Category Archives: Aging

Aging, Faith and Spirituality, Friends, Politics

Why We Need Universal Health Care

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Spring            New Moon (Flower)

A word for the ones in silent despair, hiding behind doors and well-kept lawns, all those in trouble.

A while back I mentioned a neighbor whose life turned upside down over a week-end.  He went from  a productive, active guy to a suicidal victim of a progressive form of multiple sclerosis.  After his diagnosis and subsequent treatment brought little relief he tried to end his life, bringing paramedics and the blue and white Allina ambulance to his door.  He did this  while his wife talked with us about our new orchard.

Now, six months or so later, their bank account is empty.  They are putting necessities on credit cards and the “disabilty insurance” they have is not insurance, but a loan, a loan they have to repay.  Their lawn is neat, the flower beds tended and ready for plants.  The small evergreens they planted when they moved in some years back have grown into mid-size trees.  The American flag flutters from their flag-pole, lit with lights.

He built an observatory a few years back, I may have mentioned this.  It now sits there, a white dome with a go-to Celestron telescope, abandoned by its maker.  His MS is advanced stage 2, of which, when I asked Kate about it, she said, “It’s not good.”

Vulnerable people have had their vulnerability magnified by the economic crisis.  That’s what this has driven home to me.  Imagine being in a situation where a medical condition threatens not only your retirement, but your house, your family.  Now imagine all that in a situation where the economic eats up what little cash you already have.

Their situation is an argument, the argument, for universal health care and a safety net for persons with debilitating illness, a safety adequate to maintain gains they have made over ther course of a working career.  I’m not talking here about pleasure boats, expensive vacations and country club memberships; I’m talking about a house, food, health care and family security.

This cries out for justice.

Aging, Art and Culture, Commentary on Religion, Faith and Spirituality, Great Work, Politics, Writing

This Is The Question I Face Now. One I Have Not Answered.

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Spring            Waning Seed Moon

Agency.  There’s been a lot written in psychology and history about agency.  We have agency when we can affect the flow of events in our own lives or in the world around us. (No, I’m not going to get into the subtle no-free-will arguments floating around.)  A lot of the historical work has concerned how those without agency–say women, slaves, workers–get it or why they don’t have it.  In the case of the individual agency refers to our capacity to direct our own life.

A sense of agency underwrites our sense of self, or our sense of group identity.  Note that our agency or our group’s agency can be positive or negative.  A more negative sense of agency, that is, sensing that others or factors outside your control influence your life or your group, leads to a feeling of diminished capacity or is a feeling of diminished capacity.  A positive sense of agency promotes a feeling of active and successful engagement with the world, the ability to act in ways congruent with your self-interest or your group’s self-interest.

Here’s where I’m going with this.  In my regression back into the ministry after 8 or so years out I made the move because my writing career had not produced the hoped for results.  I had lost a sense of agency in the work area of my life and moved backwards on my psychological journey to retrieve it.  Going backwards to pick up something left behind is a key element of regression.  Its flaw lies in a return to a previous reality no longer relevant.  The ministy was what I had done, a minister what I had been.  The experience of return to the ministry produced missteps and a low level of energy for the actual work.

Now, about ten  years later,  once again I have reached back into my past, this time even further, to retrieve a sense of agency, the ur-agency, for me, the political.  This is the work with the Sierra Club. (hmmm.  just realized I did the same thing two years back when I studied Paul Tillich.  That was a return to life as a student, a potent form of agency for me.)

What the work with the Sierra Club, the study of Tillich and the ministry have in common is an attempt to regain a positive sense of self through a form of agency already well-established and presumably easily recaptured.  None of these activities in themselves is a bad thing, but that is the lure, the  seductive call of regression.

Back there, if only I could go back in time, and become the captain of the football team again.  Prom queen.  College radio jockey.  The actor I became after college.  My successful years as a bond trader or nurse or carpenter.  Back there I was strong, able.  I had a way with the world, a position of respect and self-confidence. Continue reading This Is The Question I Face Now. One I Have Not Answered. →

Aging, GeekWorld

The Weekend

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Spring               Waning Seed Moon

Another weekend come and gone.  A fellow Woolly, I think, told me that retired folks he knows still view the weekends as special, different from the weekdays.  I sure do.  Weekends have more latitude, more stretch and give, where weekdays still bring for me an expectation of things accomplished, deeds done, seriousness of intent at least entertained.

This one had some of that flavor, some not.

The not came partly in reference to this computer, the older Dell, not the new Gateway.  My disc drives have dropped off the cyber map.  When called upon, they sit there, quiet.  Non-violent resistance.  Nothing.  I’ve tried many, many things to convince them to come home and go back to work, but nothing appeals to them as yet.

If I need to, I’ll shift my images to the Gateway and use it to burn cds and print color images, reserve this one for writing and the laser jet.  I’m not going to give up quite yet, I want to search a few more tech sites, see if I can come up with something.

Aging, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Health

Two Colorful People Together

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Spring                  Full Seed Moon

Yes, we need no appraisal, we need no appraisal today.  Our bank, Wells Fargo, decided we do not need an appraisal to refinance our loan.  Something about our loan balance, equity and that it would be a roll-over instead of a brand new loan.  OK.  That means we can refinance sometime next week.  A good thing.

The last week and a half, since the root canal, has had dealing with the infected jaw, then one organ after another taking up my mornings.  All important to my long term health, but it has left me tired and with a sense of little accomplished.

This need to accomplish, to achieve continues as a backdrop.  Kate says when she retires she’s ready to rest on her laurels, sit back and reflect on her life.  “We can just be two colorful people together,” she said.  I’m not sure I can give up the hope of something over the horizon, a realization, a book, a political action a defining event for this stage of my life.  If not, I may find the last two decades or so of life a struggle. Or, I suppose, they might be very productive.

Drifting right now.  The melancholy at bay, but not too far away, ready to bring a tear or a heaviness to my now.  Feels empty.

Aging

80%

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Spring        Waxing Seed Moon

Whoa.  I’m 80% back to normal, which feels like double speed ahead compared to the slowed down, body working hard lethargy of the last four days.  To think I did that to myself intentionally.

When an illness or disease process begins to lift, the world becomes clearer and more hospitable, as if a dark mist you didn’t even notice has finally disappeared.

Tomorrow I get my glaucoma survelliance.  At least I’ll be able to stay awake.

Aging, Family, Health

Grandma Told Me So

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Spring            Waxing Seed Moon

Kate is home.  As is our habit, I met her at the Loon Cafe after she took the LRT into downtown.  To park I went in a ramp, promptly scored the first parking spot, which allowed me later to just pull around a concrete pylon, turn left and give my money to the cashier.  Very cool.

The other amazing part was the rat in the maze experience.  Getting out of the ramp I exited onto a skyway, walked until I found Butler Square, went into Butler Square, wound through a few hallways, found the entrance, exited, then turned left and went one block to the Loon Cafe.  The truly amazing part was that after Kate and I had supper I reversed field and followed the path back to the truck without a misstep.

I’m glad to have her back.  This tooth business has been a hassle and I wanted to complain to somebody about it, but she wasn’t here and who else would listen?  I complained for about a minute over supper and that was enough.

Ruth is a prodigy, capable of astounding feats of linguistic and muscular agility.  I know this because Grandma told me so.

Gabe is the cutest, friendliest baby ever.  I know this because Grandma told me so.

Grandma loves being a grandma.  ditto.

Aging, Art and Culture

“It’s a Blessing If You Need It.”

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Spring  Waxing Seed Moon

Uh-oh.  On my way back from the Institute this morning I felt my left cheek.  Swollen.  Beginning to ache.  I have a funny feeling this may not be a pleasant couple of days.  I called Jeff Erickson, the root canaler.  His office has closed for the weekend.  Not to worry.  He gave me his cell.  Hmmm.  Had to leave a message.  He’ll call back, I’m sure, but hasn’t yet.

Tours this morning were good.  Very different.  The first, from excell academy in Brooklyn Park, had all 4th grade boys, some African and some African-American.

He just called back.  The anti-biotics I have will be enough to see if this goes down.  The pressure has begun to build.  He said if I still had trouble early next week he might go in and lance it.  I said, “That crossed my mind.  Unpleasantly.”  “Oh, no,” he said, “it’s a blessing if you need it.”   I’ll take his word for it.

Koran and Mohammed were two of the boys.  These were inquisitive, interested kids who’d never been to a museum before.  They wanted to look at everything.  They asked me we had anything by Leonardo Da Vinci.  No.  How about the Blue Boy?  No.  How about Georgia O’Keefe?  Yes.  We made a game out of figuring out which was O’Keefe’s painting.

It’s a cityscape at night, very different from what the boys had seen.  They loved the African masks.  One boy had been to Cameroon and seen his father dance a mask that we had.  They also asked to see illuminated manuscripts.  4th graders.  So we went into the Islamic gallery.  We ended with Chinese calligraphy.  A big hit.  They’d studied Chinese calligraphy and some of their work was in the school hall back at the academy.

Second tour, an Asmat tour, was a couple from Coon Rapids with their 9 or 10 year old daughter.  She had just had a birthday and asked to come to the MIA.  She showed her parents the Chihully in the lobby.  “We studied him in the first grade,” she said.  “Yeah,” her mother said, “she’s culturing us.”

We had a good tour of the Asmat show.  They asked questions, interacted and learned.  It was a fun, intimate family experience.

Aging, Literature

Megrims Burn in Sun

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Spring         Waxing Seed Moon

“Knowledge can be communicated but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.” – Herman Hesse

Hesse was a key author in my youth.  I’ve revisited him since, as I am Dreiser right now.  They both hold up well, though Hesse can sometimes seem a bit feverish.  Still, his Steppenwolf had an adult anguish that I did not understand when I read it first at 20.  The Theatre for Madmen Only was a place we all could go if we understood the world in which we lived.  6 months ago, when I re-read Steppenwolf, I realized Harry Haller was mad in an existential way, that he had seen too much, walked too close to the flame.  At 20 he was my hero, today he is a cautionary tale.

The mental megrims of last week have receded, perhaps the sun today burned them out or the root canal gave me some concrete pain.  Whatever the reason, I feel once again whole and engaged.  These ups and downs, a neurotic cycle now much milder than in former years, do get tiresome, as I said a few posts ago, but they no longer paralyze me, stop me in my  tracks.  Thank Jung, John Desteian, age and Zoloft for that.

Tomorrow morning Kate flies off to Denver.  She will be in Grandma heaven.  I saw a license plate holder that said, Parents say no?   Dial 1-800-Grandma.  She’s a good grandma, more a doting grandma than a Jewish grandma, though she is both.

Aging

Repairs and Check-Ups

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Spring         Waxing Seed Moon

Not sure how April got lined up this, but today I had dental work from 10 a.m. until 12:30 p.m., two different dentists, one filling and filing, the other drilling and packing.  The first guy replaced a filling I popped out and ground down a burr.  The second guy told me he had had 7 years of bad luck since he kissed the Blarney Stone.  (a poster of it was on the ceiling, noticeable when you leaned back in the chair.)  I hoped it had nothing to do with his skill as a root canaler.

He drilled, prodded, filed, poked, then packed, pushed, pushed, ground and sanded.  A couple of x-rays and he left me with a prescription for antiobiotics and pain meds.  I thought he’d written a script for 1 vicodin.  It made me a little nervous when the pharmacist returned with 12.  What did he think would happen?

An abscess, two of them in my case, can get kick started into active infection by all the jossling and shaking.  I couldn’t blame them, I felt the same way.  Apparently if this happens the infection grows in a confined space.  Pressure builds and ouch.  Well, I’m ready if it happens.

Anyhow, next week on following days I have opthamologist (glaucoma), dermatologist (psoriasis) and audiologist (hearing decline in my one remaining ear).  I’m responsible for all of these, but I made them separately away from my calendar.  By next weekend I should be tuned up and ready to rock.

Aging

Doubt

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Spring          New Moon (Seed Moon)

A week that seems to have passed in something of a blur.  Evenings and mornings occupied away from home, preparation for this and that, then suddenly, Friday evening.

There are times, one of them was a couple of years ago in the spring when I took a course on Paul Tillich, a philosophically oriented theologian, when I felt in over my head, a foreign experience for me and not pleasant.  I’ve had a little of that feeling this week, as if I’ve extended myself beyond my current capacity.  Again, not a pleasant feeling.

These are games we begin to play with ourselves as we age.  It goes like this.  “Gee, I found my work on that e-mail action alert clunky, not on point.”  Then my work gets modified, in fact discarded.  “Uh-oh.  I don’t have it anymore.  I can’t develop new skills, be there when something new is required.  Am I losing a step?  Or, worse, have I lost more steps than I know?”  Age.  The wormy demon of doubt begins to creep through the mind.  “I’m sure I could have gone through this no trouble–when I was 40.”  Note:  there is no certainty that this statement, or any of these are true, but doubt now becomes age linked.  Is it permanent?

This is not the kind of pre-dementia fear that some folks experience.  I’m saying I’m used to a high level of functioning and I’m no longer sure I’m as capable as I used to be.  This labyrinth has no Ariadne save the Self, no one to guide me since the measurer and the measured are identical.

My real hunch is this:  I tire more easily.  On these weeks when I feel so busy, pressed I’m actually weary.  My capacities aren’t as crisp when I’m tired; that’s true for all of us.  So, exhaustion is the real culprit.  But.  Exhaustion is to some extent an age related phenomenon. In that sense my self-doubt does have a trigger related to aging.

The good news is the week ahead has much less excitement.  Time for some R&R.