When I am old, I have the luxury to live in the moment fully, without worry for the future, without regrets for the past

I like getting old. I like taking a nap whenever I want. I like it when the grandchildren come over and it’s loud and messy and kids are racing all over the living room on their riding toys. I like the noise, and the disaster they leave, and then — the silence.

I like the empty nest syndrome. It gives me time to experiment with food. Last week I made khachapuri (hidden cheese bread), and arancini (rice balls with meat inside), and manicotti. There was no one around to say, “Mom, can’t we just have pasta and ketchup?”

I like looking old. I’ll still offer the obligatory argument when someone offers me their seat on the bus — “Oh, no it’s okay.” But then I say, “Okay, thanks!” And I sit down.

Summertime in Eretz Yisrael reminds us of the slow drying out of life. Watering flowers and picking off the wilted ones used to be a chore, but now that I’m getting old, it’s an activity.

When I had children at home (it was plural, now it’s singular, and she’s barely home), there was always something to do next. While I was at work, I was thinking about what I’d make for lunch; while I was making dinner, I was thinking about putting the kids to bed; while I was sleeping, I was thinking about where to send my daughter to high school, etc.

Now, I try, really try, to live in the moment. I water the flowers and pick off the wilted ones, and that’s it — no need to justify how I spent my time. If the house is messy, but I’m paying attention to the flowers, it’s fine.