February 25: My Will and My Intelligence, Still Recovering, Leap Tall Buildings

Santiago wishes he was the fish . . . 

The old man had seen many great fish. He had seen many that weighed more than a thousand pounds and he had caught two of that size in his life, but never alone. Now alone, and out of sight of land, he was fast to the biggest fish that he had ever seen and bigger than he had ever heard of, and his left hand was still as tight as the gripped claws of an eagle.

It will uncramp though, he thought. Surely it will uncramp to help my right hand. There are three things that are brothers: the fish and my two hands. It must uncramp. It is unworthy of it to be cramped. The fish had slowed again and was going at his usual pace.

I wonder why he jumped, the old man thought. He jumped almost as though to show me how big he was. I know now, anyway, he thought. I wish I could show him what sort of man I am. But then he would see the cramped hand. Let him think I am more man than I am and I will be so. I wish I was the fish, he thought, with everything he has against only my will and my intelligence.

Santiago has a lot of wishes in the world.  Before this moment, he has wished several times the boy was with him in the boat.  Now, he wishes that he was the fish, with all of its strength and size.  The old man, with his cramping hands, is feeling small and a little unworthy.

My body is still recovering from the three-day snowstorm we had earlier this week.  And from the bout of COVID I had at the beginning of January.  My arms are sore, and I tire easily.  At night, I can barely make it past 9 p.m.  I used to be a night owl, staying up 'til one or two o'clock in the morning  and then rising at 5:30 a.m. to go to work.  Now, I can't get up off the sofa without making a noise.

So, I understand why Santiago admires the fish.  Because the fish is powerful and beautiful, even in its old age.  (A fish doesn't get that big without surviving for many years.)

I accept the fact that my body simply can't do some of the things it used to be able to do when I was younger.  It can't function on three hours of sleep.  Or shovel snow all day without needing three gallons of Bengay and a full-body massage.  That's what happens when you get older.

I've also learned that the pleasures in life become much simpler as you advance in age.  For example, tonight, my puppy couldn't get enough of me.  She flopped on the couch beside me, nudged my hand with her snout, and let me rub and pet her for about an hour.  The whole time I did this, she made those canine sounds of contentment.  That cross between a moan and snore.  

Saint Marty might not be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound any more, but he can make dogs smile in their sleep.