoiding criticizing those who demand a different direction.

Have I missed out on much? I'd hate to think that I missed out on things that I could've benefited from because I was so preoccupied with being unselfish, responsible, or unspontaneous. I've still witnessed some good scenery. You get a great view in the front. It's amazing what you pick up and learn when you look and observe. It's also intimidating to be in the back seat not knowing where you're going. I'm not necessarily recommending others to stay on the map but just to make their own path rather than follow someone or something that could lead them away to get lost. It's not fun being lost....I've been there.

Maybe I wouldn't have got this far if I hadn't balanced, with my arms out, looking straight ahead, following some line that while my eyes were closed I managed to scribble on the ground. I'd like to think that I have saved myself from more bruises or my teeth being knocked out by following my own mediocre standards.

Whether I fight against or go along with people's standards for me I'll continue to drive my own car, set my own pace, continue down my own path.

Hello tomorrow

I've recently visited a nursing home and had the opportunity to spread good cheer. This was the second year I took my son along with other piano players to play for the residents. I was reminded yet again of how "being old" hinders the best of us. It's hard to keep your dignity when you're entirely reliant upon who is pushing your chair or who literally puts the food in your mouth. There were a greater number of ladies and gentleman who were suffering from dementia than what I remember from the previous year. The sudden outbursts and blank stares seemed to continually startle me throughout the hour we were there. With my year old daughter on my lap I found myself almost wanting to hide behind her. I surprised myself at how uncomfortable I felt. Maybe it was because I was aware of my empathy and understanding I had for the ones who looked at me kindly. Like what I had for the man who sat in his chair and said very little yet he genuinely got a kick out of waving back and forth to my daughter. I wondered if he had grandchildren and who Cora reminded him of. I wondered if the lady who sat beside him, who constantly muttered uncontrollably, bothered him. I knew all the while all of these people owned some kind of Christmas memory or at least once did. Maybe the men traditionally went out to get the tree for his wife every year. Or maybe the women made special cookies to give as presents. But, they've had to give up little by little, year by year even the simple independence that we all so frivalously take for granted. Some may have lost the memories completely. Maybe this form of loss isn't so bad, if you can't compare what you had to what you have no longer.

The atmosphere was numbing, almost funeral like. Many were frozen, many expressionless. I found myself in a rush to leave, yet embarrased that I didn't take more time to visit. I left depressed and upset that many didn't have families who were there sitting with them. And bothered that most of us inevitably will become dependant on another. Hopefully dependant on someone who loves us unconditionally. It makes me feel humble to my state and mind now and awakens me to what I may not have tomorrow. All of these people were here where I stand not that long ago. Somehow they have been lost in the shuffle of time, tucked back into the shadows. They are commonly overlooked because they aren't underfoot nor within our daily sight. They're abandoned, unappreciated and forgotten that they once were like you and me.