LIFE IS LIKE A DREAM

“When you come to a fork in the road,

take it.”

(Yogi Berra had the right idea.)

I love to  reminisce and write about bygone times, remembering the people I’ve known, especially those who have made a difference in the me I’ve become at the age of 86. I once thought 86 was really, really old.

It isn’t.

Actually, I once believed that 50 was old. As I recall, 50 was old when my grandmothers were alive.

I was devastated the day I turned thirty. Life was over, I was no longer “twenty-something”. Looking forward, there was nothing left to life.

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or roads to travel.

There were no college years for me.

When I am required to check off my level of education on an application, the box to check must be “graduated high-school”.

My Dad always commented, ” Some folks attend college and still don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

I feel good about his comment because my high school education helps me to remember to carry my umbrella on a cloudy day.

That reminds me, a week or so ago I purchased a new umbrella. It was very easy to raise, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to lower it when I got inside a building.

You’ll be happy to know, with a great deal of concentration, I finally figured out how to  return it to its original closed position by pushing the little “down” arrow located right underneath the “up” arrow.

Who says a high school education isn’t worth much?

One could hardly think of me as a world traveler, but I’ve learned much about life from the shores of Michigan’s largest inland lake.

Married sixty-two years, my husband and I raised three sons. It’s difficult to imagine someone as young as I, having sons who are now in their fifties and sixties.

Facts are not always as they seem.

Life is like a dream.

I heard someone make a statement just the other day about “alternative” facts.

(Perhaps I should research some of them when describing my attributes.)

copyright©2020

Photography By Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck

* *

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one to where it bent in the undergrowth.

And took the other as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day,

Yet knowing how way leads unto way,

I doubted that I would ever be back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I, I took the road less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

We traveled to New Hampshire many years ago and found this old mail box residing on a narrow  gravel road in front of  one of  the summer homes of Robert Frost. It’s a lovely place. This writing of his has always been my favorite. I carry a copy of it with me at all times.

I’ve read it over and over.

The only thing I lacked, was a photo of two roads, diverging into the yellow woods, in the fall of the year.

Then one day, when driving the woodland trails, the photo opportunity at the top of this page appeared before me. A perfect picture of life as Yogi saw it.

It spoke to me. Perhaps it will speak to you…

https://www.thatremindsme.chat  (Memories and Observations)

Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck