Experience is the thing you have left when everything else is gone.
I'm turning into a hermit.
I go nowhere and do nothing. I see Daughter and the Nugget almost every day, and say hello to neighbors on either side, and I go to stores, post office, and bank as necessary. There are occasional visits with The Man. Other than that, nothing.
Every day is like the day before. Nothing gets done, and I'm surprised at how fast the weeks and months are passing.
I joined a bunch of Meetup groups, but nothing they plan interests me. I get the monthly local Mensa group's newsletter and calendar, but find nothing interesting. None of it seems worth the effort of getting there, wherever "there" is. I have not found the people interesting. In fact, I find them annoying. I'm not going to fight traffic just to be annoyed.
I don't think I'm depressed, because the Nugget and I have fun, and I enjoy my reading. I enjoy the changing scenery and the beasties that visit my yard. There are no negative feelings or thoughts.
My legs seem to get tired a lot. I can still walk decent distances without difficulty - it's the getting started that just doesn't happen. My legs say, "Nah, let's just sit here."
Or maybe it's the cold. My bones are cold. I hate winter. I long for warm breezes.
It's noisier at the city house than at the country house. Leaf blowers, traffic,sirens, parties, firecrackers, kids, dogs, airplanes, all that. Even the birds and squirrels are noisier.
It's so quiet at the country house that I can hear the trains passing five miles away, beyond two ridges and tucked into the river valley. The house is on the helicopter path between Albany and NYC, and they tend to fly very low and shake the glasses in the cupboards, but that's maybe twice or thrice a month unless something's going on. Bird sound is mostly crows and raptors calling, and somehow that's a pleasant sound. The little birds sing, but not so loudly, and they prefer the woods and farm fields to yards around houses. Tree frogs and katydids, crickets and whippoorwills. Turkeys. Chipmunks singing. No sound is constant. They all have their times, their seasons. Those sounds are so much more relaxing than constant sirens, leaf blowers, traffic, and loud music.
The noise here is tiring. It's aging me. Wearing me down.
This morning being Sunday, I realized there's a sound at the country house that I miss at the city house.
Aren't there any churches with bells around here?
At the country house I used to drive into Rhinebeck occasionally to hear the noon carillon at the Episcopal church in town. Beautiful. I doubt that there's anything like that around here.
I don't have a bucket list, but if I did, I'd put visiting famous carillons on it - real bells - and I'd love to hear changes rung from an old country church somewhere in the British Isles, 6 to 10 bells so I can follow the pattern.
This is 10 bells at Cambridge -
This is 12 bells at Liverpool -
This is a guy learning to ring, "It's harder than it looks". It also explains how the bells are rung from a balanced "upside down" position. That makes it possible to control the timing.