Morning Musings
- Ardelle Hirsch
- Sep 6, 2025
- 3 min read
Updated: Sep 11, 2025
I started 3 classes last week, a lifelong learning opportunity offered by University at Albany – the first time I’ve attended class on a college campus since I wore a burgundy beanie embroidered with a large “69” on the cap (not a useful part of my wardrobe off campus) which all freshmen at SUNY Plattsburgh were expected to wear.
Not a beanie to be found when sitting in a History of Art classroom, among a highly educated, enthusiastic group, in an ultramodern $180 million building – no chalkboards or overhead projectors here. I noticed multiple enormous LED screens and shiny metal-things embedded in the conference table - a clever design. I lifted the lid, about to discard my dirty tissue, when someone next to me leaned over and mentioned softly, "They’re charging stations." Of course they are! I thought as I pocketed that tissue. My daughter’s text, a reasonable one, followed this revelation: “Omg Mom, you are so old!”
Looks like my Rolodex is on Ozempic lately; most days there are contacts to delete; my friends can relate. Not long ago, I learned on Facebook that a high school friend died. I planned to reach out to Gene but got distracted and never did; happenstance I learned of his death. Even now, at this age, it's jarring to learn that someone died unexpectedly and is unreachable. Forever. Forever is a really long time.
My FB feed is also the way I learned of the deaths of several others, including my first husband and lifelong friend, Jack, an old boyfriend (another Jack), a beloved high school friend (yes, another Jack) - for me, an especially difficult loss (if you are one of my friends, I can hear you saying you’re glad your name is not Jack).
Of course, grief and loss are inevitable, even for my 20-year-old granddaughter, who lost her beloved dog, a teacher at her school, her 7-year-old neighbor and best friend, and her Poppy – all when she was only 8. Life-changing.
I certainly know that everything changes. Someone doing a repair at my place recently described me as “spry” – is that a compliment? At 77 ½, I know that my body is changing, cell by cell minute by minute – the person in the mirror barely resembles the person I identify as me – body dysmorphia perhaps? Years back, I might have turned a head - this guy seems impressed I can turn a doorknob without spilling my coffee.
Now, everything takes a little longer; I tire more easily, sleep poorly, my body aches a bit more, my eyes and ears recently failed their performance reviews – yet my 46-year-old son would likely report similar concerns.
The constancy of change is irrefutable. Every single thing changes: ourselves, our ideas, our entire world: especially noticeable now as autumn, a canopy of color, sets the cadence for infinite mortality and rebirth in a spectacular gaudy display - my favorite season.
My goals change as well. This morning’s musings include a change to increase my weekly walking goal from 8 to 10 miles per week and to post a blog more often. Perhaps I’ll start by posting this one before I leave for class - at least I know where the charging stations are.
Comments