Contentment

When I think about contentment, I remember a picture of me and André taken in Paris on the occasion of our 50th wedding anniversary.  We are both 84 years old.  He has his arm around me, his big, strong hand clutching my shoulder.  Our heads are touching.  I am wearing the silver necklace, which he bought for me in Warsaw.  He is wearing the pink tie I bought for him in Paris.  We are smiling quiet smiles, smiles of contentment.  As I said in the video which our daughter Eva made, “We have found something precious.”  After many decades of turmoil.

Now the question is how to find contentment without him, in the midst of a worldwide Pandemic.  I know the formula from my mother’s letters and my daughter’s Buddhist teachings.  But how to do it?  To count one’s blessings, to try to be cheerful and upbeat regardless of circumstances.  How to do it?  I think being Bipolar makes it more challenging because one has less control over mood swings. 

Yesterday, a very hot summer day in which I didn’t venture out of our air-conditioned house, I told my helper, Parisa, “I feel content today.”  I did count my blessings, living in this beautifully furnished home where André and I have lived for 54 years and raised our children.  I am surrounded by greenery from old trees as if I lived in a park.  (The street is called College Park.)  Greenery at every window.  

I have a pool and jacuzzi as well as Italian fountain, whose dripping is very cooling on sweltering days.  College Park is a quiet, tree-lined street, the trees forming an arch as in a cathedral.  It is the oldest street in Davis.  I take walks every day admiring the beautiful homes and well-kept gardens.  I have good neighbors who have invited us to numerous parties over the years, and always came to help us when we needed help.  (They are both doctors.)  I don’t live in a nursing home, thank God!

I have lots of free time to write memoirs for my children, grandchildren and old devoted friends in the US and Europe.  I have the time to rest, listening to classical music.  Occasionally I also watch my daughter’s videos in which André seems so alive and vigorous for a few minutes.  Only a few years ago when I was his 24-hour caregiver, struggling with his worsening dementia and deafness, I would have given a million dollars for a few hours of freedom.  Now I have lots of free time, within bounds. Because I am almost 96, and unlikely to survive an attack of the virus, I must stay at home most of the time. 

The question is how to feel content when I have lost the sense of freedom which made my life worth living.  

One of the things I like to do is to sit in my big reddish-brown leather chair, with my legs elevated, looking out at my overgrown garden.  The mighty Modesto Ash dominates the scene.  Branches of white Oleander are drooping down toward the pool.  There are two pink Crepe Myrtles in bloom, one darker than the other.  At the end of the pool,  a row of stately dark green Bay trees enclose the garden.  There are golden-yellow marigolds, red geraniums, purple pansies and other small flowers in shallow earthenware pots between the pool and Jacuzzi.  I designed the pools in the ‘70s, the large kidney-shaped one is the mother, the jacuzzi, the child.

When the radiant sunlight illuminates the houseplants in my Sunroom and the tall Redbark Maple in the garden, (which we planted years ago,) I feel contentment. When I sit quietly, listening to familiar classical music, e.g. Cesar Franck’s D Minor Symphony, which I learned to love in high school, I feel contentment.  When I occasionally cook one of my old “tried and true” recipes, like “zucchini with sweet basil,” I feel contentment. I love to see how the gentle breeze flutters the leaves of the old Modesto Ash.  I love to see how the last rays of sunshine illuminate the Blue Cape Plumbago bushes at the end of the pool.  

I never was a contented person.  I was always striving for something better.  If I had an art show, I wanted one in a more prestigious place, for example, NYC.  If I sold a few paintings, I felt disappointed not to have sold more.  If I took a trip with André to Europe, South Africa, South America or Asia, I wanted to take a trip around the world!  I know of two people who actually did that.  Onward and Upward!  I think I learned that from my mother who was an example of “upward mobility.”  She started life as a child of poor immigrants, and ended as a successful trial lawyer in Pittsburgh, PA, Senior Partner of an old, established law firm, respected and admired by lawyers and judges throughout the state of Pennsylvania.  She also made a lot of money.  When I was a child, she wrote in my autograph book, “Hitch your wagon to a star!”

Well, I guess it is time for me to forget about “Onward and Upward” and to try to cultivate contentment.   I feel most content when I am writing my memoirs.  I hope that my family and friends will enjoy the video I am making, in which I am reading my stories.  I hope they will remember me with love when I am gone.