Learning at Eighty.

#20250207-514

Friday, February 7, 2025
I let out a series of big yawns.
It has been 12 days since I fractured my right wrist. Since I cannot use my dominant right hand, I get incredibly tired, perhaps because I am using parts of my body I am not accustomed to.
Noko (my daughter, 5th grade) will be home from school in an hour and a half. The moment I lay down to get a little sleep before then, my smartphone rang.
It was my mother.

I had to answer.
"Hello, what's up?"
I managed to shake off the sleepiness and put on a cheerful voice.
"Sorry about earlier, I was out and about."

By "earlier," she meant this morning.
Since my father passed away last November, I have been checking in with my mother morning and night to make sure she is okay. Sometimes it is by email, sometimes by phone. This morning, I thought I would talk to her while hanging out the laundry with my phone on speaker mode.
It takes time to hang laundry without putting strain on my right hand. My eyes and hands were occupied, but my ears and mouth were free, so it was a good time to talk. When I called her, she cut me off, saying she was out and couldn't talk.
"You know that community center about a 10-minute walk from our house, right?" She had been interested in the music class held there and had gone to observe it.

My mother likes embroidery and all sorts of handicrafts, and she has taken lessons in various things.
Sometimes she studies for years, and other times she attends one-day workshops. Her interests are diverse, ranging from culture schools and short-term courses at vocational fashion schools to classes taught by instructors who publish books and appear on TV craft programs.
However, all of those places required taking multiple trains, and classes within walking distance were never an option for her.
Although my mother is sociable, she prefers to keep a comfortable distance and tends not to want to build personal relationships close to home.
"Because, you know, it's troublesome if something happens, isn't it?"
I wanted to retort, "What do you mean by 'something'?" but I suppose I understand what she means.
Despite saying that, she started saying she wanted at least one of the things she learns from now on to be something she can walk to. She is nearing 80, and while she can still take the train to her classes now, she seems to feel it is becoming increasingly difficult.
When you go to lessons, your luggage increases, starting with the tools. It is different from just strolling around town with only your bare essentials.

The music class at the local community center she went to observe without much expectation.
It seems my mother liked it.
The instructor was a well-known person in that musical field. It seems they hold the class at the community center because they live in the city. Because of that, many of the students are from outside the city, and my mother, who can get there in a 10-minute walk, was actually envied. There are no neighbors there.
And above all—though I don't know how much she could tell in just a few hours of observation—my mother said the atmosphere of the place was good. The strength of will to commute from far away, and the financial ability to purchase instruments that are not cheap. In a sense, the students are already screened just by that.
For a while, the teacher will lend her an instrument.
My mother's voice is bright as she talks about playing an instrument in a field she is learning for the first time, even while saying, "I wonder if I can keep it up, I wonder if I can do it."

It was last November that I lost my father, my mother's husband.
Even now, three months later, the paperwork is not finished.
It might be a little early to start something new, but I cannot spend every day doing paperwork. Last week, I fractured my right wrist, and the number of times I can go to my parents' house to handle the paperwork has decreased.
The time spent alone is long.
If it helps my mother's spirits turn even a little bit brighter, this might be the perfect time.

"Four times a month, I wonder if I can really go that often?"
My mother says this in a hushed voice, even though it is just the two of us on the phone.
"Isn't it better to have the teacher check on you frequently rather than practicing on your own and picking up bad habits?"
"Hey, hey, what if I get hooked?"
"You don't need to worry about that before you've even started."
"What if I want my own? They cost quite a bit, you know."
"If the teacher is someone knowledgeable in that industry, I'm sure they can introduce you to a good used one."
My mother voices her concerns one after another, but her voice is cheerful, like the arrival of spring.

Not "learning at sixty," but "learning at eighty."
That she can do this is because she is healthy and my father left enough money for her to do so, but her undiminished curiosity and drive are dazzling.
I want to be in my seventies and eighties, just like my mother, continuing to pursue the things I love with a "hehehe."

My call with my mother lasted an hour and a half.
Noko will be home soon.
Ah, nap time, farewell.