Category Archives: Third Phase

Ecce Homo

Imbolc                                                             Valentine Moon

Scott got reservations at David Fong’s, a long time Chinese restaurant in Bloomington. David Fong, Yin’s brother, started a chow mein takeout on the same location about 50 years ago.  This was eating in a Chinese restaurant on Chinese New Year’s, not eating a New Year meal.  The food was very good, especially since Scott came complete with recommendations from Yin as to what we would like.  Handy.

Frank, Warren, Tom, Scott and I were there.  We shared our steak kow, mongolian beef, lo mein, honey crusted walnut shrimp, pot stickers and a crumbly chicken dish whose name I can’t recall.  You put the chicken in a lettuce leaf, sort of like a taco.  All of them were tasty.

We spent a lot of time talking about grandkids.  Scott and I had a similar experience of five-year old grand-daughters who decided we were not “real” grandpop’s because we were not the biological father of their parent.  As with Ruth, this has passed in Scott’s case, too.

Tom has set up an intriguing question for our February 17th meeting:   What does it mean to be a male in our culture?  He has also asked that we bring three images of men that will start off our conversation.  I’ve got a few posted here, but as I’ve gone hunting for images it made me wonder if there is a book called the male image in art.  Lots of such books for females, many of nudes, but of men?  A quick google search in the books section shows none.  Probably are some, but that they’re not obvious says something.

Another thought that occurred to me, and it relates to third phase life for men, is this, what is our image of a man at home?  That is, beyond the guy with the fly-rod, golf club, barca-lounger, or woodshop.  And these are based on the silly, even pernicious idea of third phase life for men as the replacement of work hours with a favorite leisure activity.

With no positive image of a man at home it’s difficult to understand how to be at home when one has left traditional work life behind.

39 Billion Miles + On This Older Body

Imbolc                                                             Valentine Moon

Realized the other day that our age in years is actually shorthand for an odometer of sorts. This odometer measures our lifespan in miles, miles around the sun.  585,000,000 miles or so a trip.  At 67 that comes to 39,195,000,000 miles on this old body.

Looked at that way the 32,000 miles we have on our Rav4 doesn’t amount to much, does it?  That’s roughly 1,600,000 miles–a day.  Or, we may as well keep going, I have the calculator warmed up, 66,700 miles an hour.  Better speed than I get out of my Rav4, too. But, what the heck, lets do a minute: 1,100.  And, for a complete picture.  A second: 18 miles.  Each second.

That means, when I count off 6 seconds for my first infusion of Master Han’s 2013 pu’er, I’ve traveled 108 miles while I waited.  That’s a different perspective on how long it takes to make a cup of tea.

All of this is a convoluted way of saying that my 67th birthday is only 12 days away.  It has me thinking about that annual pilgrimage waypoint we all celebrate as our birthday.  It’s really a cairn stuck beside the imaginary line we travel as our home planet rockets its way around the nearest star.  It is a reminder of the cyclical, rather than the linear nature of time. Yes, we count the trips, but in fact each trip is the same as the last one. (sort of.  astronomical realities may vary.)

 

 

Mature Adults

Winter                                                                 Valentine Moon

Necessary but not necessarily pleasant work this morning.  Kate and I went through our health care directives, making sure they still reflected what we wanted.  Mostly.  We then read through our wills with a similar purpose in mind.  They’re seven years old.  We need to ask the boys what, if anything, they might want in our estate so we can enter that in a list for them.  We knew this seven years ago and somehow haven’t gotten around to it.  Is that Denial I hear rushing by?

We looked, too, at our trust instruments.  They, too, are mostly ok, but I still haven’t added Kate to our Vanguard account.  Again, I’ve had seven years to do it.  I promised I wouldn’t take any more than that amount of time before I got it done.

We also discussed funeral/celebration arrangements, coming to no firm conclusions, but with progress.  Asked some time ago to donate my body to medical science so they can investigate my inner-ear bones–no, seriously, I intend to but haven’t gotten around to filling out the forms.  Can you hear the beautiful blue Denial in the background?

After this we made a list of matters around the house that need attention.  We’ve lived here 20 years and though we’ve kept with major things:  new furnace, air conditioner, roof, siding, dishwasher for example, there are many smaller things.  Our outdoor trim needs painting and in some places replacement.  A lock here.  A light fixture there.  Handyman sort of things.  We have a guy.  A few garden things.  Laying down woodchips in the vegetable garden.  Pruning the orchard.  Javier work.

Painting living room, kitchen, hall and master suite plus repairing that settling crack we’ve had for, what?  20 years?  Finishing Touch painters.

Changing light bulbs and cleaning out the garage.  Kate and me.

After all this responsible adult stuff, we went for lunch at Azteca, our favorite Mexican joint.

Jazz. Yeah.

Winter                                                                Seed Catalog Moon

To the Dakota tonight with my sweetie.  Warren and Sheryl attended this KBEM event, too.  The featured performers Charmin and Shapira are an improbable match.  He, Shapira, looks like a televangelist who maybe slipped along the line, and plays the guitar at times like Jimmy Hendrix.  At other times like a piano.  He’s subtle and smooth.

Charmin could be a smaller Billy Holliday with a great range and soulful tone that comes out easily.  She sang standards, a nice piece by Thelonius Monk and another I imagine was part of Gershwin’s songbook.

They were backed up a trio with a tenor sax, bass and drums.  All of the musicians were excellent.  I have a special fondness for the dreamy riffs that come from the saxophone and this guy was good.

The Dakota is a local treasure, a Minnesota Treasure, like the Japanese National Treasure’s.  They put out quality food and music.

The wind, must have been 10 mph or so, blasted us as we left and the below or right at zero reading made for punishment.  Glad to get to the car.

 

As If We Insisted On Using an Outhouse

Winter                                                              New (Seed Catalog) Moon

Our newspaper has been late the last two mornings.  Yes, I know that shows our age, as if
we’ve insisted on the outhouse in a day of indoor plumbing, but as Kate said yesterday, “I like the feel of it in my hand.” (the newspaper.) As a long time newspaper carrier myself, I know the problems of getting a newspaper consistently in the hands of customers.

In this case it could be a difficult to start car, a substitute (my guess), a late start, late delivery of the bundled newspapers and, in the case of a substitute, one who’s slower or who’s delivering the route in a different order or who has forgotten us.  At any rate my empathy is with these folks who get up so early, the newspaper is almost always here before 6 am, and who deliver throughout the year, come rain or come snow.

I doubt any of them do it 7 days a week, probably a week and a weekend route, but it’s still a lot of dedication for what I imagine is not a lot of money.  At least they don’t have to collect.  When I carried the Alexandria Times-Tribune, I had to collect each Friday and it made those evenings much longer than the rest.

Anyhow, a tip of the hat here to all those involved in the old fashioned work of producing a physical means of delivering the news.  Up here in Andover Kate and I still appreciate it.

Happy New Year

Winter                                                               New (Seed Catalog) Moon

Years have come and gone, slipping off into the neurons, their impressions there more and less faint, our only confidence that other years, other days have happened.  We tend to peg our memories by the year Kennedy was shot, or when we landed on the moon, or when Nixon resigned.  The year the Twins won the World Series.  The year Sorsha brought in a woodchuck.  That honeymoon through Europe, following spring north.  The year mom died.

(time is cyclical)

What I mean to say here is that our lives, the years of lives, are re-experienced episodically and briefly.  They have to be.  What would it serve us if our memories were perfect records which required an equivalent amount of time to remember as they did to experience?

But this brings up then the fatal flaw of memory.  It’s not really a memory as in a mental snapshot of an event accurately recorded and recalled when needed. No, memories tend to cluster around emotions, emotions that highlight certain aspects of an event and downplay or suppress others.

What is memory for?  I mean from an evolutionary perspective.  It allows us to recall dangers.  Don’t walk in the bush at night because a predator might get you.  Opportunities. When the snows leave and the air warms, let’s head to that particular valley because the game is plentiful there and we can dig roots.  Others. That’s my mom and dad.  There’s my brother and sister.  Over on the other side of the fire is a person you want to stay away from.

Memories, interestingly, are always in the present, that’s the only time they can be experienced, so the past is only ever real in the present.  And it is present in shards of defective recollections.

Here’s something I’ve not been able to figure out.  Time, at least as we commonly use the term, seems to run in a linear fashion, time’s arrow some folks call it.  It moves, in this understanding, only forward.  Hence the new year and all its possibility and potential. Time has not been there yet, so it’s an open field of action.  We have not  yet committed any acts in 2014.

Yet.  The markers that we use for time, the day and the year in particular, are borne of cyclical time.  The day comes from a revolution of the earth, a repetitive motion that moves neither forward nor backwards.  The year marks a revolution of the earth’s around the sun.  The end of a year and the start of a new year finds us speeding back toward the spots we encountered last year, the Zodiac, for instance.

Yes, it’s true that these times are neither constant nor exactly repeated since the our solar system itself is dynamic and our planet wobbles, but this does not bother the essential point here, that we use for what we insist on calling linear time, cyclical measurements.

In other words it would make just as much sense to say, Happy New Year.  That is, yes, it’s a New Year and that’s the end of it.  The last trip is finished and the next one begun, but there’s no real reason to count them.  We’ve not gotten further along than we did last year, in fact, right now we’re back where we started.

This is just to say that 2014 and January 1st are conventions.  This may not be important at all, but I think the whole linear notion of time makes an afterlife seem significant when it’s not.  I think the whole linear notion of time forces us to imagine an arrow not only to time, but to history, and in so doing seek cause and effect where there is none.  I think the whole linear notion of time makes aging seem like an end when really it’s only part of an ongoing process.

So, what I’ll say is Happy New Year.  Again.

2013: Second Quarter

Winter                                                            Winter Moon

The first day of the second quarter, April 1st, is Stefan’s birthday and was a gathering of the Woolly’s at the Red Stag.  I made this note: “Here we are seen by each other.  Our deep existence comes with us, no need for the chit-chat and polite conversation of less intimate gatherings.  The who that I am within my own container and the who that I am in the outer world come the closest to congruence at Woolly meetings, a blessed way of being exceeded only in my relationship with Kate.”

The “doing work only I can do” thought kept returning, getting refined: “With writing, Latin and art I have activities that call meaning forward, bringing it into my life on a daily basis, and not only brought forward, but spun into new colors and patterns.” april 2 On the 13th this followed:  “Why is doing work only I can do important to me?  Mortality.  Coming at me now faster than ever.  Within this phase of my whole life for sure.  Individuation.  It’s taken a long time to get clear about who and what I’m for, what I’m good at and not good at.  Now’s the time to concentrate that learning, deepen it.”

The best bee year we’ve had started on April 16th with discovering the death of the colony I thought would survive.  While moving and cleaning the hive boxes, I wrenched back and the pain stayed with me.  That same day the Boston Marathon bombing happened.  In addition to other complicated feelings this simple one popped up:  “The most intense part of my initial reaction came when I realized what those feelings meant, the emptiness and the sadness and the vacuum.  They meant I am an American.  That this event was about us, was done to us.”

Another theme of this quarter would be my shoulder, perhaps a rotator cuff tear, perhaps nerve impingement caused by arthritis in my cervical vertebrae.  Maybe some post-polio misalignment.  But over the course of the quarter with a good physical therapist it healed nicely.

Kate went on a long trip to Denver, driving, at this time, for Gabe and Ruth’s birthdays. While she was out there teaching Ruth to sew, Ruth asked her, “Why did you become a doctor instead of a professional sewer?”  When Kate is gone, the medical intelligence of our house declines precipitously.  That means doggy events can be more serious.

Kona developed a very high fever and I had to take her to the emergency vet.  She had a nodule on her right shoulder which we identified as cancerous.  This meant she had to have it removed.  At this point I was moving her (a light dog at maybe 40 pounds) in and out of the Rav4 with some difficulty because of my back.

This was the low point of the year as Kona’s troubles and my back combined to create a CBE (1)dark inner world.  The day I picked Kona up from the Vet after her surgery was cold and icy, but my bees had come in and I had to go out to Stillwater to get them, then see my analyst, John Desteian.  That day was the nadir.  I was in pain and had to go through a lot of necessary tasks in sloppy slippery weather.  That week Mark Odegard sent me this photograph from a while ago Woolly Retreat.

By the end of the month though Kate was back and April 27th:  “Yes!  Planted under the planting moon…”

For a long time I had wanted to apply my training in exegesis and hermeneutics to art and in this time period I decided to do it.  In the course of researching this idea I found I was about 50 years late since the Frankfurt School philosophers, among them, Gadamer and Adorno, had done just that.  Still, I patted myself on the back for having thought along similar lines.

Over the last year Bill Schmidt, a Woolly, and I have had dinner before we play sheepshead in St. Paul.  His wife, Regina, died a year ago September.  “Bill continues to walk straight in his life after Regina’s death, acknowledging her absence and the profound effect it has had on his life, yet he reports gratitude as his constant companion.”

By April 29th the back had begun to fade as an issue: “Let me describe, before it gets away from me, submerged in the always been, how exciting and uplifting it was to realize I was walking across the floor at Carlson Toyota.  Just walking.”

Kate and I had fun at Jazz Noir, an original radio play performed live over KBEM.

In my Beltane post on May 1st I followed up my two sessions with John Desteian:  “John Desteian has challenged me to probe the essence of the numinous.  That is on my mind.  Here is part of that essence.  The seed in the ground, Beltane’s fiery embrace of the seed, the seed emerging, flourishing, producing its fruit, harvest.  Then, the true transubstantiation, the transformation of the bodies of these plants into the body and blood ourselves.”

Then on May 6th, 5 months into my sabbatical from the MIA:  “The third phase requires pruning.  Leaving a job or a career is an act of pruning.  A move to a smaller home is an act of pruning.  Deciding which volunteer activities promote life and which encumber can proceed an act of pruning.  Last year I set aside my political work with the Sierra Club.  Today I have set aside my work at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.”  That ended 12 years of volunteer work.

“When you recover or discover something that nourishes your soul and brings joy, care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life.”

Jean Shinoda Bolen 

It was also in May of this year that Minnesota finally passed the Gay marriage bill.  Gave me hope.

May 13 “Sort of like attending my own funeral.   All day today notes have come in from docent classmates responding to my resignation from the program.”  During this legislative session, I again became proud to be a Minnesotan.

As the growing season continued:  “If you want a moment of intense spirituality, go out in the morning, after a big rain, heat just beginning to soak into the soil, smell the odor of sanctity…”

On May 22nd the Woolly’s gathered to celebrate, with our brother Tom, the 35th year of his company, Crane Engineering.  The celebration had something to do with a crystal pyramid.  At least Stefan said so.

A cultural highlight for the year was the Guthrie’s Iliad, a one person bravura performance by veteran actor, Stephen Yoakam.

Friend and Woolly Bill Schmidt introduced me to High Brix gardens.  I decided to follow their program to create sustainable soils and did so over the course of the growing season. I got good results.

Our new acquaintance Javier Celis, who did a lot of gardening work for us over the year, also finished up our firepit and we had our first fire in it on June 7th.  It was not the last.

On June 12th Rigel came in with a small pink abrasion on her nose.  She had found and barked, barked, barked, barked at a snapping turtle.  Kate removed the turtle from our property.  The turtle came back, hunting I believe, for a small lake not far from us in which to lay her eggs.  The next time Rigel and Vega still barked, from a safe distance.

And on Father’s Day: “Is there anything that fills a parent’s heart faster than hearing a child light-hearted, laughing, excited?  Especially when that child is 31.”

During her visit her in late June grand-daughter Ruth went with me on a hive inspection: “She hung in there, saying a couple of times, “Now it’s making me really afraid.” but not moving away.”

My favorite technology story came on June 27th when NASA announced that one of the Voyager spacecrafts would soon leave the heliosphere, the furthest point in space where the gases of the sun influence matter.  This meant it would then be in interstellar space.

And, as Voyager entered the Oort cloud Tom and Roxann made their way Svalbard and the arctic circle.  Thus endeth the second quarter.

 

 

NoSnowBirds

Samhain                                                            Winter Moon

They leave.  This is the time.  Lois, our cleaning lady, poked her head in and said, “Good-bye.  See you in April.”  Mark and Elizabeth leave on the 29th for Grass Valley in California.  Many others are already gone to Florida or Arizona or New Mexico or Mexico.

We call them snowbirds, though it should be nosnowbirds, since they fly away at dropping temperatures and clouds of frozen moisture.  The reasons they go are diverse, I imagine, but cluster around icy roads, slick sidewalks, the uninviting nature of cold air for being outside.

It makes sense.  At a certain age, one I’ve reached, driving on roads and navigating sidewalks slick with ice and polished snow can be scary.  To get outside requires more thought in dress and more intention.  Just going out for a stroll can mean preparation. There is, too, the lure of a different place.  The beaches of Florida, the culture of the Southwest and Mexico.  A way to break up the year, give it a punctuation when work no longer provides it.

Still.  I love the snow, the cold, the quiet, the coming of the inside season.  The holiseason makes a good deal more intuitive sense with distinct seasonal changes, seasonal changes I find crucial to my own spiritual practice.  Putting the garden to bed, letting it rest for a season plus also feels right to me.  I would not want to continue my gardening season past the end of September, early October.

No.  We’ll stay.  Here.  In Andover.

.5%

Samhain                                                            Winter Moon

Last night Jerry, who has a big band show on KBEM, gave us some statistics.  “2% say jazz is their favorite music.  Another 2% say classical.  .5% like both.”  That puts Kate and me into the .5% bracket.

(Coltrane)

Jazz and classical music are an acquired taste.  Rock and roll and the other forms of popular music are, too, I suppose, but their acquisition comes laced into high school, i-tunes, radio.  Support of their sound comes through commercial channels that, though increasingly fractured, still provide marketing and distribution for them.  They also have youth culture on their side.

Jazz still has a certain underground feel, a music played off the main streets of American culture and by the marginal and marginalized.  It is a music that languishes if it becomes popular, witness the fusion era and the cool jazz played on easy listening stations.  Now, with it’s popularity dwindling again, it can regenerate, offer the lure of the hidden, the cult.

Classical music has a dwindling band of listeners, too, graying as are the jazz audiences. Classical music will find itself refreshed as it, too, becomes the province of smaller gatherings, people devoted to musicology, to the repertoire of yesterday.

Neither of the significant aural art forms will disappear.  Yes, the opportunities to hear them may diminish, but there will always be live performances somewhere for both. The availability of recorded and digital music ensures that they will survive until other audiences find them.

(Musical_Instruments  Evaristo Baschenis (1617–1677)

So it may be that classical music aficionados will attend trios and quartets in performance more than orchestras, though here the SPCO seems to be on firm footing at last.  Jazz followers will head to clubs and bars, much as they always have, and to the occasional festival.  Performers in both will gain renown in smaller groups, but they will be remembered.  Popularity is not the mark of good art, though you can’t deny its value for paying bills.

Siesta. Si.

Samhain                                                          Thanksgiving Moon

Grandma’s in Denver, probably having breakfast at the Best Western with the grandkids 2011 11 22_3981right about now.  She forgot to take her recipes so we may have to shore her up from home base.

(Grandma in Brazil)

The dogs and I have hit a rhythm that’s working so far.  The house is quieter with Kate gone and for a silence loving guy like me, I don’t like it.  Having another mouse in the burrow makes the whole place feel more livable.

Having said that my day doesn’t change much.  Up around 7:00-7:30.  Down to work around 8:00.  I will take a break at 10:00 to see if the dogs need to go out, then back to work until lunch.  Lunch.  Nap.  Work and workout till 7:00 or so.   Then relax.  This is, roughly, the daily schedule I discovered in Bogota now over 25 years.  It made sense to me then and makes sense to me now.

Many could not adjust their day to this kind of schedule, I know that, but if you can, I imagine you would see an increase in productivity and serenity.  Whole swaths of Latin culture have done it for years, even centuries and there’s physiological reason for it.  Get a good 7-8 hours of sleep, get up and use that good morning time for work.  Then, as the body slows down in the middle of the day, eat and nap, follow it with another pulse of work until the early evening, then enjoy yourself and your family.  A very pleasant way to live.