On December 21 some of us gathered shortly after 5 p.m. to begin celebrating the winter solstice. In our region, the exact time of the the earth's turning back toward the sun was 5:23 p.m. In coming together to experience the profound mystery of the seasonal changes, we were joining with people in many places throughout the world where the winter solstice is celebrated, and throughout time with all who have longed for brighter days when the nights have grown too long. 

Far from the equator, in places where the lengthening of the daylight hours is most dramatic, the winter solstice offers a reminder that, despite frigid temperatures, leafless trees, and snow covering the ground, the sun is beginning its invisible work of preparing to awaken the life that's sleeping in the frozen earth. On the other side of the year, we'll celebrate the summer solstice. We'll tend our balcony gardens and stroll through farmers' markets overflowing with fresh vegetables and flowering plants. Celebrating the change of seasons brings us to a deeper appreciation of the cycles of nature and our own place within them. 

Food is central to Winter Solstice festivities everywhere.  ​Our feast included wine and cheese, a fresh fruit salad, salade Russe, roasted stuffed chicken, Portuguese pastries, and chocolate fondue with strawberries and bananas. We laughed and talked, and sang and danced, and deepened our bonds of friendship and sisterhood. I wish I had taken pictures of the food before it was half-gone, and before I had that third glass of wine. 

We'll have one more get-together in January, a birthday party on Friday. After that, I'll be heading south to feel the sun on my skin and listen to some great music. 

Recently, I passed the 73rd anniversary of my birth and, in many ways, life just keeps getting better and better…which seems like a pretty good way to finish things up.

Of course, I’m not intending to finish things up right away. In fact, I plan to see my 100th birthday (such a nice, round number). It’s not an unrealistic goal, since centenarians are the fastest-growing age group in Canada. But being part of the cycles of nature, I am aware that we all, eventually, inevitably, will become memories that fade over time, and one day, we will be forgotten.

My worldly possessions fit neatly into my small apartment, so I won’t be leaving behind many tangible reminders of my earthly existence, nor would I want to be memorialised in the material things I accumulated during my lifetime. I’d rather leave behind ideas that may mean something to people in the future, or the present, who are focused on creating a new (and better) world in the shell of the old. Many of them, the people and the ideas, will be alive and flourishing long after I’m gone, I hope.

That said, I want to arrive at a ripe old age in reasonably good health. Since I’m reasonably healthy now, I want to keep it that way. It took a lot to reach this state, and it wasn’t always certain I’d get here. When I think of what I put my body through when I was young(er), it’s a wonder I’m still alive. After a major health crash in 2001, precipitated by seven sedentary years in university sustained more by coffee than food, and exacerbated by negligent treatment by doctors (a topic for another post), I came to the realisation that my health, even my life, was in my own hands. I started my recovery by making food my medicine. Receiving an inheritance enabled me to afford the sometimes expensive “superfoods” and nutritional supplements that promote healing. These days my diet is varied, sometimes depending on where I am and/or who’s making dinner. It’s mostly organic—at least that’s what the labels say, but who knows? I can only be sure of what I grow in my own small-scale balcony garden.  It's said that gardening is associated with longevity. I only do it for about four months out of the year, but I enjoy it. All the better if it contributes a couple more years of happy, healthy aging. 

It took time and effort to regain my strength after being hit by a car three years ago. A friend introduced me to the gym, where I began working out on exercise machines about three or four days a week for over a year, and occasionally going to a group workout. Even with so little effort, I’ve experienced a significant increase in my strength, agility, flexibility, and balance. Encouraged, I’ve graduated to a workout regimen incorporating free weights, and committed to at least four days and doing one LesMills Body Pump session per week. Last week I had a consultation with an instructor who helped me create a personal training program. She asked my age, and looked surprised when I told her. She said she thought I was “61 or 62.” That’s still no spring chicken, but if she had said “50 or 51,” it would have been so blatantly untrue, it would have ruined the effect. To me it represented an achievement. When I was 61 and 62, and for several years after, I felt I was living at death’s door. I was physically weak and in constant pain, depressed, walking around in a mental fog, living in a community where I was a stranger, with no real friends, and with lots of anti-support from some “close” kin. These days, I’m as happy as any apocaloptimist can be, clear-minded, strong, and tolerably pain-free without medication. 

Being able to travel (sometimes even to places where the food is not so nutritious or plentiful), to see my own life in new contexts, to meet people and learn to hear what they’re saying, these have also been healing.

But the final element, the one that brings everything together and gives it meaning, is friendship. 

In 2010, while I was still quite ill, I returned from British Columbia to my old neighbourhood in Montreal. Finding my little apartment in a west-end highrise was more than just wonderful luck; it was a blessing. Most of my neighbours are immigrants, like me. They come from many countries and cultures. There’s a general sense, though unspoken, that we’re all in this together. A few of us, most living in this building, get together often to dispel the gloom of Montreal’s long, cold winters, having potlucks and celebrating every possible occasion. Recently, one of my dear friends hosted a brunch for six to celebrate my birthday. The food was delicious and the wine was just plentiful enough. Our conversation, as always, was wide-ranging, and, even though we have diverse opinions, respectful of each other’s wisdom. Although I have Facebook friends I would like to meet one day, and appreciated the birthday wishes they posted (each a little dopamine hit), Facebook is a poor substitute for face-to-face, flesh and blood contact with mutually caring and trusted (and trustworthy) friends with whom we can freely share our own stories in our own words and know that others are listening. We share what we’ve seen, what we’ve learned, and what we know to be true. "Growing old" is still growing.

Tomorrow, we’ll be celebrating the winter solstice and the earth’s turning back toward the sun. This year, the solstice coincides with a full moon and a meteor shower. It seems auspicious. We will make it so.

I send my winter solstice wishes for Peace and Love to all my friends and to the world.