September 30: "Greek and Roman Statuary," Diminishment of Living, Strolls and Saunters

This time of year--between the bounty of summer and the white erasure of winter--encourages thoughts on the slow diminishment of living.  It doesn't help that my birthday falls at the beginning of October.  I woke this morning to the sound of my furnace roaring to life and the taste of frost in the air.

Even Billy Collins contemplates mortality today . . . 

Greek and Roman Statuary

by: Billy Collins

The tip of the nose seemed the first to be lost,
then the arms and legs,
and later the stone penis if such a thing were featured.

And often an entire head followed the nose
as it might have done when bread
was baking in the side streets of ancient Rome.

No hope for the flute once attached
to the lips of that satyr with the puffed-out cheeks,
nor for the staff the shepherd boy once leaned on,

the sword no longer gripped by the warrior,
the poor lost ears of the sleeping boy,
and whatever it was Aphrodite once held in her severed hand.

But the torso is another story—
middle man, the last to go, bluntly surviving,
propped up on a pedestal with a length of pipe,

and the mighty stone ass endures,
so smooth and fundamental, no one
hesitates to leave the group and walk behind to stare.

And that is the way it goes here
in the diffused light from the translucent roof,
one missing extremity after another—

digits that got too close to the slicer of time,
hands snapped off by the clock,
whole limbs caught in the mortal thresher.

But outside on the city streets,
it is raining, and the pavement shines
with the crisscross traffic of living bodies—

hundreds of noses still intact,
arms swinging and hands grasping,
the skin still warm and foreheads glistening.

It’s anyone’s guess when the day will come
when there is nothing left of us
but the bare, solid plinth we once stood upon

now exposed to the open air,
just the wind in the trees and the shadows
of clouds sweeping over its hard marble surface.

There are things I used to be able to do that I have surrendered to age.  I used to run every day.  A few years ago, I transitioned to jogging.  Now, I have graduated to long walks.  Brisk long walks.  I'm sure, eventually, I will have to settle for just long walks, and then strolls and saunters.

Funny thing is, when I look in the mirror, I look the same as I always have.  I'm not saying that sarcastically or to make you laugh.  Literally, I don't notice the diminishments of aging--the missing nose or ear, fingers and toes, if I were a Greek or Roman statue.  I still feel whole, intact, young.  Michelangelo's David.

Yet, here I sit, married almost 30 years to the same beautiful woman, father of a 23-year-old daughter and 16-year-old son.  I've had at least three careers, as a healthcare worker and university professor and library event programmer.  Tonight, I got to perform in a variety show with some of my best friends--a writer, an actress, and two musicians.  I am a very blessed person.

Regardless of my chronological age, I enjoy being very busy.  It keeps my mind sharp and my creativity sharper.  I'm sure my college students probably consider me ancient, but they also keep me young, in thought and spirit.  Sure, I have more wrinkles on my face.  Yes, what hair I have is tinged with silver, but I don't spend my days chasing kids off my lawn.  I try to be more timeless than that.

Saint Marty isn't ready to disappear from his marble plinth just yet.  His mighty stone ass is going to be here a while longer.