85 Years Young

This week I turned 85 and am celebrating with my family in Francestown, NH. Five years ago, upon turning 80, I celebrated here, too. The major difference is that my husband, Richard, was with us. This year he was unable to make the trip; he’s about to turn 89, crippled with arthritis, losing his cognitive skills, and feeling more secure staying at home.

Thanks to my daughter-in-law, Sara, married to my son, Tom, we have all fallen in love with Francestown. It’s in the southern part of New Hampshire, just north of Peterborough. Sara’s family has had a “camp” here for generations; her ancestors helped settle the area, and she spent many summer and winters here as a child with her parents and three siblings, and now as a parent herself and Tom and their three kids, and looks forward to retiring in Francestown. Early on, in her marriage to Tom, she invited Richard and me and Christine and Steve, to come discover the pleasures of Francestown and its velvety lake, Pleasant Pond. We’ve been coming ever since.

Christine and I have rented separate time share units at the Crotched Mountain Inn, a mile north of Sara and Tom’s camp, for summer get-togethers. That includes Sara’s side of the family as well as ours. It can get to be a big crowd—15 or 16 of us—but this summer, it’s small: Sara, Tom, Christine, Steve and me. The grandkids, now grown, are all doing their own thing. The Crotched Mountain Inn has closed. In its place, Christine has rented a three bedroom cottage right on the lake, nestled in the trees,  with a screened porch and two decks overlooking the pond. It’s another wonderful week in Francestown.

This year, it’s extremely hot, like it’s been along most of the northern eastern coast. But where better to endure the heat than on Pleasant Pond? After a morning swim, we take turns in the hammock, check our emails, and have lunch. Then Tom and Sara come over and we all jump in the lake. Christine and Sara enjoy swimming across the lake to a small parcel of land on the pond that’s also owned by Sara’s family. Tom and I canoe alongside them, pretending they’re “Diana Nyads “ crossing the English Channel and we’re their coaches. Late afternoons are spent on the screened porch, sipping Gin & Tonics, icy cold white wine, or a simple seltzer with lime, while catching up on whatever has to be caught up on. Mostly, we’re commiserating on the health of energy of Joe Biden and his ability to win the presidential election in November.

To top it all off, Richard is having a good week. “I miss you,” he says, “but I’m fine. When I hear that, I say to myself, “That’s as good as it can get.” And I go back to enjoying myself with my family.

As I’ve often said, “I may not be religious, but I do feel blessed.”  My relationships with my grown children, and with their spouses, could not be better. Today we went into town so I could buy a birthday gift from Tom and Christine, which I did. But their real gift extends way beyond that. I feel loved, respected and cared about and, equally important, cared for. And that’s the best birthday present I could ever receive.