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Worry about something Some times we think the goal in life is to be worry-free. My theory is the opposite. My grandfather, who is 91, lived his life worrying about his crops. I believe that having had something to worry about contributed to his longevity. Even when his legs were bowed and his fingers crooked from rheumatism, he climbed on his blue tractor and tilled the soil. Haywood, as I’ll call him, watched his soybean crop from his favorite living room chair, and when he spotted a weed sticking its dastardly head above the canopy of legume bushes, he would march out to the middle of the field and pluck the unwanted plant with a sense of victory. Even now, bound in a wheelchair, he worries that his garden will not get hoed, the yards raked, the flowerbeds weeded. In some way, that has made him happy—and long in the tooth. Nanette Inman |
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