Good Old Age

I like the empty nest syndrome. It gives me time to experiment with food. Last week I made khachapuri (hidden cheese bread), and arancini (rice balls with meat inside), and manicotti. There was no one around to say, “Mom, can’t we just have pasta and ketchup?”

I like looking old. I’ll still offer the obligatory argument when someone offers me their seat on the bus — “Oh, no it’s okay.” But then I say, “Okay, thanks!” And I sit down.

Summertime in Eretz Yisrael reminds us of the slow drying out of life. Watering flowers and picking off the wilted ones used to be a chore, but now that I’m getting old, it’s an activity.

When I had children at home (it was plural, now it’s singular, and she’s barely home), there was always something to do next. While I was at work, I was thinking about what I’d make for lunch; while I was making dinner, I was thinking about putting the kids to bed; while I was sleeping, I was thinking about where to send my daughter to high school, etc.