The Lupines of Middle Age

The other night I had one of those pandemic-era experiences common, no doubt, to many of you, but a first in many years for me.  I logged onto a zoom call with schoolmates from more than 50 years ago, scattered across the world.

We showed up on our little zoom squares like the aged ladies that we are.  We came with our accomplishments (concerts performed, furniture crafted, books written, art bought and sold, children raised, houses kept and let go of).  And we came with our losses — children to addiction, divorce, the deaths of loved ones, the many disappointed dreams of the years.   These last weren’t spoken of, but were somehow in the shared space of our togetherness.

What was most moving — amazing, really — was the quality of our shared history, the shared language of our childhoods and adolescence that shifted into place as soon as we were all “on.”  It was as if we were back at some school play practice, or after lunch recess or sleepover.  We spoke of adult things, but with a bone-deep knowledge of one another, and at the heart of that knowing, unconditional acceptance and affection.

Some of you reading this may have this experience on a regular basis, but I suspect that many of us who have moved away to other places and contexts have missed it as much as I discovered the other night that I have.

Old friends are one of the unsung blooms of time, surely.

 

As I thought of our conversation — and we will do it again soon — my mind wandered to Miss Rumphius, the unforgettable storybook sage created by Barbara Clooney.  Miss Rumphius lived a colorful and deep life, as a librarian, a world traveller, a friend to children and adults.  But it was her last task that always seemed to me the most noble.  Alone in her later years in her house by the sea, she determined to “make the world more beautiful,” by casting lupines seeds freely wherever she walked.  Soon, the town was vibrant with the presence of these sturdy, bright flowers.

I thought of our short zoom time together, and realized that old friends are the lupines of middle age.  We have bloomed many times over, through the years.  Now is the time when we can cast our seeds of memory, affection, acceptance over whatever fallow fields life has created for us.  We can make the world more beautiful for one another.

(Photo from The Canadian Encyclopedia)