Had a friend visiting from LA this week. a 75-year-old art photographer with a warm laugh, shaky but willing knees, and a hearty appetite for all of life's little wonders. We went to the mountains twice, photographed spotted fall leaves, played frisbee with the three-year-old tyrant, drank too much wine, talked about Cary Grant and the drummer from The Doors, walked in an autumn river valley, had a mountain-top snowball fight, and made some new friends from Japan and Ethiopia.
She's 75. I mentioned that, right??
Tomorrow, I'll get up and try to be a little more appreciative of what I can do, a little more eager to try something new, and a little less likely to say "I can't." When a 75-year-old 5-footer with a bum knee can scramble her way to the top of a mountain, I can probably conquer my own little molehills. And if I can't, I will have an odd cocktail with mystical origins in Spain to help me through it.
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