I realize I was being followed by the terrible “Black Dog”.  meaning the Black Dog of depression.  This metaphor came from an article on a blog called “The Art of Manliness”, (which you could find with a google. http://www.artofmanliness.com/2015/03/09/leashing-the-black-dog-my-struggle-with-depression/)  Someone who loves me has interceded and is helping to point me in a new direction. 

 Yup!  That darn dog was and is “dogging” me.   I’m sure glad my little Bozie is mostly white.  Were it not for him this winter, the “Black Dog” would have likely eaten me up by now.

Now I know about this thing, I am fighting.  That same loving person who brought to my attention what was likely wrong with me now, gave me some suggestions, one of which was to start a blog aimed at people like me, people pushing 80.  Well, don’t now how many are out there, but what the heck.  I’ve got to fight.

So, here I go.  Let’s call it “THE ART OF ELDER HOOD”  or maybe “Growing old gracefully”.  But the “growing old” has already happened.  What do you, whoever might see this out on the web, think?  Any ideas for a better name?  I have an old blog kept when I used to write a column for the little paper that went out in Panguitch, Utah.  I'll dump this there for now and then try to figure how to rename it.

I got a jump start start later the same day as  decided I really needed help.  I was being driven on a little errand by my daughter-in-law--one I could have probably gone to by myself, had I not been in that beaten-down mode.  Anyway, she stopped to be friendly with a friend who was walking her five-year-old son to register for kindergarten.  The littlle fellow was beaming with importance and anticipation.  He was literally full of light and, of course, we watching felt happy for him .  He was entering into a new phase of life.  I sat there comparing.  Why couldn’t I see something positive in this new phase of life I’m in? 

Elder hood.  I think I’m ready to wear that label.  What is positive in it?  I’m asking for suggestions here.

I think one way of looking at where I am is not to think of the “looking back” part as liken to Lot’s wife, but maybe as my own grandmother must have done about a week before she died when she drew a little picture of a figure looking back over her shoulder at a dreary-looking road lined with dark trees.  Perhaps, and I like to think this the case, she was experiencing a sigh of relief to have come through the past, which I knew held much heartache, and now had it behind her.  My busy mother had not noticed the meaning I, at age 35 or so,  saw in the picture and so it was on its way to the trash.  I rescued it and framed it and it is hanging in my ranch house to this day.  I seemed to sense that some day I would understand the feeling I had then.   Now I do.
So, much like that little five-year-old headed for kindergarten and perhaps looking back and being glad he is out of his babyhood, I decided could start feeling grateful that most of the “wine press has been trodden”.  I can now spend more time pressing my blurry eyes up against the “glass” that is described as only being able to be seen through “darkly.”  What can I see?   Hummmm.  Perhaps that’s part of what this blog could explore.

Join me.  Veda hale