Bowl of cherries

On our three-hour return flight to Detroit from Fort Lauderdale, I was feeling a bit nostalgic after being back in my old stomping grounds for two weeks. When I lived in South Florida, as the locals in that part of the state call it, I was 23 years old and more than a little green around the gills. A brand new college graduate of a metro-Detroit suburban commuter school, I knew nothing about being on my own, away from the comforts of home and the shelter of my parents. Jimmy and Elia always wanted the best for me, but they rarely thought that meant leaving home — or their sight.

As my family’s first college grad, the only job I was trained for — other than waitressing at a Big Boy’s restaurant or clerking at the UAW — that resembled journalism was 1,400 miles away in Miami Beach. Honestly, it was the best move I ever made.

But driving around greater-Miami this trip I wondered how I ever survived the hideous traffic and crazy drivers hellbent on passing you as if you were standing still. Apparently, Interstate 95 is a freeway and its minimum speed as well.

I turned 65 on April 11, and I’m grateful to be here, in reasonably good health, and of sound mind and body. A milestone of sorts. I now realize that I have many more years behind me than ahead of me. More past than future. Less time for nonsense.

Learning to live this third act of my life has been an education. I don’t worry about things as much or care what others think about me. Frankly, my dears, I don’t really give a damn. It’s probably the best thing about being older — other than senior discounts and being (mostly) invisible.

My father, who passed away in 2009 and lived to be 87, had a few good good tips when it came to life. He didn’t always follow them, but he darn well tried. “Live beneath your means” was the most repeated. He was right, and is likely the reason I became such a saver during my working years, even when I could barely pay the rent. His favorite advice? Check your oil, and never let the gas tank go below half.

Mom’s guide to life was pretty much a hybrid of the Golden Rule (“Do unto others” and all that) and Erma Bombeck’s homemaker satire. (I’ll Google her for you, kids. You’re welcome.)

Born in 1927 in Dayton, Ohio, Bombeck was an American humorist who turned her views of daily life in the suburbs into satirical newspaper columns. She also published 15 books, including her 1971 best seller, “If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, Then What am I Doing in the Pits?” Most of them were best sellers.

That bowl of cherries book was in my parent’s guest room, which also served as Mom’s sewing room and the place her own mother slept when she lived with us before going into a nursing home.

Bombeck died on April 22, 1996, at age 69. Too young. A few of her gems:

“Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.”

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.”

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’”

Written on her tombstone: “I told you I was sick.”

A little book Rebecca and I have on the nightstand in our guest room also has familiar words to live by, including Dad’s favorite listed as No. 1:

“Live beneath your means. Return everything you borrow. Stop blaming other people. Admit it when you make a mistake. Give clothes not worn to charity. Do something nice and try not to get caught. Listen more, talk less. Every day take a 30-minute walk. Strive for excellence, not perfection. Be on time. Don’t make excuses. Don’t argue. Get organized. Be kind to people. Be kind to unkind people. Let someone cut ahead of you in line. Take time to be alone. Cultivate good manners. Be humble. Realize and accept that life isn’t fair. Know when to keep your mouth shut. Go an entire day without criticizing anyone. Learn from the past. Plan for the future. Live in the present. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

And finally: “It’s all small stuff.”

Someday, I will embroider all of those words on a pillow. But first I’ll have to learn to embroider. Right.

Another item I found stashed away in my “Blog Ideas” digital folder for a future post was a poem. Guess the future is now. Oddly enough, in keeping with today’s theme, it also mentions a bowl of cherries. Here we go:

“The Valuable Time of Maturity”

By Mário de Andrade

I counted my years and realized that I have less time to live by, than I have lived so far.

I have more past than future.

I feel like that boy who got a bowl of cherries.

At first, he gobbled them, but when he realized there were only few left, he began to taste them intensely.

I no longer have time to deal with mediocrity.

I do not want to be in meetings where flamed egos parade.

I am bothered by the envious, who seek to discredit the most able, to usurp their places, coveting their seats, talent, achievements and luck.

I do not have time for endless conversations, useless to discuss about the lives of others who are not part of mine.

I no longer have the time to manage sensitivities of people who, despite their chronological age, are immature.

I hate to confront those that struggle for power, those that “do not debate content, just the labels.”

My time has become scarce to debate labels,

I want the essence.

My soul is in a hurry …

Not many cherries in my bowl.

I want to live close to human people, very human,

who laugh of their own stumbles,

and away from those turned smug

and overconfident with their triumphs,

away from those filled with self-importance.

The essential is what makes life worthwhile.

And for me, the essentials are enough!

Yes, I’m in a hurry.

I’m in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give.

I do not intend to waste any of the remaining cherries.

I am sure they will be exquisite, much more than those eaten so far.

My goal is to reach the end satisfied and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience.

And per Confucius: “We have two lives, and the second begins when you realize you only have one.”

*** *** ***

Life is just a bowl of cherries, my friends. Don’t take it serious. Life’s too mysterious.

If you don’t believe me, listen to Frances Ethel Gumm. Better known as Judy Garland.

(YouTube video: Here she is singing “Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries” on her own CBS TV show in 1964. Five years later, she died from an accidental barbiturate overdose at age 47.)