THE NUMBERS GAME
Since I last wrote, temperatures here in Tuscany rose to 106 F/ 41C for more than a week, although the mercury did have the decency to wait until the day after my 75thbirthday (on the 8th) before frying me into a wizened 90 year-old. Ah, numbers; we count them at our peril. Actually, I’ve decided to stop counting and now choose to view myself as having lived through ¾ of a century, which to my ears, sounds far more impressive and places me not only in my own personal history but that of the world and as such becomes a more expansive experience.
Before Covid arrived, I fantasized about how I’d like to celebrate this birthday. Although I knew it would never be anything as show-stopping as the 80th birthday bash I threw for Joel in Berlin three years ago, I did think it would be nice to invite two dozen of my nearest and dearest to spend 5 days with us on my favourite Tuscan island. But as my nearest and dearest live in five different countries, Covid nixed that plan. As it was, 3 dear friends came and stayed with us for a 3-day weekend with 2 more friends joining us for the actual birthday dinner. It was the best birthday of my life. Another example of quality trouncing quantity.
I’m happy to report that the thermometer has now settled back down to the 80’s by day, dipping into the 60’s at night. But no matter the weather, I go into my garden at sunrise to water and weed before breakfast. It is the most peaceful, meditative part of my day. Although I know that thinking is something we all do ceaselessly, for that hour and half I am unaware of my thoughts. It has to do with the deep connection to nature; allowing my vision to open wide to the need of every plant, how much water for this one, a bit of dead-heading here, trimming back a branch there, the immensely satisfying pulling of weeds; the body bowed to the earth, the earth under the nails, the chatter of the sparrows in the hedge, the tap-dancing feet of the sheep being let to the milking platform. The cock crows; the dove coos; the bark of a shepherd’s dog echoes over the hill. I am lost in it all and never more present. In this state, counting and measuring cease to exist.
Still, beginnings and endings are continual. Season’s come and go and along with them friends arrive and depart. This week we said goodbye to 2 of my birthday friends who are returning Berlin after their long summer in Tuscan, a summer in which we shared many adventures together. I feel bereft. Suddenly the days have a return-to-school feel and it’s easy to think summer is over. Yet according to the calendar we have until 21st September before autumn arrives.
My school years were not a happy experience: all those numbers! Historical dates, geographic miles and populations; adding, subtracting, dividing, multiplying; fucking long-division. Grades, scores, hurdles, innings, goals, all adding up to pass/fail, win/lose. I rarely measured up. And to top it off, the return to school at the beginning of September brought summer to an end before its time.
And yet here we all are, still trying to figure it all out: 18 months into the pandemic and still counting. Rate of ice-melt and sea-rise; percentage of vaccinated populations; number of fleeing refugees. We are bombarded by statistics…to what end? Really, the only thing worth counting on is love, of which there is still an abundance: love for ourselves, for each other, for the planet. Love without end.
I hope you are all loved today. I send you mine.
