• Category Archives Retirement
  • A Third Phase Entry: Learning How to Die

    Beltane                                              New Garlic Moon

    Whew.  Over to Riverfalls (east into Wisconsin, about an hour) for Warren’s father’s funeral.  Then, in rush hour, out to St. Louis Park for the Woolly meeting this month at the Woodfire Grill. (west of the Cities)  So much driving.

    Funerals.  The wedding equivalent of our age range.  We meet friends there, catch up, honor the family and the final journey.  Then we go home, secretly glad we were attending another funeral, not being featured.

    Though.  We agreed tonight, Mark, Scott, Bill, Frank and myself, that what we learn from Moon’s recent death, Warren’s father and mother, Sheryl’s father and mother, Bill and Regina’s confrontation with cancer, is how to die.  It is the end of this phase of life as surely as a degree ended the first phase, career and family the second.

    It is this that changed at our retreat two weeks ago.  We acknowledge and are ready to learn how to die.  And how to live until we do.  It is a joy and a true blessing to have men ready to walk down this ancientrail together.  And to be one of them.


  • Changes

    Beltane                                                                       Beltane Moon

    Received a second invitation to a going away party for two friends moving to Maine.  They’re part of the Woolly change, the moves and deaths, the losses that accrue as we head past 65.  They seem pretty energized by this move to a home in Robbinston, a spot near the Atlantic and New Brunswick.  And why not?

    Change can give us a fresh perspective, a place to begin again or to continue, but in a different direction.

    Over the last several years I’ve chosen to embrace change as a deepening process, crossing thresholds into the unknown in areas with which I have substantial familiarity:  literature, arts, gardening, politics, family, religion.

    In literature, for example, I moved into a different kind of book, a fantasy epic instead of the one off novels I’ve written up till now.  This change exhilarated me, made me stretch, thinking about the long arc rather than the shorter one handled in one volume.

    The Latin learning and translating I’m doing is in service of deepening, too.  Deepening my knowledge of Greek myth and Roman culture.  I have, also, now peaked behind the veil of translation, learned something about the kinds of choices translators have to make.

    In the arts I’ve chosen to focus most of my learning in Asian arts, probing deeper into Chinese history and the role of context for the art we have at the MIA.  This part year didn’t see as any Asian tours as in the past, but I’ve continued studying, reading Chinese literature and learning more history.

    My grasp of photography has increased considerably, too, as has my understanding of contemporary art.  Going deeper.

    As Kate and I have gotten wiser about our garden and how we actually use it, we’ve gone deeper into vegetable and fruit growing and preserving.  The bees increased our appreciation for the engagement of insects in the plant world.  And for honey, too.

    In religion I’ve stepped away from any organized groups or lines of thought, trying now to penetrate how changes underway across the world might demand a new way of faith.  This one’s proving difficult.  But, that’s where the juice is, right?

    Finally, I’m learning, still, how to be a grandparent with my two instructors, Gabe and Ruth.  Also, I’m learning the role of parent in children’s mid-life, where demands of work and family consume them.  Again, a deepening and a change.

    Emerson said long ago that we do not need to travel to Italy to see beauty.  Beauty is where we see it, not only, perhaps not even primarily, where others see it.

     


  • Yet More Loss

    Beltane                                                              Beltane Moon

    Got back from the retreat about 12:30.  Took a shower, rested a bit, then hopped in the car for Moon’s reviewal at Washburn-McCreavy in Bloomington.

    The bulk of the mourners were Chinese, the Fong family, but there were friends of Scott and of Yin who, like me, are round eyes.   A bowl of red envelopes, take one please, sat next to cards of hand-written calligraphy and a second bowl of hard candy.  An order of service for the funeral the next day had a color photograph of Moon on the cover.

    Moon lay in a casket at the end of the first hall, hands crossed over her chest, fabric work and calligraphy with her.  Next to the coffin a video played, showing pictures from Moon’s life, including one with a curly headed Yin, young and beautiful.

    Mourners wore red bands to indicate celebration of Moon’s life, though a few wore black bands to indicate her centenary; while 97 at her death, Chinese custom adds four years, so her age according to Chinese tradition was 101.

    There were the usual clots of well-wishers gathered around person they know, wandering from board to board of photographs and watching, again, the video shown in two places in a hall separate from the reviewal room itself.

    I spoke to Yin, then to Scott, said we’d talk later and left.

    When I got home, I had an e-mail from Warren that his father, Wayne, whom he had put in hospice care only Wednesday, had completed his journey.  Warren’s phrase.  Warren, referencing the end of Longfellow’s Hiawatha, said he thought his Dad might last longer, but “he was in a faster canoe.”

    These are times of transition, of change, of loss, of gathering in the lessons of a lifetime and using them for this third, last phase of our own journeys.  We knew it before the retreat and now we have fresh and poignant evidence.

     


  • Go or Stay?

    Spring                                                     Bee Hiving Moon

    “Each of us must confront our own fears, must come face to face with them. How we handle our fears will determine where we go with the rest of our lives. To experience adventure or to be limited by the fear of it.”   Judy Blume, Tiger Eyes

    I have a friend, he knows who he is, who loves to pack up and go.  Stay a good while.  Then come back.  He has tales to tell, too.  That time in the Caribbean when he thought he was going to die in a bad storm.  Selling art in the Greek Islands to make money.  Learning Fiji and Hindi while in the Peace Corps.  Tai Chi while living in Shanghai.  Creating an exhibit on safe sex for Thai kids.  Tango in Buenos Aires.  Gunplay in Mexico.

    I don’t know about fear, but he sure loves change.  “Change is good,” he said, “I look forward to it.”

    Since he began the pick up and go live in a foreign city idea a few years back, I’ve often compared my life choices to his.  It goes like this.  Am I too timid?  Stuck in one place?

    I try to answer this question honestly because the answer matters to me.  Travel is part of my soul, too, and I love foreign travel most of all.  His choices seem to maximize the experience of being in another culture, being there long enough to sink into the culture, be part of it.  At least for a while, not just as wanderer from one place to another.

    My answer to these questions goes like this.  I moved so much after I left home at 17.  Off to college, to a different college, back home for a quarter, then out for good.   Continue reading  Post ID 14379


  • A Third Phase Entry: I Don’t Have Friends Who Knew Me When

    Spring                                           Bee Hiving Moon

    Sometimes realizations float up in conversation, product of a gestalt not possible without others.  That happened to me tonight at the Woolly regular first Monday meal.

    Gathered at the Woodfire Grill in St. Louis Park, we began to toss around the topic of change.  Woolly change.  Some of us express excitement about change; some want to explore change, but do not want to lose what’s still valuable to them

    At some point in the conversation I said, “Well, it’s not true for any of you, but for me, I didn’t go to high school here.  I don’t have those friends here who knew me when.  When I face down those final days, you’re those friends for me.”

    Without even realizing what I’d done, I had laid a vulnerable part of me on the table, not a fear exactly, but a concern.  I don’t want Kate to have all the responsibility.  Nor do I want to have all of it for her.  Most of it, sure.  But not all.

    Here then, was naked need.  A need for reassurance that these relationships will last.  Until death do us part.  That’s the realization.  I need to know that these guys will be there for me, as I will be for them.  It’s not often that an unexplored need strikes me, and rarely in public, but it happened tonight.

    Let me quickly say that I don’t doubt these relationships.  It’s just that I didn’t realize how important, crucial even, they are for me.


  • Here’s Looking At Ye’

    Imbolc                                    Garden Planning Moon

    Got my self inserted into the Sports Show conversation among MIA docents.  I’ve not had time to check out the catalog or e-mails until today.

    My commitment to work at the MIA has kept hold of me, even over the last few weeks where I’ve considered jettisoning it altogether in favor of a more personal, private approach.  Research for this new show and excitement about the Rembrandt and Terra Cotta Warrior show coming up reminded me why I love this work.

    It feeds a different part of me than the more masculine, tough-guy, bare-knuckle world of politics.  I’ve had plenty of time with that guy and there are others out there still willing to get in the ring.  I’m stepping back from the political world, at least for now.

    But the MIA?  Nope, I’ve decided I love it there, that the work still calls me and so do my friends among the docents.  I’m there to stay.  At least for now.


  • Unchain My TP

    Winter                                         Garden Planning Moon

    Second (and last of this class) photoshop class tonight.  Boy, is this a complex program and it’s only one in the Creative Suite.  Lot of cool things but they will require a good bit of fiddling with before I get good with them.  A lot of fiddling.

    (granddaughter Ruth and lightning)

    As I walked to the parking lot from the huge Champlain High School building tonight, it hit me that this is the future for many of us over 65.  Classes, taking up space in buildings occupied by kids during the day.  And what a great deal that we have this kind of learning available.

    Last week I used one of the second floor bathrooms.  In the men’s room the toilet paper was on a heavy, padlocked metal chain.  The janitor was there and I asked him about it.  He said you wouldn’t believe the condition of the restrooms at the end of many school days.

    Best news.  My cousin Leisa, in a coma for a couple of months following a stroke, has begun to speak.  Stunning and happy news.

    A productive day, another 1,500 words on Missing, some tentative stabs at the first essay in Reimagining and a long workout with little knee pain.  Yeah.

    Since I’ve shifted to this new work schedule, life seems fuller and busier.  Seems odd, but it’s true.  I guess I’m stuck with an internal engine that will just keep humming along until it can’t work anymore.  There are much worse predicaments.  In fact this may not be a predicament, just life continuing.


  • The Last Third

    Winter                                         Garden Planning Moon

    Moving into the last third of life.  Kate’s coming total retirement, no more part time work, probably sometime around March.  The 65th coming up for me.  Markers of a turn the vessel of our lives is making, a long slow turn, no Costa Concordia, this one’s on a chart, at least the first markers then the notation, this way there be the unknown.

    In the first third we crank ourselves up, get educated, separated, motivated, maybe even liberated.  In the second third we’re all about output.  Children, money, ambition, advancement.  Then this last third, a part of life with little real road map since folks just didn’t use to live this long.  Or be healthy this long.  Now here we come.  Whee.

    The briefcase gets put in the closet one last time.  The suits rotated to the back of the closet.  Paychecks stop.  Driving diminishes.  The old standards, the important ones, the things we got ready for, studied for, prepared for, lived out, no longer apply.

    What if the work was it?  What if the identity there was me?  Who am I now?

    You might think someone out of the day-to-day workforce for as along as I have been, since 1991, going on 21 years, would have answered those questions.  Maybe not.

    The volunteer work I’ve taken on has had work like trappings,work like I did when I worked for the Presbytery.  The Sierra Club and the politics.  Even the occasional preaching and organizational consulting.  What I used to do.  The MIA work has been, I admit, different in content and style, but it had this commonality, complexity and challenge.

    And, to be honest, even when I contemplate pulling back toward home, back toward work only I can do, I still see it as work.  That is, a full on expression of who I am, hold nothing back, go for it.

    Maybe I’m not able to kick back, relax.  Let the kids do it.  Though.  I’m glad I’ve worked with the Sierra Club because it has introduced to me a younger generation very much in the fight, hands on the banner, no letting the flag waver.  It makes me feel better about pulling back from political work.

    Not sure I know quite what I’m trying to say here, at the end.  Maybe I’m worried that my continuing results orientation is a way of avoiding the next turn in our life.  A way of not sighing, watching the moon.  Patting the dog.

    Ancor impari.

     


  • What? No TV?

    Winter                                     First Moon of the New Year

    Business meeting this morning.  Some drastic pruning budget wise to squeeze our spending into line with our post-retirement income.  Example:  dropped cable tv.  I know.  It feels almost unamerican.  My mom and dad raised me to watch at least three to four hours of television a night and I feel like I’m letting them down.  Not to mention CBS, NBC and ABC.

    The impetus for this came after the trip to South America.  We watched no TV over the cruise and when we got back I settled in with a good book in the evening.  We still have a blu-ray player, Netflix and I just signed us up for Hulu Plus, so we’re not leaving the big box behind in toto, just the absurdly expensive piped in Comcast version.

    The internet connection?  Well, we kept that.  There’s TV and then, there’s the internet.  No comparison.  We’re not totally TV broadcastless as it turns out.  To keep our lower rate for the internet I agreed to a $12 a month “antenna” service from Comcast.  With the broadband the total was lower than internet alone. You get a discount on the broadband if you have any other services.  Weird, huh?

    None of this feels draconian, just adjusting things to keep pace with changing reality.

    We’ve also decided that with Kate retired we can go with one car.  We’ve done that for a couple of months anyhow since the Celica blew a tire.  Again.  I’ve decided to let it set until warmer weather.  I’m gonna give it away.  It’s been a great car and we didn’t make it to 300,000 miles together, but it still feels like time to let go.  I’ve driven it since September of 1994.

     


  • 65 Ahead

    Winter                 First Moon of the Winter Solstice

    In February I will turn 65.  And I’m happy to do it.  Not that I have much choice in the matter.  What I mean is that I like this time of life and anticipate with pleasure the next decade or two or three.

    This transition has already begun to cause changes.  Once back from our cruise in late November, I realized I needed to step back from the Sierra Club and focus on home, family and my work.

    Home and family have obvious content, kids and grandkids, wife, gardens, bees.  Remaining active and engaged with all of them.  Not that I haven’t but recognizing that the grandparent and long married aspects of those relationships alter past patterns and demand new ones.  Just what those are will become evident as I live into them over the next few years.

    My work has three ongoing facets:  a series of novels set in the Tailte mythos, reimagining faith and translating Ovid’s Metamorphoses.  To this last I have added creation of commentary similar to Pharr’s for Vergil.

    The portion of my life dedicated to art will also to need to change, but I have not yet paid attention to it.  At a DAM site, the Palette Restaurant, Kate and I discussed how my relationship with art could transform.

    Art could become a larger part of my writing, using techniques or artists in my fiction.  Just how, undetermined right now.

    Reimagining faith has as its long term hope the redefining of our relationship with nature.  One way of rethinking, or seeing anew, our current relationship with the world we live is to investigate how artists portray nature across cultures.

    A third way of integrating art in a different way might involve selecting a research project focused on an artist, a movement, a period, a culture.  This might have some written work as a component or end product.

    In service of all three I could begin taking art history courses.

    A significant thread of all these changes is a pulling back or away from the world, shedding responsibility to others or for others and concentrating life more at home.  This feels age appropriate and is a definite inner drive for me right now.