I never completely did…on purpose!

I often listened to friends talk about growing up.  Usually it meant being a little older so they could stay out later, drive a car, have a girlfriend, live alone, have their own money and their own rules.  Growing up represented freedoms with little thought given to the affiliated responsibilities.

When asked what I wanted to do when I grew up I would immediately remind myself to find something into which I could weave a sense of play.  (And my play would often occur in the woods near our development, with or without friends, but almost always with my dog.)  Play to me was the freedom that others found in more “mature” pursuits.

I always wanted to be superman or, if that position was already filled, Daredevil.

I really never had a calling.  I knew what I didn’t want to do when I grew up.  I didn’t want to have to wear a suit and tie to work each day and I didn’t want to do boring, routinized work.

When I reached college, I took liberal arts courses for as long as I could and then, when faced with a need to declare a major, I took a career survey offered to those of us who were undecided about a clear direction or purpose.  While I scored high in social careers, especially in helping people, the unquestionable recommendation for me was to become a forest ranger!  Imagine that!  Even though it was indicated that I would be successful working in groups and among people, my destiny also appeared to be in a solo connection with the woods, an isolated steward of the environment.   And, since my school didn’t offer that major I chose by default, elementary education.  Thus began my answer to the question, “What do you want to do when you grow up?”

As my family and friends and colleagues all know, I’ve loved every part of my career in education and in my subsequent work as a leadership trainer and coach.  But, today, despite my part-time coaching work with area school districts and social service organizations, I find myself living alone, playing in the woods (almost always with my dog), and caring for my twenty-two acres of forest.  And while I have grown older, since I’m still doing what I always loved as a child, perhaps I’ve redefined growing up!

What did you want to do as a child when you grew up?      

When I Grow Up…

I remember as a kid wondering what I would be when I grew up.  Today it’s a cowboy, yesterday I wanted to be a fireman(when I was a kid occupations were gender specific- there were no firefighters or flight attendants or female actors).  And tomorrow I might decide to be a doctor(one of the few professions where gender wasn’t specific, along with lawyer and teacher).  Maybe professions weren’t gender assigned but occupations were.  Interesting!  Anyway, as my childhood moved into my teen years I really hadn’t given much thought to my future, just whether I’d make it home from school in time to watch American Bandstand.  Or whether I would see the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan show for their premiere engagement in the US.  Those things were important , more so than plotting out my future.  

Then college came and I sort of fell into education because I had an aunt and a brother who became teachers.  Not a whole lot of forethought and planning went into it.  I just kind of followed suit and fortunately discovered that not only did I enjoy it but I was good at it!

So with the marching of time came new opportunities.  Now what?  Marriage, a family, a house- all new and exciting adventures and steadily they all were accomplished.  So now what?  Long years passed, slowly at first but more quickly as more years piled up.  What will I be when I grow up turned into did I grow up and now what?  Life got in the way, big changes occurred and now retirement was approaching.  What will I be was replaced by what will I do now?  

And suddenly a new career was in front of me with a whole new set of challenges and rewards.  But now in my 8th decade(how the hell did that happen?) the rewards are fewer and farther between when weighed on the scale of my youth and the challenges are more physically connected- like can I get out of the chair, or will my knee give out.  But weighed on a new scale smaller rewards have greater joys, like it being ok to take time to have a leisure lunch with a friend or smell the familiar and comforting fragrance when you open the door to your own house.  These are real pleasures even if the smell is of your dog or old laundry- it is yours! 

But I guess the question of what will I be when I grow up is still valid.  There is always more growing up to do but in a much more limited time frame.  Now,  I’ve lost friends and family members and my immediate family consists of three of us-  no more huge family gatherings that I used to love because they are all gone.  It puts into question how much more growing up is left. How much more quality time is left. How much more rewards are left as opposed to challenges and health concerns.  Well, we’ll know as it happens now, but the question of what will I be when I grow up is no longer something for the distant future anymore.  It is here and now.  Now I have to live in the here and now and take the challenges, pleasures and rewards as they come and with gratitude.  And that isn’t such a bad thing.  Too bad I couldn’t have learned that sooner but I was too worried about what I would be when I grew up!

When I Grow UP

How interesting it is that when you are a kid, the phrase ‘When I grow up…’ is usually followed by ‘I want to be a [insert occupational choice] ‘. Like Hen and Geo, my journey started with fantasy picks and developed through a series of realistic trade-offs. Seems like we followed a similar arc – and I’d guess that most people do. If you had asked, I would have stated that I’d be ‘grown-up’ by age 24. Little did I suspect that I’d be husband and father by 21. Lots of practical decisions had to be made. My evolution of job choices went something like this:

1. Tribal elder and scout: No good: I didn’t have a tribe
2. Aircraft designer: It’s what I thought my Dad did
3. Artist: It’s what I thought my Mom did
4. Anthropologist: Find out what the Etruscans did – but no, too much travel
5. Psychologist:  Maybe I should help others figure out what to do
6. Process analyst: How do things get done, anyway?
7. Manager: Which things should get done?
8. Consultant: Help others get things done (which turns out to be a key component of #7)

In college, I studied anthropology and psychology. When I concluded that studying other cultures might make for an irregular home life, I decided to focus on helping other people make up their minds on occupational goals. Hen talked about how a vocational work-up seemed to have captured some enduring interests. My Dad had the same experience doing an occupational profile at NJIT many years ago, and it sort of predicted his career as a liaison engineer. I figured, well, maybe I could be one of those folks who created those tests. Graduate school offered an opportunity to specialize in that area. Two graduate degrees and the first chapter of a PhD dissertation completed, I painted myself into a corner: too specialized for my employer’s needs and family life too compromised by constant commuting to Manhattan. So, additional adjustments were required over the years: positions in Human Resources, Management Training, Planning, and Operations. It was fine — I enjoyed the challenge of learning new jobs. My last assignment allowed me to work with other cultures to reshape business processes and applications – didn’t meet any Etruscans, though…

Through all that and the busy-ness of family life, the main focus for me was to be task oriented, sometimes to the detriment of relationships and good social judgment. Retirement has freed-up time to consider what type of person I can still BECOME. Hopefully, I’d like to think that I’ve grown up, grown old, but am still growing out…

After commiserating with my blog mates who felt my submission was a little down, I decided to review what I wrote.  What I realized is that this last week I was surrounded by some very sad news, sickness and accidents of three people very close to me.  When I wrote the following, I had awakened in the middle of the night and couldn’t get my friends off my mind.  Two of them suffering from disease and one from a terrible fall down a flight of cellar stairs.  Perhaps my mind was focused on the negative.  Lying in the dark room like that allows the demons to come to the forefront and I believe my piece, though admittedly a little down as a result, was actually a true reflection of where I was at that particular moment in the night.   Those thoughts tend to soften with the light of day and the need to look toward the future.    Wally reminded me that I don’t carry around that bleak of an attitude most of the time.  I did try to insert some comedic relief even at that hour of the night.  Thanks for your understanding.  I believe we probably all have our dark moments when our defenses are down and there is no one around to bring us up.

This may be a little rambling as my thoughts on this topic ramble from one day to the next. Maybe it is my mental state or my inability to focus on any one thing at a time.  I don’t claim that this is how all folks in their 70’s think or feel but perhaps some others can empathize with my plight.  There is a lot on my mind.  In fact my mind becomes incredibly active around 2 to 3 AM.  It is dark, scary, I know the boogie man is probably under the bed waiting for me to drop my arm over the side.  Funny how things I used to fear as a child come back to haunt in those glorious golden years.  It is in those dark hours that the demons that have been hiding through my 30’s, 40’s and 50’s come out  unleashed and unhindered to play with my mind.  Those are the times my worst fears seem most reasonable without the light of day to dismiss them.

I am soon to be 74.  My immediate family all passed by their 74th brthday, so naturally I have some trepidation about this upcoming birthday.  I feel as if my world is shrinking.  That doesn’t terrorize me or anything, it is just factual.  Raised in a large Italian /Welsh family our holidays consisted of 15 to 20 kids, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents yelling and laughing, singing and arguing at dinner.  That was the norm. It felt safe, comfortable, and predictable.  I liked that.  But now, being the last living member of my generation or above it seems lonely. Holidays with the 3 of us fall kind of short.   I can’t even call my brother and ask him if he remembers the time Aunt Eleanor dumped the pasta on my dad’s lap or was it Aunt Edna?  My family stories are fading and I have no one to run it by for verification.  So the size of my world is shrinking.

But it is more than that.  My body is unable to do things that I am sure I did just a year ago. That is unsettling cause it means my mobility or my stamina has shrunk as well.  As you grow through the decades of your life your body becomes better at things. Things you were incapable of performing in your 20’s somehow become easy in the 30’s.  Not true of things you did easily in your 50’s.  They suddenly become monumental in your 60’s. Or at least that is how it is in this body. I used to be 5’7″ tall but all of a sudden when I visited the doctor in my 70’s I have shrunk (I must admit my shoe size increased in all honesty).  Actually senior citizen maturity does have benefits, maybe because it is harder getting up out of a chair, we tend to be more reflective, more patient, less judgmental.  In the past, if my kids said something upsetting I would lunge out of my chair and go on a rampage- you know the  kind….I walked 9 miles to school in the snow, or we didn’t have phones to tell us how to get to places, we had to learn how to read maps.  You get the idea.  But now because I have to push up on the arms of the chair, make sure my legs are under me and then take a few moments longer to straighten up, the drama of “flying” out of the chair to make a point is replaced out of necessity to reflect on things before opening my mouth.  So perhaps patience and reflection are more features of immobility than wisdom!

I have no grandchildren.  I can see how they would certainly increase the size of your world. I don’t wish I had some, my kids just never married.  If I had grandkids I would probably be up at 2 AM this morning wondering what their lives would be like.  Would they have water to drink, clean air to breathe, flowers and wildlife to enjoy.  Better I don’t have any!  I guess I just have to get used to the world I am in now, shrunken as it is, it is all I’ve got.

I wrote this 2 years ago, just thought I would include it.

I’m already 71 years old

     the “Golden Years” so I’ve been told

But gold begins to lose its shine 

     somewhere around 59!

Hair’s the first that goes

     followed soon by achy toes.

Thumbs and wrists hurt next

     and other joints that used to flex.

Indigestion and heart burn pills 

     needed nightly to ease those ills.

Blood pressure and cholesterol rise

     despite my doctor’s endless sighs

Not to mention liver spots…

     who the Hell needs old age blots?

Now the memory starts getting weak,

     Check the  fridge for the keys I seek

Who knows what’s next to make me “blue”

     ’cause inside a year, I’m 72!

Work with What You’ve Got

I respect what Geo has written – and the place from which these feelings emanate. He and I share some of those demographics (losing our parents and brother prior to age 74 – and some physical challenges). These are areas that do narrow your perspective.

However, if folks will allow me a little faith space, I agree with Paul of Tarsus who said that adversity builds character and character leads to hope – and hope does not disappoint. So I’d suggest to Geo – stir a little bit of hope into his cup of worry.

I don’t know about ‘golden years’, but I think that we are lucky to have gotten to a point in life where we can sit back and reflect a little. It’s just a respite from some of the hard things in life we’ll go back to facing soon. Life is a struggle after all – but a glorious struggle! (And if you feel it is not, well, make it so!). Work with what you’ve got.

Everything has a season for sure. You might say that life is like a garden where different plants bloom at different times. Or you might say that when one skill starts to degrade that you find another modality of which you were not aware. I’m not as strong or fast or virile as I used to be – that makes me sad. But I’m switching gears to focus on creative tasks and finding ways to extend my tennis life: my goals are just more attenuated. And sure, there are times when it seems that my loved ones and I are just on a conveyor belt headed toward end of life. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is. But I’m still glad to be where I am in the cycle. And I don’t feel alone.  My faith helps me believe that there is a presence traveling with me – as near to me as my own breath. And I’m pleased with all the small miracles that occur each day, despite the headlines and negativity. It also makes me happy to say thanks for these items that go well, even when you did not expect it. So diminished I am – and more diminished will become… but I will work with what I’ve got.

It’s What We Feed Ourselves

George reminds us that all is not necessarily gold in the golden years.  And, there are times that try our patience, wisdom, and sense of being grounded despite our seven decades of life experience.  For even those of us who can live rather comfortably in retirement, the steady decline in our physical and mental functioning can be overwhelming. Our circle of friends and family grows smaller at an increasing rate and our sense of being valuable and important to those we love slowly transforms into a feeling of being a liability.  Ugh!  What’s so golden about that?

But here comes Wal to the rescue!  He gives us hope.  He suggests that we grab the bull by the horns and do what we can with what we still have to make the best of it.  He inspires me to find ways to be of value, to think smarter in pickle ball games to make up for my slower reflexes, and to find fun in whatever I can.  He reminds me that I can’t change those things outside of my sphere of influence but I can have a positive impact on those things I can influence.  And, as Wal taps into the realm of faith to assist him, I’m also reminded of the Serenity Prayer – written by American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference”

This topic also reinforces my belief in the notion that we can convince ourselves of most anything, often by spending time thinking about it and surrounding ourselves with people who reinforce what we think.  This works well if we’re happy and in a place of fulfillment.  If we’re not, I suggest we need to spend more time thinking differently and more time with people who are happy and content.  (A notion I gathered from the Law of Attraction?) And Henry Ford supports the idea of intention this way: “Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t –you’re right.”

In addition, I appreciate the opportunity to talk about the Golden Years as it pertains to not only the leisure years after retirement but also a kind of beginning of the end of life.  While this is likely another blog topic, I’m wondering if any of you have any conversations about the final years with family or friends.

Hen featured The Four Agreements in his last post – one of which is to attain impeccability of one’s word. This chapter really resonated with me. However, I may rename this post to Be “Impeccabl” with Your Word, because it is a huge expectation. Not sure I can get all the way to Impeccable — honestly, I’ll be happy to just get close.

Being true to one’s word is a pervasive theme in ethics and philosophy. The focus is not just on veracity, but also taking care with what one says, avoiding gossip and snarky comments, etc. Word is bond. No trash talk. Loose lips sink ships.

In Greek philosophy and theology, “word” (logos) is an elemental concept: “the divine reason implicit in the cosmos, ordering it and giving it form and meaning”, according to the Britannica. ‘Word’ describes the essence of a thing. To know the essence of a thing and express its name is powerful. In some cultures there are ‘true’ names that are never revealed to others just for this reason. So impeccability is important. It drives home the tidiness of thinking and the economy of speaking that is the product of careful consideration. It presupposes an internal discipline and a firm foundation of guiding principles. It requires clear vision. It’s the sort of condition that one does not expect to be born with – rather it is the hard won product of survival, lessons learned, and dexterity of mind.

So, impeccability of word also implies impeccability of actions and choices.

In this connection, I learned a new word: Eudaemonism. Apparently, Aristotle defined the state of eudaemonia as ‘living and doing well’ and felt that this condition was associated with achieving virtue or excellence, requiring virtuous activity. In the Greek sense, virtue is a bit broader than the moral context, but rather focuses on achieving perfection in one’s pursuits: impeccability. Aristotle set a high bar!

I like the definition in Wikipedia:

“Eudaimonia [sic] as a self-discovery, perceived development of one’s best potentials, a sense of purpose and meaning in life, intense involvement in activities, investment of significant effort, and enjoyment of activities as personally expressive, deep relationships”

To me, this sounds like a worthy goal and the work of a lifetime. When I think about all the words I wish were never said, my stock is going down: perhaps I can only hope to attain “Impecc” of Word after all.

The Power of Your Words

Thank you Wal for continuing this conversation.  Of all the issues, bumps, and causes for sleepless nights it’s often words said or unsaid that are at the root cause.  Ruiz gives us a comprehensive look at what is involved in being impeccable and, I agree, achieving a portion of impeccability is all I can hope for.  However, I believe that this is what the author intended.  By making an agreement with ourselves to maintain a level of awareness about how we use our word, is the goal.  Setting an expectation of mastering it to perfection is to set us up for yet another disappointment.

I have often thought about the concept Ruiz brings forth about gossip.  As I understand it, not only is it inappropriate to talk negatively about others with those who would listen, but to talk about others for any reason, without their presence is still gossip.  So, I find that although I choose to follow his intention about using my word only for positive intention, I have excused myself from the label of gossip, when I speak positively of someone who is not present.  And therein, lies my challenge.  That is, too often we modify definitions of words to suit our needs or present behaviors: an excuse to avoid the hard work of changing old habits.  While I don’t feel this excuse I’ve granted myself is an example of this, I am conscious of how easy it is to make my own rules.  Just a thought among many thoughts…

While the heart is arguably the most powerful part of the human body, a friend of mine would argue that it is the mouth. He contends that what comes out of our mouths can do enormous good or extreme damage to not only ourselves but to countless others.  I dare say he was right. 

I am being impeccable when I say how much I am appreciating each of you, George and Wal, for creating and sustaining this journey.

The Appeal of the Snark

Wal, as I was reading this a couple of thoughts came to mind and a couple of reactions came to heart. The first thing of course was what an admirable concept this is and how we should all strive to achieve it.  Then my heart sank– no “snarky” comments?  Damn– I didn’t even exist in teenage society ‘til my snarkiness matured. That was how I got noticed, laughed at and with by the rest of adolescent society.  It was the only way I could fit in, impress and have a personality.  To this day, snarky comments comfort me like a warm blanket as a bastion of protection, a wall paper to protect me, and make me prettier than I feel.

The impeccability of my word comes when I make a promise.  If I say I’ll meet you at 2, I’ll be there at 1:45, totally willing to wait ‘til 2.  I don’t think I have ever missed an appointment and was ever late.  But then what about the little white lies we tell when we know they aren’t true.  “You don’t look a day over 50,” if you could erase those crow’s feet around your eyes and grow a head of hair again.  Is that impeccability?  It makes the other person feel good, which is admirable but in reality you look like Hell.  Would that be impeccable to say that to him?  It wouldn’t seem very nice!  Here’s someone I can finally quote…..Thumper’s Mom said, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!”  Maybe even here I am being snarky, but impeccability of words requires the good with the bad……and to what end?  But I digress!  By the way, you and Hen looked like young stallions today!  

Many years ago I was part of a group called, The Caring Community.  Founded by a dear friend and colleague who was a facilitator and trainer in the area of human relations, the group was designed to bring diverse people together to spend time in community.  (He defined community as a place where people felt valued, accepted, and connected.)  This time in community was accomplished by way of our focus on personal growth and by regular participation in community service. Throughout our time together each of us contributed unique skill sets, experiences, and resources.  One of these resources was a book suggested by a participant who found it to be of great value.

The Four Agreements, by Don Miquel Ruiz offers a powerful code of conduct to recognize and free us from blindly following self-limiting beliefs and practices. Each agreement is more of a direction than a goal.  Followed conscientiously, they help diminish drama, reduce stress, and offer a personal context from which to make good decisions.  In other words, it helps us to better hear others and ourselves outside of our habitual practices.

I chose to write about this book as a means of offering a way to mitigate the divisive, angry, and polarizing language, we hear daily: the sounds of ideas, attitudes, and emotions we feed ourselves and that both justify what we believe to already be true and that cause us to dig in to protect our perceptions.  And while none of this is new in the history of mankind, it is more rampant and extreme than I have seen or felt in my lifetime.  And what I’m not hearing are alternatives to address these differences with civility, compassion, and understanding.

(There are many other models and authors which offer ideas for how to listen to self and to others.  I chose this one because it works best for me.)

To that end I offer the following taken from The Four Agreements:

Be Impeccable With Your Word

Speak with integrity.  Say only what you mean.  Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others.  Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.

Don’t Take Anything Personally

Nothing others do is because of you.  What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream.  When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.

Don’t Make Assumptions

Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want.  Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness, and drama.  With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

Always Do Your Best

Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick.  Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.

If we applied these agreements to our thinking and our practice, perhaps we might then hold the same conversations over the same issues with less anger and judgement and with the purpose of finding common ground rather than trying to convince others to abandon their perspective and see it our way.

I’d be interested to hear your viewpoints, any thoughts on The Four Agreements, or any books you may have read that you found to be a powerful influence in your life.

How Do You Heal a Country?

How do you heal a country?  How do you protect your own ideals while accepting those of others who are diametrically opposed to your way of thinking and how do you avoid contributing to the overwhelming lack of civil discourse that can often erupt through conflicting expressions of what is right and wrong, factual or fiction?  That seems to be where our country is stuck right now. 

We have to heal and in order to do that we have to find a path to help us heal.  Henry lays out a plan based on the integrity of our word and the desire to work things out.  Mr Kraftowitz , my 7th grade English teacher,  used to say that the mark of an intelligent person is not that he has a lot to say but that he listens!  Something I often struggle with.   I often find myself forming my next point In my head rather than listening to what the other person is saying.  As a result I haven’t learned anything.  I know I do this.  I assume many others do as well, and instead of hearing we are talking passed each other resulting in nothing being achieved.

Are the civil wounds  too great to heal?  Are there things we actually can agree on- facts that both sides can agree are valid and necessary to take into account? Maybe once we can agree to that perhaps we can begin a true meeting of the minds. Currently, this seems to be particular tricky.  We cling to the facts as we see them and can’t understand why everyone doesn’t see them the same.

I hate to admit that I tend to be a half empty glass kind of person.  My personal experience was that if I didn’t expect much I wouldn’t be disappointed.  And for a long time in my youth that served me well.

I guess that’s why I’m not sure Henry’s approach would work.  One has to assume for it to work, both/all parties have to want to mend the gap,  agree to be impeccable with their words and are both in search of common ground.  My half empty glass wonders if those factors can become aligned.  I sincerely hope it is possible because something has to happen for us to begin healing. Holding on to personal emotions, beliefs, and ideas in stubborn refusal to let go for fear of who knows what will only enlarge the wound and make civil discourse divide us more.

We Did Not Start the Fire

Before the introduction of the term, “Fake News”, I rode up in an elevator with my social psychology professor, who said: “There are no such things as facts”. He was making the point that all data are interpreted through the lens of the viewer. While there may not be ‘facts’, there’s no shortage of information. According to the Pew Research Institute in 2018, 68% of Americans suffer from news fatigue. Social media has exponentially added to this burst of ‘facts’.

In this time of tweeting, retweeting, and forwarding posts of like-minded opinions, I wonder whether anyone is interested in real discourse — lots of pots, lots of stirring. Hen has made a great point about active listening – and make no mistake, it requires discipline It seems rather that people are seeking confirmation of their own opinions. We’re becoming prisoners of our own ‘metadata’ defined by any one of a number of groups to which we identify.

Geo says that the passion invested in various opinions can prevent an understanding of another’s point of view. In order for rational discourse to occur, each of us needs to submerge our ‘need to persuade’ from the ‘need to repeat back’ someone else’s position so that they can feel understood. It is important to really listen rather than formulating a response while the other person is talking. Understanding does not equal agreement, but it may lead to new ideas and constructive action.  The Four Agreements is a very insightful book as Hen describes. I’d also recommend David Brooks’ The Second Mountain, in particular, his work with diverse groups to formulate community actions.

Conflict management is messy. As Billy Joel sang: “We didn’t start the fire, it’s been always burning since the world’s been turning”. We ought to be sure that we are not the ones stoking the fire.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about this time.  Nothing seemed to grab me.  I have been in a kind of low place as I have a recurring pain in my neck that no one seems to be able to help alleviate.  The doctor, the massage therapist and the physical therapist seem to keep trying things that don’t touch the pain.  So with that on my mind and with the holidays approaching I have been at a loss.  Not being able to do much physically due to the pain, I have been sitting with heat pads and ice packs and have had a lot of time to be inside my head.  There are places I would rather be!  I noticed that my emotions have been very tender of late.  I hear a song and I start to tear up.  I read an article in the newspaper about a kitten that followed a man walking his dog back to his house and the man took the kitten in and I lost it.  A pattern was developing and I realized this has been happening more and more often in the last few months.

Everything seems to “touch” me more than it used to.  I watch a movie and I better have tissues nearby because I know somewhere in the movie something is going to bring me to tears.  I have always been a sensitive person and easy to express my feelings but this is something beyond that sensitivity. Maybe I am in a nostalgic period of my life where all these things take me back to positive memories from my childhood or from different events.  I was thinking back today when I was an innkeeper and reminiscing about the good times and fun I had in that position and sure enough I began to cry.  And it is a funny cry- I feel my face distort, the tears come and then disappear almost as quickly as they came.

Perhaps the approach of the holidays have brought me to this tender point.  My daughter and I are going to a local restaurant for Thanksgiving.  My son moved away recently and can’t make it back for the holiday.  I was fine with it all until I began to reminisce about holidays in the past.  They were filled with relatives, vast amounts of Italian food, noise, arguments, laughter- things I often dreaded at the time. But now I miss them terribly and sadness diminishes the memory.  I love spending time with my daughter but it just isn’t the same anymore. I think she feels the same way although when they were kids they used to hate opening their Christmas gifts and then having to rush off to get to NYC in time for dinner with the family.

I also think the time change and the change in the weather have affected my outlook as well.  The days have been gray and daylight is short and I can’t seem to muster up enthusiasm for much of anything.  I know some people are affected by the lessening of daylight but that had never bothered me before.  I suddenly understand why holidays can be very lonely times for people.  Coming from a family that would have 14 or so people for Christmas dinner every year to just the 2 or 3 of us has been very difficult to accept.  It is amplified by the holidays, I just wish I had a way to move passed it.  Now with Christmas music everywhere it becomes difficult to escape.  I am trapped in a world of happy holiday music and good cheer all around and I can’t appreciate it.

But in reality, the difficult realization is that I and my two kids are all that is left of my family and that leaves me with a very empty, and sometimes scared feeling in my heart. I guess I just have to accept the fact that my emotions are askew, and that I can be brought to tears in an instant, both wonderful things and sad things bring them on.  Along with old age maybe more than just the body gets arthritis.  Maybe I have arthritis of the emotions.  I will survive, I will adjust and accept and conquer.  But I probably will be brought to tears anytime I see something tender, hear or see something beautiful- yes, beauty does it to me as well!  The last time I was in Italy in my grandfather’s village I walked into the little hotel and they were making sauce.  The smell of that sauce brought me right back to my dad’s kitchen and, you guessed it, I began to cry!

A Rising Tide

They say a rising tide lifts all boats. It’s the same with emotion, which sort of wells up around the holidays and makes itself known in ways that George describes. No doubt most of us experience that bittersweet feeling of enjoying the present, while missing the past. Sometimes we are surprised by the strength of that feeling. The holiday season has so many strong associations that it is hard to simply remove yourself from cherished memories.

I confess to feeling blue around this time of year, missing my brother, mother, and father… and realizing that my kids are developing their own traditions independent from my wife and I. We are coming to grips with the fact that our time is passing and we are shifting into a less central role than we have played previously. In a way, this is welcome, because the ‘downshifting’ needs less energy. However, I don’t want the important people in my life — now gone — to be forgotten in the process of building those new traditions.

I’m moved by advice provided by a couple of smart individuals: Carl Jung and Erik Erikson. Jung talked about the importance of making myths and Erikson pointed to age-related challenges that must be addressed to remain psychologically healthy.

Jung has this mystic quality that is incorporated into his scheme of psychoanalytic thought. What I take from his writings is that it is important to stay in continuance with our past by reinforcing stories – or myths – that keep our history alive. My job is to retell – and maybe embellish – tales about my forebears to maintain the currency of those lost loved ones. Don’t we all do this? Friends get together and relive ‘war stories’ and old memories. We’re making myths – in a good way! I try to do that with my sons and grandsons. It honors those who have passed and gives me a role as a ‘creative historian’. Hopefully these myths provide significant life lessons as well as honoring people and times past. Erikson laid out a theory of developmental challenges as we grow. The generativity challenge has to do with a decision we make either to a) share our experiences and mentor others as we age or b) draw inward and focus on ourselves and our problems. Of course, we occasionally have a foot in both camps, but the latter choice tends to build a closed system over time. I’d rather acknowledge what I miss, take the best of it and reach out for new opportunities. Joni Mitchell sang “…something’s lost, but something’s gained in living every day”. Synthesize and celebrate, my friends!

Deep Waters — Surface Emotions

I love George’s newly coined medical disease – arthritis of the emotions!  Yup!  I too, contracted the same condition over the last few years.  However, my affliction is not necessarily triggered by only the holidays but seems to flare up on any given day, week, or season.  Sensitivity to joy, sadness, love, or loss, evokes a deep connection to a feeling that often results in tears.  Usually induced by a movie, I find my emotions, which have migrated to the surface over the years, release more readily and more frequently than before.  And, interestingly, they are more prevalent around stories of extreme joy or love, or transformation than those of sadness or loss.  I don’t know why.

The holidays for me have changed as both Wal and George have described.  My mother, who was the focal point for our gatherings, is no longer with us and my siblings and children have their own families and friends and traditions.  As a result, getting together for the holidays or birthdays is far less frequent.  And, as a single man, sometimes I spend a holiday or birthday alone—except for Duke of course.  At first I felt sorry for myself and drifted into places of sadness and questions of where I went wrong.  But over time, I’ve recognized that spending time alone, holiday or not, does not represent who I am or how my life turned out.  It’s simply a quiet time to rest, or read, or walk, or think, or watch one of those tear-producing movies.  Someone once said to me that it was better to be alone with yourself, than feeling alone with a partner.  I understand that difference and can now appreciate (most of the time) when I spend one of those days by myself without seeking to change it.  Being alone doesn’t have to mean I’m lonely.  However, when I do get to spend time with family and/or friends for a holiday, I truly enjoy the story telling that Wal referred to in his piece.  When my sisters and I would spend time together, my mother seemed to be with us as we told story after story of experiences and events that made us laugh so hard that tears came to our eyes.

What animates us? We live; we experience awareness; we have consciousness of self. Where does the energy come from that acts as our driving force? According to physicist Jeremy England, it’s the entropy, stupid!

Simply unpacked, his theory maintains that atoms subjected to energy (say electromagnetic force) will tend to organize so that they will more efficiently dissipate that energy. This is entropy. Like the ‘arrow of time’ which only proceeds in one direction (according to current physics), entropy only leads to energy dispersion. It is the reason why my coffee will get colder – and not hotter – while it sits on the table as I write this piece. The coffee is dissipating energy to match the temperature in the room: entropy.

Over long periods of time, clusters of atoms develop structures – some complex — for dissipating energy, e.g., photosynthesis. England makes a case that complex structures gradually evolve to absorb and distribute increasing amounts of energy. Under certain conditions, life can develop. England says “You start with a random clump of atoms, and if you shine light on it for long enough, it should not be so surprising that you get a plant.”

Hmmm… why?

Well, apparently there are two reasons: a) increasing self-assembly allows clusters of atoms to absorb and rationalize greater amounts of field energy and b) self-replication is an efficient option for handling copious amounts of energy.

In sum, the resonance of energy in a field leads atoms to congregate in ways that allow more efficient systems for binding and disseminating energy. This process conforms to the law of physics in which an even distribution of energy is the final state. It is much like obtaining equilibrium in a solution – for instance, like stirring cream in your coffee. Rocks do it, trees do it, even the birds and the bees do it. Complex clusters can do it better – and they will over time replicate to form more clusters in order to handle all the field energy.

Wow! I applaud Dr. England. I also applaud all those who search after the ‘Big Why’. However, I’d hate to think we are just a special case of the second law of thermodynamics.  What is missing is any sense of intentionality – at what point does our purpose extend beyond energy dissipation?

Up, Up and a Way Out

Recently a friend asked me what I do to keep my brain sharp.  She has scrabble and crossword puzzles and I have Sudoku and Wally!

For me, it is likely that we are, in fact, evolved from randomly interacting atoms in chance encounters with other “stuff” under varying conditions that occurred in some primordial ooze. I also believe that all living and non-living things are in community with each other and don’t just survive independently, but in concert with all things of this world: interdependence if you will.  How we/they know what to do in order to fit into this whole-earth relationship, I don’t know.

Wally ends his piece with a question regarding the absence of intentionality and the notion that there must be more than physicist England suggests.  Another friend of mine refers to the idea of deliberate intervention as something he calls Source Energy; His name for what some call God, others call Nature, divine intervention, etc.  

Clearly there is no universal agreement as to what the source of our energy is.   Some of us are crystal clear about what is behind our existence and some of us have ideas with many captivating questions.  Perhaps the more important issue for all of us is to accept that the human world has always held differing beliefs to the questions of who we are and where we came from and to proceed with the notion of being the best versions of who we are for our universal community and ourselves.

What I do know is that there is some intangible thing that exists beyond our individual and collective consciousness.  And I know this because often, while walking in nature, I am struck with a overwhelming feeling of joy and gratitude and my usual reaction to shout out, “Thank You!”  And, since it’s usually only Duke and I during these moments, to whom am I offering thanks?

Inertia

This is a tough one for me.  Not sure about all the scientific stuff but I know MY energy is definitely influenced by life circumstance and emotional state of mind.  I know that when I feel purposeful and productive my energy intensifies and I become industrious and excited about getting things done.  My body seems to rise to the occasion and supplies the necessary energy needed to attack the tasks I have to  address.  My mind becomes sharp too and focused.  An object in motion tends to stay in motion!  It’s a great feeling.  I have a purpose and a path. 

When I first retired from teaching I had a difficult time reinventing myself and as a result my body was slow to pick up the new life required of me. Depression slows the process down as well, and saps the energy from my body making me want to go inward into my head and feel sorry for myself.   When I run into emotional roadblocks, which unfortunately still occur at my age, it slows me down. My approach to life’s daily activities seems to lag and my desire to “do” diminishes.  Inertia sets in.  I want to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.   It becomes hard to break that cycle until I eventually have had enough of myself like that.   I then throw the covers off to try to find the next motivating thought to get me back on track-  not always that easy and as the years pass and the body continues to suffer aging,  that motivation gets harder to activate and the energy can become less and less.  The answer for me seems to be to keep the mind sharp to identify when my energy is being sapped and to use my mind to give a spiritual pep talk to my body to get back in the fight.

Since 3 Old Guys began publishing our blog, some readers have suggested we offer a biography of who we are.  In response to that request, we present this blog entry:

I can use labels to identify me from others.  Hen, man, father, grandfather, son, brother, friend, dog companion, seventy-two, home owner, …

I can use experiences to describe what I’ve done.  Spent years being formally educated, played sports, lived with several long-term partners, sky-dived, taught, coached, befriended, laughed lots, wept, cut and stacked wood, rode sleds, swam, pondered, cleaned, cooked, hiked, biked, played, …

I can use words to describe what I desire.  A loving partner, deep friendships, more time outdoors, enlightenment, good health, good instincts from which to make good choices, discipline to improve my writing, …

But who am I?  I am aware of the question and aware that it is a question I continue to explore.  I am aware that when I step outside of my routine behaviors and observe myself doing an activity, I am a sort of consciousness:  an awareness of self separate from that self. 

Going back to a more conventional view of who I am and to a description that gives me a visceral connection between spirit and words, I would add the following:

My purpose is to bring my joyful nature, sense of humor, and accumulated wisdom to create opportunities for others to question and identify their (purpose) role in life.  I seek to forge intimate, meaningful relationships and to love and support this community of relationships unconditionally.

I am a happy man who wells up with extraordinary joy and excitement, often.

I live fully and with awareness.  I am on a journey to unshackle and reaffirm my spirit and soul and want those with whom I come in contact to benefit from my experiences.  I strive to increase my acceptance of others through empathetic listening.  I have let go of expectations and rather, live life with preferences.  I am slowly letting go of resistance, attachment, and judgment.

I am a man with a boy’s spirit and I weave play and adventure and fun in all that I do.

I am passionate about sharing my joy, knowledge, and love of nature and will bring those passions into my relationships with others.  As I engage others in areas of leadership and learning, I will remain truthful to my mission and to my authentic self.  I will model the importance of respect, truth, self-awareness, and giving my best through my training programs, my daily interactions with clients, friends, and family, and through writing.

Of course I am a work in progress with a known direction and a set of behaviors I subscribe to but have not yet mastered.  And I know I will not “master” them.  My intention is to remind myself to practice them with the goal of improvement.  That is all I can ask of myself.  And as long as I move in this direction and keep myself aware, I am content.  It is who I am.

Oak and Olive

Hen, your introduction starts from a challenge posed by Michael Singer in The Untethered Soul to really examine the premise of who you are. I read yours as a statement of purpose and it reminds me that it isn’t so much where you’ve been that is important, but how you are positioned to move forward.

Do you remember how Bilbo introduced himself in The Hobbit? Instead of a direct naming, he posed a riddle of ‘Who Am I’:

                  “I am Ringwinner and Luck wearer, and I am Barrel-rider” 

Perfect, because each person is a bit of a riddle… so here’s mine:

I am Quercus and Olea — English oak and Italian olivewood… a strange and contradictory graft. I’ve been nurtured in humus – Latin for ‘dirt’ and the stem for ‘humility’. Truly, I do grow best in humility. My oaken fruit sports a knurled helmet, which is appropriate, for my name means ‘Ruler of the Army’ (obviously, an army of nuts!). My tannic oak is obdurate and loyal, serviceable, but plain. If there is any beauty, it is from the quiet tone of the grain and the occasional medullary rays that streak across the straight fibers.

My DNA says that another wood has been grafted to the oak bones. Italian olivewood has bold contrast in its grain. It shouts of conflict, passion, and busy-ness: there are no straight lines here. Yet, it is warm in tone and supports a fine finish. Where oak may be tough to work with, olive is a pleasure. But the fruit … well, it is nourishing, but only after a great deal of processing.

So, this odd collaboration is who I am. My aim is to meld this mess: to cultivate tolerance of both acidic and alkali soil — to maximize the oak’s strength of purpose while learning to understand the intricate pattern of the olive. 

I Am What I Do

Too many metaphors for me.  Perhaps I’m still trying to figure out who I am.   For the longest time I defined myself by my work.  I was a teacher. I defined myself as such for 35 years and had a difficult time giving that up when I retired.  Then I was an innkeeper.  I was proud of both occupations.   But as I matured I realized I was much more.  I finally accepted what I knew since my teens, I am a gay man. Acknowledging that was probably the singular most honest thing I did in life.  I tried to do it with grace. 

Then if I mix all of this with my genetic makeup I am a mutt- half Italian and half Welsh.  Quite a mixture of emotionality and stoicism.  All of these things contributed to the makeup of who I turned out to be. I’m still a work in progress who tries to be the best that I can be. 

As the years progress I feel as if I am shedding more of the superficial characteristics and accepting who I am at the base level.  It kind of gives me permission to speak my mind and cut to the chase, to express my emotions openly and honestly and bedamn the consequences.  Age gives us that permission.  But honestly, ask me again next year and I might have an entirely different answer.

Christmas Decorations?……Really?

It was the last week in September and I ventured into Home Depot to get some chrysanthemums.  Upon entering I turned my head to the right and what to my wondering eyes should appear?  A miniature sleigh and 8 plastic reindeer!  And Christmas trees!  Christmas trees in September!   Two major holidays between now and then but Christmas trees- decorated Christmas trees! I remember the excitement and the suspense of waiting anxiously after Thanksgiving for all the decorations  to be out in the stores.  It was exciting, a little mysterious as to what new electric train pieces might be available or new lights for the outside of the house.  All that is gone now.  Any mystery or suspense or excitement —-G O N E!  It kind of spoils the season for me when it finally gets close.  Enough- one of my pet peeves.  I get annoyed, sometimes pissed off, but I get over it.

I go to fill up my tank with unleaded regular gas.  We all know that the 87 octane pump is the farthest pump on the left. I didn’t even check only to find out that….oooops, the station changed the octanes and put the 93 octane at a substantially higher price on the far left.  Accident?  I think not!  Purposely intended and deceitful, absolutely.  This more than pisses me off as my bill is  $.50 more a gallon than I had anticipated. I tell myself, “It is what it is, next time check before you pump!”

So those things frost my butt a little but there is one thing that blows my mind away, makes me scream, tear things up and kick furniture legs.  Before I say what it is, you have to understand I was an elementary school teacher for 35 years and before that I “lived” in stationery stores where I bought special fountain pens and mechanical pencils. You remember, the Scripto kind in pretty plastic colors that you would twist the eraser to get the lead to come forward.  I love the act of writing.  I love signing my name.  It gave me a feeling of who I am and that I was proud of it.

Now many school districts, my own included, in their infinite wisdom have decided cursive writing is no longer necessary and they have stopped teaching kids how to write in cursive.  Perhaps that explains why most younger folks have signatures that look like this-  —————————.   Now, I am not against progress.  Progress means moving forward and keeping up with the times and the future but do we have to throw away everything good from the past?  Not only are kids not learning to write cursive, they can’t read it either. They won’t be able to read my signature and know who I am.  I don’t like that!

When I discovered that my district no longer taught cursive several years ago, I called the superintendent of my school and gave her an earful.  Well, kids today do most of their work on the computer and that doesn’t use any script fonts.  #$%^ script fonts.  Please excuse my computer language. I said to the young woman, who seemed far too young to be a superintendent that there are many things written in cursive that kids will have no ability to read.  When she asked me for an example, my blood pressure cuff wasn’t available, but I was able to calm myself with a few ill verbalized yoga mantras, and  told her for example….The Declaration of Independence?  The Constitution?  Gramma’s diary?  Oh yeah, and my parents’ love letters from when my dad was on Iwo Jima and writing to find out how his son was…not me, I was born after the war.

I can remember being in high school and over the summer my friends and I would keep in touch through the mail.  Yes, personal letters. I could tell who each letter was from, not from the return address but from the handwriting.  It was so exciting to get a personal letter that wasn’t produced from a printer somewhere and had absolutely no personal touch to it at all.  I really miss those days.  

I recently found a little bible, pocket size so that soldiers could carry it with them into battle.  I found it in a box full of my dad’s stuff.  I opened the cover and inside it said in cursive, “With the earnest prayers and wishes for a safe return from the service with the armed forces.”  It was signed by the First Congregational Church of Mahanoy City, PA, August 1, 1943.  How sad if I was unable to read that.  There are still a lot of things written in cursive, historic documents, parents’ and grandparents’ memorabilia.  How sad that from this point on no one will be able to read these incredibly valuable inscriptions and notes in their own handwriting in Books given at Christmas or greeting cards, or absence notes we forged for our teachers (oops- forget that)!

Like so many things,  we cast these things aside and move on to the next shiny objects.  Any young folk drive standard transmission cars anymore? Very few!  Enough!  I am done ranting and raving.  There are other things that raise my blood pressure to the dangerous level but i will leave it here.  Next thing you know we will be teaching cursive as a second language but will have to really search to find people qualified to teach it.  Very sad!

The Mummy’s Cursive

Poor Austin Palmer! How quickly his star has faded. His method of cursive writing influenced a generation of teachers and students. The irony is that the Palmer Method was devised to speed the process of writing (and thereby retiring the slower Spencerian longhand). Since cursive is faster than printing, it makes you wonder what goal is being served by its elimination. At least we should demand the current crop of students learn shorthand.

Never fear, George – even if future folks lose the ability to read old notes and original documents, I’m sure they will be transcribed with the appropriate emoji’s. More to the point, how will folks sign contracts and legal agreements – with personalized chops, thumbprints, eye-scans? What will the Artist Formerly Known as Geo do in the new age? Likely leave a DNA specimen on his works…  

Pet peeves — It’s funny how the topic can elicit such a long laundry list of items. Once you start to enumerate them, it’s like the line of jets in the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson glide path. I used to watch those aircraft prepare their descent to Hartsfield as I traveled on Camp Creek parkway. You could see the lights of three jumbos, each appearing to hang right behind the other as they began their approach. Of course, these planes were at least a mile apart – but three would always be in view. One would land and three more sets of lights would stretch in the distance – a constant stream.

Pet peeves also seem to line up forever: so many! First, you struggle to search for just one, but after one is named, an endless procession of annoying items request permission to land. Where were they lurking prior to this thought process? Do they exist in a peeve universe, walled off from day-to-day happy thoughts? All of a sudden they are a nest full of baby birds competing to be fed.

Reviewing this litany of minor irritations does not end in any kind of catharsis – actually, It just sort of makes me sad. It puts in bold relief my tendency to blame others. My peeves almost totally involve someone else’s shortcoming: X is self-absorbed; Y goes out of turn at a stop sign; a form requires too much data.  On and on. At the end of the day, you begin to wonder ‘What do I like?’ or ‘How much do I contribute to someone else’s pet peeve?’

Making a game of it helps. Let’s laugh at each other’s pet peeves. Bring them out into the sunlight and examine how insignificant they are. Essentially, these intrusions are simply instances where the world does not conform to our desires. When measured against life-changing issues, pet peeves are mosquito bites: mostly harmless, unless you hang out in the swamp. 

So, Geo – your issues will be resolved by buying that Tesla (in September, for Christmas).

Not My Pet!

It is said that a pet peeve is something nurtured like a pet.  That is, it is something that easily irritates us that we can’t stop complaining about.  I’m not sure I see the connection as my pet Duke is a constant source of comfort and the few times a week he may bolt after a rabbit or woodchuck ignoring my efforts to call him back, are becoming less and less a trigger for my upset. 

It is also said that if we consider things that challenge us to distraction as opportunities for growth, they soon hold less power over us.  So far, Duke always returns and sooner rather than later.  And, perhaps because I’ve attached a GPS tracking device to his collar, I also know I can locate him should he exceed my parameters for being M.I.A.  So, this pet – pet peeve has lost it’s classification as such and is only a reminder of the times I became obsessed with how Duke was supposed to behave.

As for Geo’s cursive writing peeve, it’s not one of mine.  I understand and appreciate his stand on the subject of doing away with the mandated teaching of cursive writing.  For sure, it has served me well over the years and there is also something inviting about reading a poem or essay that has been written in clear and artistic penmanship.  For me it adds to the value of a well-written piece.  On the flip side, as my hand no longer holds a steady and smooth course as I write out a note or comment on paper, I appreciate the ability to type and print or type and send.  It’s fast, easy to decipher, and comes along with suggestions for edits!  What’s not to like?

Isn’t it interesting that some things become pet peeves only as we age?  As our parents before us, we like to hold on to things that we enjoyed, or were good at, or felt comfortable with.  And, change often challenges those securities we tend to hold fast to.  As for me, I often choose both when I can – a self-driving Tesla on one side of the garage and a stick shift pick up on the other!

“What are you going to do with that?” said my son, barely containing his disdain. He’s looking at a recent acquisition: a set of multi-colored cordial glasses set on a gaudy glass tray. Yikes – even reading this description causes me to wonder about that as well.

I’m surveying the top of the breakfront at our camp in the Adirondacks. It contains: the previously referenced set of cordial glasses, a segmented wood peppermill made by a friend, deer antler salt and pepper shakers, a large maple bowl that a buddy and I collaborated to make, a lamp, a glass paperweight, a cherry and purple heart toothpick holder, a crystal clock gifted by my brother and sister-in-law, ceramic pinecone salt and pepper shakers, a small turned Applewood box made by a friend, an aluminum candy dish, and a wire figure constructed by my adult son last night.

Maybe he is right – in this era of minimalism and Marie Kondo, perhaps I don’t deserve horizontal space. Yet this plane serves as a memory platform for me. Each item has an association – and is a reminder of an important person. The cordial glasses were exactly the same type that my parents used for special occasions. My brother Rich and I used to love to gaze at the different colors and pick our favorites. The cordial glasses are really markers of an earlier life. They bring a sense of family now gone and recapture that sense of wonder that kids have when they see something ‘magic’ for the first time.

While many of these relics are personal markers, it doesn’t stop there – I love artifacts, objects worn smooth by human hands. The patina of use is what attracts me. The idea that the object captures a little bit of the essence of the prior owners inspires reverence. I used to collect old woodworking tools, but how many can you have? The tactile attraction is important; proper attention is required for each. Shutting them away in boxes is simply gluttony. The joy is in both seeing and handling these artifacts. They need air.

I also collect woodturnings that my friends or I have completed. Each with a different style and different story: Ronnie, now in assisted living, Big Joe battling cancer, the memory of Phil who passed away – but also Ralph improving his craft, Matt’s lovely vessels, and Steve’s delicate work. These works are from the hands of people I like and respect.

I refresh their pieces with a drop of oil and wax mixture at frequent intervals. In this manner they will last longer and can be passed down to someone else when it’s my turn to do so. I’ve heard that the Japanese also practice this routine. Future owners may not have the same cherished memories I hold of the makers, but I’d like to think that some of their essence still abides to be shared with the next person in line.

I have a Collect Call for…

In college, after a weekend away, upon returning to the dorm, I had to call home to let my folks know I made it safely. I would get the operator and place a collect call to myself.  My mom would answer and the operator would tell her she had a collect call for me.  Mom would say that I wasn’t in.  They then knew I was back safely. Probably everybody back in the 60’s did this.  What does this have to do with Magpies?  ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!  But I am a collector like Wally, too.

Collections don’t spring out of nowhere.  There is usually a reason behind the madness of collecting.  Someone near and dear to you started the collection, someone near and dear collected some weird stuff and you wanted to honor their interests, or something caught your eye and you decided to buy something.  Then for birthdays or Christmas forever after, people who didn’t know what to get you would remember you collected salt and pepper shakers and buy you a pair of piggies with little holes in their heads- 2 holes for pepper and 3 for salt!  And so a collection has begun.

I have a few collections that I admit to.  Some others that I don’t.  I love large wooden or metal folk art toys- homemade trains, trucks, planes.  The kind a grandfather would make for his grandkids.  They are all over my living room.  And I am always on the lookout for more.  Then there is my plastic Santa collection.  Santa’s from the 50’s and 60’s, some from Occupied Japan. I no longer go out in search of them but there is one piece if I should ever find I would grab at any price!    They of course are stored safely away ‘til a week or two after Thanksgiving when they come out for air for about a month only to be packed away again for the remaining months ‘til next year.  But my prize collections are close to my heart. I have been a model railroader since I was a kid.  My dad bought my brother a 1938, prewar, Lionel train when he was a little kid and I got mine many years later, a 1954 Lionel train, no longer made of metal.  It is the only thing my dad, brother and I ever did together.  My dad made a platform for our living room that took up almost half the room. It would take the better part of a week to set up our Christmas layout.  Every December my brother and I would head off to F.W. Woolworth’s to see what new Lionel cars were available and to see what new Plasticville structures came out that year.  Those trains and then, years later, my HO and N gauge trains are all packed safely away and stored in my basement.  They haven’t been set up in over 20 years!  But,  DON’T TOUCH MY TRAINS!  And finally, for my college graduation, my brother bought me an original water color painting by a Long Island painter named Alan Ullmer.  From that day on, anytime I saw an original painting that I liked, I bought it.  I would go to art shows and check out the paintings. If I saw one I was interested in I would squint at it, like I do with the Christmas lights, and If I could imagine myself in the painting, I would buy it! Now that is not to say that I don’t collect new things.  Sometimes something catches my eye and I have to have it.  You know, that useless piece of junk that you can’t live without!  You have a problem with that?

In Defense of ‘Less is More’

“Where’s all your stuff?” a friend once exclaimed when he visited my home for the first time.  I have plenty of “stuff” mind you.  Some is tucked away in boxes in the basement – my children’s school records, birthday cards, artwork, and a stuffed animal or two.  Nearby are outdated cameras, boxes of Kodachrome slides, old pictures in older frames; the list goes on.  And I do have a few decorations on my walls, books that mostly fit on my shelves, and a knick-knack and picture or two here and there.  But I don’t have stuff that fills my counters or floor space or the horizontal space that Wal describes.  This friend, perhaps like Wal, also loves his stuff and he and his wife abundantly fill their home spaces with those things they hold dear. 

I do know that my children are less interested in those things of their youth and likely will have little use for my “stuff” when I’m gone.  Both of them, each in their own family setting, seem to cycle out stuff to make room for the new.  I wonder how that kind of balance may change for them and each of us as we age.

Wally’s piece speaks to me about acquiring and holding on to what we value, what matters.  And things that represent connections to cherished memories are often valued. 

I grew up with little, now have much, and hope to leave my children with little worry to wonder about what to do with all my stuff. 

Wally referenced Marie Kondo who asks us to part with anything that didn’t spark joy when we touched it.  Margareta Magnusson, is the author of a book that speaks to the art of Swedish Death Cleaning.  The idea is for middle- to older-aged people to rid their homes of things they/we don’t need.  This not only is a huge favor for those we leave behind, who must decide what to do with our things, but often allows our lives to run more smoothly with less stuff. It also affords us a trip down memory lane as we go through these belongings, adding value along the way.

I’ll be looking at my stuff from now on, with purpose and more intention.  I’ll begin to let go of many things I no longer need or use.  And along the way, as an item raises a fond memory, I’ll be sure to share that with the appropriate person, if I can.

I wonder if, in one year, I can wander about my own house and exclaim, “Where’s all my stuff?”

“Awareness requires a rupture with the world we take for granted; then old categories of experience are called into question and revised.”  Shoshana Zuboff

I love the first part of this quote.  It reminds me that I have everything I need: and more.  And I’m not just talking about my home and its contents or my bank account, or the freedoms I enjoy as an American.  I’m also referring to my most basic abilities: to see every time I open my eyes, to hear, every time I pay attention, to walk when and where I choose.  Daily, I take for granted all of these abilities and more because I presently can do them or have access to technology that enables me to exercise these behaviors with little to no effort.  And in the process of doing these things with little cause for reflection or appreciation, I take them for granted.  I’m more likely to allow myself to “suffer” the slightest imposition or hindrance of such actions than to recognize how blessed I am to have these capabilities.

When we experience a significant loss or decrease to one of our physical or mental faculties, we become aware of how inconvenient or difficult life becomes.  For the moment, maybe even the next few measured moments of time, not only are we more mindful of what we had but we find new appreciation for what we still can do or, if we’re fortunate enough to recover what we lost, a re-appreciation for what we can do again.  But in time, it fades back into the habituation of being “taken for granted.”  Some say, that’s just life.  It’s human nature to do so.  There’s not much we can do about it.  But every once in a while, we meet someone who has remained changed by the experience.  Changed in a way that they become regularly aware of such simple and basic abilities and who seems more often to be in a joyful and content state of being.

I want to be that someone.  I want to continue to be mindfully appreciative of everything I am still able to do.  I’ve built it into my daily walking meditation to be aware of what I’m doing and to say aloud, “Thank You!” often, and to no one in particular. Thank you for the shadows I can see on my daily walk in the woods, for the sounds of my footsteps snapping a twig, for the feel of the wind on my face and the smell of the damp leaves after a rain.  Today I remembered to tell Duke what a great day it was for us as we mucked though the mud, soaked by the wind-driven rain on a 33 degree morning.  Of course, Duke already knew that; dogs seem to do that naturally.

As Joni Mitchell says in her song:

“Don’t it always seem to go … That you don’t know what you’ve got …Till it’s gone”

Make time to appreciate what you can do and what you do have.

Each time you can’t seem to catch a break, recognize that there are often more times that you do and you just don’t recognize it.  When you do, say it aloud.

A Peek Behind the Curtain

The Zuboff quote makes sense, because there is awareness and AWARENESS. AWARENESS is ‘Aha’! Normal sensory anticipation of the world’s flow operates on one level, but Shosona Zuboff is talking about epiphanies. Such glimpses are typically sudden, surprising, and compelling. David Brooks calls these “annunciation moments” — and they are powerful enough to change your life.

A rupture lets you take a peek at the underlying structure of an experience. It changes your yardstick for measuring the world and your own perception. Henry is talking about increasing the likelihood of celebrating epiphanies by practicing mindfulness – washing the filters that color perception. It’s said that the human brain can process eleven million bits of information per second, but the conscious mind is aware of only forty. The goal of being mindful is not just to increase the number of bits you consciously process, but to apply better quality standards to your focus. I am in total agreement with Henry — the first step is to say ‘thank you’ out loud for each ‘small miracle’ in your life.

I’m rereading a book called Centering, which likens a person’s creative consciousness to the art of pottery. The author talks about centering the clay on the potter’s wheel, pressing down and inward, then drawing upward to lift the walls of the vessel. Most importantly, she focuses on the shape of the inner space within the vessel – but, she also writes about the artist’s use of destruction in the creative process.  Her advice is to occasionally damage a clay-shape that is looking good and reassess how you would re-build. This ‘rupture’ of the material forces the artist to jump the groove of constantly repeating the same design. In the same manner, we sometimes have to rupture – or break with – our typical path in order to see where we have been and where we are headed in a new light.

Assume, Alas to Dream

Interesting- I can’t relate much to the quote but the concept is very real.  Maybe it is the time of year.  I shop for my kids, I stop for the groups collecting change in the road and try to generously contribute to the particular cause.   I feel fortunate that I have the monetary ability to donate above what I need to get by.  Last week my daughter and I were decorating the Christmas tree and ran out to get something to eat.  On the way home she wanted to stop at Starbucks and get a coffee-  well not just a coffee, some kind of latte with multiple creams and other items I have no understanding of.    She knows all the people who work there cause she tips big.  When we got to the window to pay, the girl said we didn’t owe anything cause the car before us paid for her coffee.  Wow- I was kind of overwhelmed and gave her a big tip and paid for the coffee for the guy behind us.  I took it for granted that I would pay for our order and became emotional at the simple gesture of a total stranger. It made me feel good and I wanted to make someone else feel that way. 

I wake up each morning and assume I’ll be able to get around, find something in the fridge to eat, and go on with my day like I planned.  I take the day for granted.  In the past, I took my relationships for granted and did nothing to insure their well-being.  Since I am in a new relationship now I do not take it for granted and daily work at making it better than yesterday and make sure I acknowledge it and listen to the cues I am receiving from him.  That is not quite as easy as taking it for granted but it also pays a premium.  

The dog kisses my face in the morning when he is ready to wake up.  He protects me, keeps me company, watches me in a way humans never do, but I have started trying to do that.  Being attentive to others’ needs, anticipating others’ concerns and trying to address those things instead of assuming everything is a-ok.  We all know that to assume makes an ass out of u and me!
I take for granted that the requirements of life will be there- there will be food to eat and water to drink, air to breathe and curiosity to satisfy…until the day when the body can no longer maintain its mobility and the mind no longer has clarity.  Things I never had to contemplate before!  Aging has the benefit of reflecting — something we never do in youth but something necessary if we don’t want to take things for granted.