Sixties Chick

The other day I attended a funeral in the very same place a rabbi gave a eulogy for my mother 43 years ago.

As I sat quietly in the pew before the service began, I thought how impossible it would have been for me then, a sixteen-year-old child, to believe that one day I would be fine. No way could I have imagined that I’d recover from the pain of it, no less come to see that there were blessings to be gained. Nevertheless, it happened.

It got me thinking of a quote that appeared in my e-mail last week. Paul McCartney’s, and it’s had me smiling ever since. “Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to common belief, is more powerful in the mature than in the young.” What a hopeful thought. What a gloriously upbeat sentiment.

Apart from not being able to imagine where I put the car keys, I’d say my imagination is in pretty good shape. In fact, I would agree with Paul that it is getting better with age. More fertile, definitely more fun. Not from any particular gift, mind you, but simply by virtue of having some years under my belt. If you live long enough, you get to see some pretty extraordinary things. Real humdingers. It’s got to expand what you consider possible.

A walk on the moon, a surf through cyberspace – these wonders aside, what about the ever curious manifestations of human behavior? Stories abound – from the acts of  evil that leave us speechless to the miracles born of love which take our breath away. Mind-bending twists of fate with “impossible” outcomes are heard every day. If your eyes are open, don’t you have to believe that anything’s possible?

Yes sirree, I say. The only thing that could possibly stand in the way would be… me. With an endless supply of doubts and fears, my voice of reason can certainly put a damper on even the slightest flight of fancy. You know, that relentless voice that says, “Forget about it; that can’t happen,” and “Crazy to even consider it,” and, “Who do you think you are anyway?” I am my own worst killjoy.

This year once again, just when I was beginning to doubt that spring would ever come, damn if those magnolias didn’t burst into bloom. And when in the dark of winter I wondered if I’d make it to May, here it comes again, bringing me another birthday along with a reminder to reconsider possibilities. This year, I’ve decided to tap into my imaginative powers more than ever. To pull out a few more stops.

For one, I have placed a clipping by my bed. It is the first thing I see in the morning, the last thing I see before I shut my eyes at night. It is a picture of a book with a title I have photoshopped in. Not surprisingly, it is the same title as the book I am working on. There is a blurb pasted on top as well. It reads big and bold, New York Times Bestseller. Takes imagination.

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