Category Archives: Aging

It’s About Time

Imbolc                                                               Hare Moon

A long time ago, during college, while majoring in philosophy and anthropology, I read an article about the maturation points in different academic disciplines.  Mathematicians on the very young end of the scale and philosophers at the other, older end.  At that time my interest was theory of the social sciences.  That is, theoretical anthropology, psychology, sociology.  What were the major philosophical questions that each discipline raised by the assumptions and research methodologies it employed.

This turned out to be an unfortunate focus because I got turned down at three graduate schools for fellowships because no money was on the table for people wanting to focus on theory. At the time I was not interested in changing my orientation, so I passed on graduate school.  A decision I have regretted off and on ever since.

Ending up in seminary actually allowed me to continue my interest in theory since theology is just that, a philosophical and theoretical approach to the questions raised by religion.  I loved it.  Of course, there was that vocation on the other end, ministry, but at first I ignored that and enjoyed the work. (and the politics.)

That process funneled me (somewhat by inertia) into getting ordained, working for the church.  Even then, though, I still wondered about the systems of the church, how congregations worked, how they grew and declined, how the various denominations grew and declined.  My Doctor of Ministry thesis was on the decline of the Presbyterian Church from a post-modern perspective.

Anyhow, after I pulled back from that 20 year immersion in the Christian world, I revisited that earlier question about maturation.  When I looked at that material during college, I’d concluded that I would mature late, probably very late since I was interested in theory, a sort of meta-perspective on politics, social science and religion.

And so, now, in my 67th year, I can report that I feel the maturation process beginning to congeal.  It’s not yet finished, probably never will be, but I’m beginning to see how my odd path through the world has led me to today and how I might use that path for the good of others.  In large part, I’ll do that by continuing to write, continuing to learn Latin, continuing to educate myself, continuing to grow things with Kate and continuing some level of political activity.

(Jacob Wrestling the Angel, Maurice Denis)

I do think you will see more from me over the next few years in the form of ideas and actions.  It’s exciting to me to see that possibility ahead.

24

Imbolc                                                                      Hare Moon

Nicollet Island Inn tonight for our 24th anniversary dinner.

Marriage is an interesting institution and not an obvious one.  There is certainly no need IMAG0331for marriage as a means of assuring reproduction.  There is ample evidence that monogamy grinds against some people all of the time and most people some of the time. The notion of finding someone in your twenties with whom you will be compatible in your sixties is almost laughably difficult.  Of course, that problem can be solved.  First, a divorce.  Second, capitulation.  Third, growing along with each other.

I’ve done the first, would find the second constitutionally impossible and now, thankfully, have ample evidence that the third is an option, too.  Even marrying in our forties, as Kate and I did, doesn’t necessarily augur well for life together in old age.  Why not?  Well, forty somethings getting married are still in their working years, burdened and shaped by the demands of occupation and vocation.

After the work life recedes, there’s no guarantee that the two will still want to see each other across the breakfast and lunch and dinner table.

Kate and I have made this transition over the last couple of years, integrating our lives in a IMAG0531more closely choreographed dance.  Now, when I work here in my study, her sewing machine whirs above me, her feet move across the floor from table to ironing board as she works on her current project.  When we look at travel opportunities, we can be much more flexible in our decisions.  As the growing season unfolds, so will another year of mutual garden work, growing food, caring for the bees.

We didn’t know we’d be good at this when we got married.  It wasn’t on our minds.  But that third option, the growing together one?  It’s marked every step along the pilgrimage of our life together, a pilgrimage far from finished.

Every Two Weeks

Imbolc                                                       Valentine Moon

Read the other day that the average connection between close friends is every two weeks. The Woollies have been getting together every two weeks for over twenty five years. Builds a lot of trust. A lot of shared memories. A lot of support given and received.

Woolly Frank Broderick turns 81 next week.  Jim Johnson 72 today.  I was 67 on Valentine’s Day.  Even our group puer, Stefan, will turn 60 on April 1st, finally bringing us all beyond that mark.  A lot of white hair, a few bald spots, the occasional creak in the bend and much laughter.  And, too, grandchildren come up more and more often.

To have ten close friends is a rare and special gift, one I chanced into and I’m grateful.

Thanks, guys.

Passing Another Mile Post: 39,195,000,001

Imbolc                                                                Valentine Moon

Tomorrow night Kate and I head over to the Heartland Restaurant, a place I’ve wanted to IMAG1288try for some time.  The occasion is my 67th birthday.  The odometer clicks over then to 39,195,000,000 miles. Getting to be a high mileage vehicle.  Won’t get much at trade-in.

(aging man shoots selfie.  kicked off facebook.)

When I posted about Sid Caesar’s death yesterday, I referenced live black and white television as a generational barrier.  Made me wonder what others I’m on the other side of.  Dial telephones.  Telephones with wires.  Telephone poles, too, I suppose.  Gas prices under twenty-five cents.  In loco parentis.  The draft.  Legally segregated schools.  Cars without air bags, computers, cruise control.  Organic food.  Genetically Modified Crops.  Round Up.  The moon landing.  Kennedy, King and Malcolm X.  Drive-in movies. Available abortions.  Housewives.  Small town newspapers.  A total closet for gays.  Pre Super Bowl. Home milk delivery. I’m sure any of you could add more.

And yet.  There is still infancy, childhood, adulthood and old age.  We still breathe and procreate and eat, just as humans have done since the first homo sapiens emerged from the hominid line.  We still love, experience joy, delight, anger.  Injustice frustrates us, just as it has humans in community in all times.

The most essential, the most fundamental parts of our humanity remain regardless of time or culture.  Yes, their expression and their understanding have particular nuances shaped by era and culture, but the fundamentals remain.  In no time have we been immortal, remained children or been passionless.

We have never lived in any but the present moment.  We have never been other than on our own in our inner lives.  We have never been able to know the real inner life of another, so our lives have always included depth and mystery.  We have never been other than a part of the natural world and we have never been other than dependent on it.

So my birthday, any birthday, wraps all this up and celebrates it, one person at a time.  I’m almost past the 39,195,000,000 mile post and tomorrow morning at 9:30 am or so, I’ll tick over to 39,195,000,001.

 

Injured

Imbolc                                                                 Valentine Moon

Been feeling like a creaky old man.  The fall I took last Saturday produced a first class large bruise on my inner left elbow which I believe took, for a moment, all of my weight. The resulting motion wrenched my left arm away from my body, tearing or pulling something where muscles insert to my sternum.  I mention this not to be gruesome, but to explain why I’ve been feeling creaky.

It matters.  I don’t mind being an old man, not one bit.  Older is what I am.  What I am is ok.  Except.  My chest hurts, up high around the sternum.  Each time I lift anything aversive conditioning sets in.  The pain itself is not such a big deal, definitely manageable as pain.  But the pain, and this is why I’m writing this, erodes my sense of myself as a healthy, fit old man.  That makes me anxious.  I wonder, what else is wrong?

This is not a conscious process.  It took a couple of conversations with Kate to get it.  The pain changes my self-image and that changed image chips away at my self-confidence.  Yes, sure, in time I’d get used to this, if it were permanent.  I’d compensate, as I imagine many of you have had to do at one point or another.

This post is about getting it out in plain sight, claiming what I’m doing and telling myself that, as Kate said, I’m injured and injuries heal.  True that.

I already feel better psychically, just from realizing what I was doing as I reacted to the pain.  Now I want to shed the anxiety and let it be.

Old man, yes.  Injured old man, yes.  Creaky old man?  Not right now.  Not yet.

 

Kick the Bucket List. Live As A Eudaimoniac.

Imbolc                                                            Valentine Moon

Friend Tom Crane was talking about how the bucket list might be different.  “Imagine if your bucket list was things like looking in the eye and telling everyone you cared about that you loved them deeply and had for a long time.”

In my view you better have your bucket list imprinted in the daily way of things or it means little.  Why save up to the end things you can do today?

A bucket list is a close relative of the finish line model of retirement.  Wait until you no longer have work dragging you down, then do all the fun stuff.  Bucket list.  Wait until you know you’re going to die, then do all the fun stuff you didn’t have the courage to do before.

Tom’s idea is better.  Let’s consider those things that would make our life and the lives of those around us more rich, more peaceful, more fruitful.  Then, do them.

This, by the way, is the guiding notion of eudaimonia.  Here’s a repeat passage from a post last summer:

Composed of two Greek worlds, eu (good) and daimon (spirit) Aristotle and the Stoics after him promoted it as the end of human life. As such it has often been translated as happiness or welfare, but perhaps a better phrase is human flourishing.  Or, without getting fancy, why not good spirit?  Both have an active turn, taking us toward enrichment, fullness, striving within a humane ambit.

Now there you have an internal state worth cultivating.  It’s the difference between a noun and a gerund.

 

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.

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.

 

 

On the Margins

Samhain                                                                  Winter Moon

We’re in the dark period of the year, the time when the Winter Solstice stands out even among long nights as longer and deeper. Tonight, all Solstice eve, it’s 4:30 pm and twilight fell a while ago.  Snow comes down, adding to an inch or so to what we got over last night, all accumulating on top of the snows of early December.

Let me demonstrate how odd my religious situation is.  When my doctor, Corrie Massie, asked me what plans I had for Christmas, without thinking, I said, “We’re Jewish.”  Now we’re Jewish in that I support Kate’s Judaism, but what I really meant was, “I don’t celebrate the Christian holiday.”  Didn’t want to start with the whole theological narrative in my doctor’s office so my unconscious answered.  Not a lie, just not the whole truth.

No elevator speech for following the rhythmic cycles of nature, for celebrating not transcendence but immanence.  No quick way to say I’m an outlier here, too, standing on the margins of religion.  So often I find myself in conversations where I just don’t want to go through the whole analysis to explain myself.

Yes, too much carbon dioxide is, will be a problem. The unseemly gathering of wealth threatens the fabric of our culture.  No, I’m not really a Democrat and am planets away from Republicans.  Tea Party?  Different universe.  No, I don’t use pesticides.  Yes, we grow a lot of our own food and keep bees.  Oh, and I have a son in the Air Force who now has aspirations to become a general officer, to make sure authentic folks have their say.  No, mining minerals on the border of the Boundary Waters Wilderness does not make sense.  Socialism and single-payer health from Mark Odegardcare?  Sign me up.  I’m glad China and the rest of Asia have begun to grow strong.  I love the U.S.A.  Cable television?  Cut the cord.  That sort of thing.

I guess I’m at an age where I’m living the life I chose and choose, yet no longer have that evangelical zeal for my decisions.  Maybe because I recognize more and more how many right answers there are.