Flexibility is a necessary skill for teachers and parents of young children. When I taught school and had young kids at home, I was flexible enough to give Gumby some serious competition.
These days, not so much.
An empty nest doesn’t require flexibility. Some days it’s so quiet and orderly around here, I can almost feel my joints locking in position, my heels digging in, and my thoughts petrifying into a solid, immovable lump.
The temptation to remain in one place is enticing.
On busy weekends, like this past one, the challenge is to shake off comfortable and inflexible habits, to stretch and embrace what is good and true. Can I change with the times? Do I want to? Am I too old to try?
Maybe I am. Too old, that is.
That’s the conclusion I settled on yesterday, right before remembering the turkey carcass waiting in the cold on the porch. Waiting to be brought in and boiled in a big pot of water. Waiting for the water to turn into rich broth as it simmered on the stove. Waiting for the meat to turn tender enough to be picked off its bones.
Not worth the effort.
I quelled the voice inside my head and put the carcass in a big pot of water and hoisted it onto the stove. A few hours later, I picked through the broken down mess. The bones pulled apart easily. The meat fell off the bones. Enough meat for three pots of turkey noodle soup and eight pints of broth besides.
All from an old turkey carcass.
But I had almost believed the voice in my head. I almost turned away from the effort required to harvest good from what looked like nothing much. I almost chose comfort and quiet over what was good and true.
Maybe because there aren’t children around to keep me flexible.
Or maybe because I believe getting older means I’m not worth the effort. But if the old turkey carcass yielded enough food for many meals to come, surely my bones have more to give, too. But only if I choose to move ahead, prepare for change, and stay flexible with or without kids stretching me this way and that. It will never be easy, but it’s good. And true. Which means Gumby better step up his game, too. I plan to give him a run for his money.
As soon as I force myself out of this comfortable chair.
