Category Archives: Woolly Mammoths

Sex Scandal (there. that should grab you interest.)

Lughnasa                                                                Lughnasa Moon

A few Woolly Mammoths thundered down Nicollet Avenue to Christo’s Greek Restaurant. Warren, Frank, Bill and I broke pita together and made various comments about Nienstedt, Archbishop of Minneapolis and St. Paul, the sex scandal that dominates the news about Catholicism here, then the Jesuits.

We talked about family and suicide, the cruise Warren and Sheryl have signed up to take, Bill’s trip to his family reunion. This last included only Bill’s brothers and sisters and their progeny-120 strong. Wow.

We stood out there on the sidewalk after dinner talking for a bit and I noticed we all had white hair (or a white scalp in my case). Four old men talking. Four old men who know each other, who see each other as friends and brothers. A gift for all of us.

Railbirds

Summer                                                                       Most Heat Moon

croppedIMAG0348

A warm summer evening, a true northern summer evening with just a hint of coolness after the sun went down. The Woollies gathered at Running Aces: Mark, Scott, Warren, Frank, Bill and Tom. Most of us were novices at betting the horses, but we made up in enthusiasm what we lacked in knowledge. Normally, you would expect such a situation to favor the house, but I’m sure as a group we took home more money than we bet. Warren hit a boxed exacta and so did I. Between us we won over $215.

The food is good bar food and we had a window table with a clear view of the finish line. We discussed betting techniques: what a cute name, color, odds by Ricky, odds by trackman published at the bottom of the program, looking at the racing history of the horses. Names seemed a dominant choice.

I bet on Hooray Katie. Lost. Frank bet on Hanna. Won a quarter. Tom and Mark bet on Kissmelikeyoumeanit and won. Mark won an exacta. Bill won a couple of times. I think Scott won, too.

These horses, pacers and trotters, are Standardbreds. This means that they trace their ancestory to Hambeltonian 10(pic). If thoroughbred racing is the sport of kings, harness racing, the same source of information says, is the sport of the people. The people were out there tonight, cheering and drinking, enjoying the summer evening. And the Woollies were part of it.

Amicus

Summer                                                                        Most Heat Moon

While the Olson generations have driven north to the world’s largest lake (by area), I remained behind for my regular session with Latin tutor Greg and lunch with friend Tom Crane.

When I work with Greg now, I sequence out loud the Latin words in the order in which I will translate them into English, then offer my translation. Since so much of my work has involved either Greg’s question and my answers or my translating then listening to Greg’s careful parsing of the grammar, silence confuses me.

Today had lots of silence. It turns out that means he’s translating along with me, waiting for me to go on. Silence, in other words, is good. To get to this level of translating still takes a long time for me. I translate the verses, 4-6 in a typical one hour to one and a half hour session. This involves consulting the online classics website, Perseus, the commentaries by Anderson and Lee, and occasionally checking an English translation if I’m hopelessly confused.

After I’ve done a bunch, maybe 50 or 60 or so, I’ll go back over them, making sure the declension and conjugation notes I’ve written down are accurate and making sure as well that the word I’ve chosen is written over its Latin counterpart. I might be done then, at least for awhile. If, however, there is some time before I have a session with Greg, I may go over them again, writing out a new translation as I read, not consulting my previous work.

When I get down to the serious work here, I imagine the process proceeding much the same.  It would differ at the point of my session with Greg. Then I will go through the verses I’m working with and try to create as beautiful an English translation as I can. When I feel I’ve done my best, then I will review other translator’s work on the same passages. At that point I’ll revise again, or not.

I may be at that point this fall. I’m very close right now.

Lunch with Tom is about friendship, about that ineffable, yet essential quality of being known by another and, in turn, knowing. The topics don’t matter, though they do, of course. Today it was grandchildren, visits, friends and, as you might expect, the sixth great extinction on planet Earth.

On this last point Tom and I share a desire to grasp the dilemmas facing the human race right now in fine detail, but also in the larger, broader scope of planetary evolution.  I think we agree on this perspective, being human is natural and the things we do as human are, therefore, natural. That’s not to say they don’t have unintended consequences. Nor does it mean that we have to lie down and say, we can’t do anything about that!

Not at all. But flagellation gets us no where.

 

Parting is

Summer                                                            Most Heat Moon

Woollies at Wilde Roast in St. Anthony. Jon, Scott, Warren, Frank and Stefan. Ode circled us in cars he was test driving, but never touched down. Tom was in Chattanooga, Bill and Charlie H. in Wisconsin, Paul in Maine, Jimmy in South Dakota.

Major topics: Sold sign on the next to last Wolfe household. Congrats, Warren and Sheryl. Frank’s right leg pain is gone. Scott is working like a beaver to finish a roommate apartment for his stepson Alex and his significant other. Yin’s having some difficulty letting go of material, mostly clothing, accumulated over the years. Stefan’s winding away from the workaday world, yet experiencing, in his words, uncontrollable anxiety about days looming ahead in which he might not be productive.

We focused for a while, in response to Stefan’s transition, on the question of how to deal with a need to be productive. My contention is that you need to do things which feed your soul, which express who you are. My writing is one example. Fly fishing could be another. Doing favors for folks another. Working with computers for the electronically challenged could be another.

Stefan raised my statement, made awhile back, that I wanted to do only the work only I can do. I stand by it. Over the next 20 or so years, perhaps my entire lifetime from this point forward, my focus will be on those kind of things. Helping raise our grandchildren, tending our garden, writing my books. Working politically on those things that I care about deeply.

Afterward Jon and I wandered over a rusted iron bridge to an island in the middle of the Mississippi. We looked at the water streaming over the receding St. Anthony Falls. Having him at this Woolly meeting brought together the attractive forces that have kept me here in Minnesota this long and that now pull me on to Colorado. A sadness, a certain kind of sadness, came over me.  I’m glad that I have such good friends that I will miss them as family; but, I’m sad to leave them.

There was, too, a muted joy in joining this man, now in his mid-life, and his family. Muted, I say, only because I reflected on it at this particular moment, just after leaving my friends for the evening. And those number of evenings are diminishing.

 

Evoking Gifts

Beltane                                                              Summer Moon

To my Woolly brethren and anyone else interested. I found this on the website Watching as the Lights Go Out (link under Third Phase to the right here.)

It occurred to me that this might be a good activity for us. One person a night for the next year. This is a group method used by this man’s small church to discern talents, character traits useful for a new work they intend. It seems to me it would be useful, too, for us (the Woolly Mammoths) as a group since we know each other so well now.  Let me know what you think.

“…we spend over an hour per person in evoking their individual gifts. By “evoking gifts” we mean discerning each person’s specific characteristics and abilities…  This past Saturday was my turn.  We went around the circle, and each person described the gifts they saw in me.  It’s an amazing experience!  How often do we affirm the value of one another?”

Changes

Beltane                                                                                   Summer Moon

Transitions. a :  passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another :  change  b :  a movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another; and, c: an abrupt change in energy state or level

Frank had a Lakota pipe, given to him in a sweat, making him a pipe carrier. It marked, he said, a transition from a crude, aggressive atheist to a man who saw something else, something beyond the material world. Warren had a statue of Don Quixote which had belonged to his father. His life, he said, had been one of transitions related to writing and reading. Books and journalism. I’m not sure he said, but I think he did, that Don Quixote’s idiosyncratic (I’d say Quixotic, but you know…) way in the world felt like his own.

Charlie Haislet presented his body “as the object which had carried him through all of his transitions” including the most recent and not easy one to retirement. He also told a great story of an ascent of Mt. Fuji, a cousin along who experienced angina and treating him with brandy. Then, faced with oncoming darkness they chose a faster route down the mountain than the switchbacks they had come up only to find themselves finally at the bottom, but halfway around the mountain from their car.

Bill had a leather bound volume with entries beginning in 1967, the year he left the Jesuits, and other entries as recent as last year’s retreat on Lake Superior only half a year after Regina’s death.

Tom spoke of opening boxes of his mother’s containing his foot-print as a baby, his receiving blanket and wondering about the transitions he’s gone through since that time, feeling some of them as he found more and more items. Now, he lives in the moment, trying to show up at each momentary transition as his best self.

Scott is decluttering his downstairs to develop an apartment for his stepson, but this has involved moving decades worth of Yin’s fashion designer remnants: clothing, cloth. The big question is what to do with it all.

Mark talked of the transition from the country (Marine) to the city (a block or so from Frank). He lifted up a deer antler that he found in California and spoke of the mystical masculinity of a buck, an antlered buck, especially one in velvet.

Stefan announced his leaving his position at Crane Engineering for a calmer life.

It was a powerful evening on many levels, including the stories of two guests.

 

He did that on purpose

Beltane                                                                      Summer Moon

Another word for your third phase consideration: purpose. People who have purpose do much better than those who don’t, especially in the third phase and in several senses.

“It’s a very robust predictor of health and wellness in old age,” said Patricia Boyle, a neuropsychologist at the Rush Alzheimer’s Disease Center in Chicago.  NYT, Living on Purpose.

Lower rates of Alzheimer’s and mild cognitive impairment (by significant amounts, JAMA article) as well as lower rates of mortality were noticed in people with high purpose scores. Too, the protective powers of purpose seem unrelated to age. (SAGE publication on Purpose and Mortality.)

Purpose covers a wide range of matters. I looked it up in my favorite, the OED. Here’s a germane definition or two: 1. That which one sets before oneself as a thing to be obtained or done; the object which one has in view. And 3. The object for which anything is done or made, or for which it exists; the result or effect intended or sought; end, aim

When this article crossed my horizon, Frank Broderick and his mitzvahs came to mind. 81 years old, bad hip pain from lower back, Frank braved the surgery at some risk so he could keep on helping people. “I’d rather wear out than rust out.”

Among certain folks helping people defines life’s purpose. And it certainly can, Frank being a strong example of the type. But helping others is far from the only purpose that can invigorate the third phase. A friend makes art. They are books, visual memoirs. I don’t know if he would define them as a purpose for his life, but they seem to be. Another friend has built a company well-known for excellence. The work no longer stimulates him (and hasn’t for a long time), but helping the company make a graceful transition to a time after his leadership, that does. That’s a clear purpose. Another has organized a group to focus on maintaining a healthy sea shore in Maine. Yet another freely shares his expertise with the computer, with building websites while another continues a life-long passion for drumming. If I understand this literature correctly, each of these have a real and solid guard against the onset of dementia and the likelihood of a longer life.

Made me wonder about myself. What is my purpose? Well, you’re reading part of it. Yes, the written trail I’m leaving behind is part of what gets me up in the morning. So does working with the land and with plants. Working for a sustainable human path on this planet. Being a good husband, father, grandparent, friend. A reliable partner for the animals in my life. There’s that Latin work I’m doing, too. Art and art history are a passion. Novels, too. So, I feel like I have a reasonable seawall against dementia and at least a shot at a longer life. And that’s on purpose.

A Wedding

Beltane                                                       Emergence Moon

White chairs set out by the lakeside. A metal frame holding white bunting and an autumn hued bouquet. Cirrus clouds wrote wispy notes in a bright sky, the blue of late afternoon in the north. Yes, it was a wedding. And the groomsmen and the bridesmaids, the groom and the bride, all so very young. So innocent with no sense of the gravity of what they did, only the hope that love whispers, a promise of life ahead, together.

Chaska and Paul. A young woman, born in Peru, raised in Edina by friends of mine, Lonnie and Stefan, now old enough to marry and have a house, already, in Richfield. Life already sending down tentative roots here. Right here.

Wedded at a resort well-known for its cross-country skiing and well-used by the Helgeson family, only this weekend, a Memorial day weekend, it was Helgeson specific not for skiing but for these two. This is Maplelag, far up in northern and western Minnesota, near Detroit Lakes and New York Mills, land long ago scraped flat by the original Caterpillar, the Wisconsin glaciation, then  pock marked with deep depressions, now some of the many, many lakes that dot the state.

They used the old vows, the traditional ones, and the language of the wedding was familiar, not Christian, but still the words used often in non-Christian ceremonies. The wedding rings are circles, infinite in line and like the love being celebrated. That sort of thing. A bit stale but warm and heartening, much like the chicken-fried steak I had at Nelson’s in Clear Lake on the way back home.

 

Trying a New Style

Beltane                                                                    Emergence Moon

OdieThese days my hero is a Norwegian (no surprise there) named Knausgård, whose six volume (so far) novel, My Struggle, has sold 500,000 copies in Norway where there are only 5 million people. His work, which I purchased last year and have not yet begun to read, recounts his life in a style more novelistic than memoir, not told in linear fashion, but through broad themes which nonetheless illustrate his life as it goes.

In spite of not yet reading them (and I will) Knausgård is my hero because his style sounds surprisingly similar to the work I do here, in this blog. Similar is the key word, because I’ve not been as brave as he is (I think he is from accounts.), nor as thoughtful toward the whole. Ancientrails is non-linear, and it could have been typed on Jack Kerouac’s famous roll of paper, the one he used to pound out On the Road. (There’s, by the way, a backward link to What is your walk? Though Kerouac celebrates the American road trip by car, On the Road could work with pilgrims inch-worming their way around, say, the holy mountain of Las Vegas.)

Can I acknowledge the pain I felt last Sunday morning when my long time friend, Mark Odegard, and I exchanged sharp words about China, potentially injuring our friendship over matters neither one of us truly understands?  I went into my a, b, c, d argument mode. A. China is not historically expansionist. Mark: tell that to the Dali Lama. Oh, well. Yes, but really about border security. I don’t like it, nor do I agree with it, but it doesn’t mean China has imperial ambitions. B. China’s military has not been blooded in a war against an external enemy in a couple of thousand years (at least not much) and when they have been, they’ve lost. And our military has fought many wars in the last 100 years alone. C. We spend more on the military than China does. All this while the visualize world peace Bahai retreatants ate noisily at other tables in the Villa Maria refectory and should have told us enough. Close the ears. Hug and talk about next year’s calendar.

But. Mark went on that John McCain says. Oh, John McCain is my lodestar for China analysis. Anyway he said someone will do something irrational. China loathes Japan for the 1936 invasion, the visits to the War Shrine. Japan is fearful of an expanded China. And North Korea. He’s a wildcard. Something will spark a war. Mark might have mentioned Taiwan or the Spratly Islands. Something will happen.

I pushed back about China’s rise not being about military gains but economic ones. Or, I might have, I can’t recall exactly now, but I remember the under current of having, again, gone too far in an argument. You don’t understand where people get there information. They trust Fox News, not the New York Times. He said.

But there I’d done it. And ever since that morning I’ve hoped I’ve not permanently injured my relationship with Mark. Then, we exchanged e-mails and agreed to meet for breakfast, maybe a week or so from now. He wants to continue them he said. That sounds hopeful. I want to reach across the table and say you are more important to me than China, all of China, old friend.

This the brave, honest sort of writing I imagine Knausgård using and what I want to adopt as mine. Not Knausgård’s style, not really, not his content, not at all, but the courage to say it all, not just some of it. And to do it every day. And the why of it comes then in the words, the path of them, the walk of them across the rolls of paper that this blog represents, an ancientrail, mine, being walked in the present.

The Portraitist

Beltane                                                            Emergence Moon

Friend Tom Crane has taken photographs for his work for many, many years and has become a skillful photographer in the process. Here are two portrait quality images, both taken during the recent Woolly retreat. The first is Angel the dominant Bald Eagle I mentioned a few posts ago. The second is myself.

Angel, Villa Maria retreat 2014

Villa Maria 2014