Happy Independence Day

What more befitting of "Independence Day" then this quote from Writer's Almanac:

On this day in 1845, 27-year-old Henry David Thoreau (books by this author) moved into his cabin near Walden Pond, a mile and a half from Concord, on some land that belonged to his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson. In exchange for rent, Thoreau worked on the land, clearing away brush and planting trees. He planted two and a half acres, mostly with beans — scholars estimate that Thoreau planted 24,750 bean plants by hand the first year, hoeing them from 5 in the morning until noon each day. He spent 26 months there, keeping a journal of his thoughts, activities, and observations. Years later, in 1854, he published Walden, or Life in the Woods, based on his notebooks from those years.

I've always admired Thoreau.  From the time we were introduced (when I was about 15, in high school) to now, I think of him as one of my mentors.  He lived life on his terms, & I greatly admire that quality in a person.  Once, I walked around Walden Pond and felt the vibes of freedom and independence in-the-air.  Maybe it was just my imagnation, but I felt a kindship with the man who lived there so many years ago.  We both value liberty and living life to the fullest. 

This morning, as I awoke, I had thoughts of folks I've known throughout my life who are no longer with us here on Earth.  Why, such a macabre thought, I don't know.  But I thought of Soupy Sales, Paul Newman, Jack Lemmon, Marilyn Monroe, J.D. Salinger (whom I dearly wanted to meet and, probably, could've during one of my many trips to Cornish, New Hampshire), Marlon Brando, Charlie Chaplin, Erik Kunsel, Gene Barry (spoke at one of my classes at UCLA, won a Tony Award for La Cage aux Folles--now, gone--and so many others.  Why I'm thinking of all these dead people, I'll never know.

Maybe a sense of time gone by.  Going by.  Gone forever.  A sense of my own mortality, on the dawn of my Mom turning 92 next month and bitterly complaining about her life as it is, and, even, was; feeling angry, bitter, regretful and unsettled about the state of her health, her emotions, outlook, friends and family.  What more is there?

Erik Erikson developed the "Seven Stages of Life" and said that, in our older years, we either feel "generativity" (meaning fulfilled or, at least, somewhat satisfied with our lives) or "regret."I can strongly say my Mother feels total regret.  Not for having 3 daughters but for just about everything else.  And, that trickles down to me, her youngest, and I feel bad, too--for her and for myself (somtimes.)

Then at times like those and on holidays, like today, when I'm alone, again, I try not to shine the light on those dark thoghts and solitary nights.  I try to focus on the good, the healthy, the sublime.  Like my pup and kits.  My health, close friends and people who matter to me.  Life is good.  Celebrate!