20131220 – My Reason, My Season, My Choice This Christmas

Despite the three “My”s in the title, this post is not about just me; it’s about my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and my love for Him, and my joy for this greatest of all gifts that God gave to all the people of the world. It’s about my excitement that Jesus survived to the appointed time through the grace and love of God, his family, his friends, and his followers. It’s about what he taught me through the Gospel stories. And it’s about what God taught me through the prophets and believers and the stories they told that were captured in those books of the Bible written so many centuries ago. Note too that while this is written in first person singular, my wife contributed to this piece and she and I are of one accord; we together speak these things with one voice, and one heart.

I firmly believe that what I understand about the Bible, and how I live consistent with that understanding, and my complete and unconditional acceptance of Jesus Christ as my Lord and personal savior are sufficient for my salvation and entry into God’s kingdom here on earth and in Heaven. Beyond what I understand about the Bible, I do not know conclusively what else Jesus may have taught, nor do I choose to assume anything beyond his lessons and stories documented in the Gospels. Consequently, I do not believe that God will condemn me to eternal life in purgatory or hell for choosing to celebrate the giving of His matchless gift, Love, through His son Jesus Christ.

So how do I explain to my grandchildren how and why I choose to celebrate this great gift from God? This is what I will tell them.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth because for me it is an overwhelmingly joyful event and for me the greatest gift humans were ever given. I know that it was not the custom or the culture to celebrate birthdays two thousand years ago; but that was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth in late December because it is a time of change, it is a time of clearing the slate, and it is a time of preparing to start another season of life. In our climate it is a time of peacefulness and quiet and stillness. It is a time of stark beauty. It is a time of brightness in the night sky. It is a time of great expectations for the future. I could just as easily choose to celebrate in the spring, another new season, but that is a time of rebirth when I celebrate his death and resurrection. I could choose to celebrate at the Jewish celebration of Sukkoth which may or may not be a more accurate choice from the standpoint of the ancient calendar. I do not choose because the Council of Nicaea chose the Feast of Saturnalia nearly 1700 years ago. I do not choose because of the modern culture I have lived in for over 60 years. That was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth with the giving of gifts to those I love and cherish. God gave the greatest gift of all, His love through His son. How can I not pass that gift along through the gift of my time and love to my family and friends and even my enemies as Jesus taught me to do? Will God condemn me if I give tokens of my love and affection along with that love and affection? I don’t think so. Historically the Magi gave gifts to honor Kings; gifts were not given on birthdays. That was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth by placing mementos of God’s love, and my family’s love and of special events on a fir tree, a tree that maintains its color through the seasons and reminds me of another of God’s great gifts, this Earth and all life upon it. I could just as easily not keep any mementos, or I could place them on a mantel, or a table, or a shelf. Western Europeans used a tree for other special events and pagan purposes centuries ago. But that was then, this is now, and I choose.

I choose to celebrate Christ’s birth with the majority of my Christian community so we can raise our voices together.  I want to join my voice with others and sing the beautiful and moving songs of the season; the songs of faith and joy and love.  I choose to celebrate in fellowship…I choose.

My choice poses challenges, a kind of Christmas conundrum when it comes to those I love who choose differently. I can settle into the gloom of our different choices, or I can choose the fact that those I love still celebrate Jesus’ birth and life joyfully, however and whenever they choose to do so. And I choose joy.

It troubles me that there is so much discord these days about the holidays and the reason that Christmas was created and celebrated as a holiday. It troubles me that consumerism and materialism have encroached on the religious nature of the holiday. And it does trouble me that the decision by the Romans to position Christmas on December 25 was in effect co-opting a pagan celebration. But I believe it was done at least to some degree with the intent of making disciples for Christ, and that’s not a bad thing.

No, I don’t believe God would condemn me to hell for celebrating His son’s birth as I choose to, any more than He would condemn me for choosing to worship as a Methodist instead of as a Calvinist or a Lutheran or a Baptist or a Catholic.

It’s a long explanation that my grandchildren are not yet ready for; and it will come out gradually as they begin to ask questions. Until then I will happily celebrate Christmas at least twice each year, once with my daughter and her family at Sukkoth, and once in December for me. In fact, I think I’ll just celebrate Christmas every day of the year by giving the gift of time, love, and the occasional gold, frankincense, and myrrh when I can’t be the hands, feet and heart of Christ in person.

And to all of you readers out there, know that when I wish you a Merry Christmas, it’s only because I know what I celebrate, but I don’t know if you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Ramadan, or even Festivus. All I wish for you is joy and peace no matter how or what you celebrate this season, your choice…Pops

20131217 – Empty Nest, Full Hearts

A little more than thirty-three years ago our nest consisted of two humans and a canine. And then another precious little human appeared in our nest. We adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways he should go. About four years after that another little human graced our nest with her presence. And we adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways she should go. Others joined us in our safe and warm little nest for a little while or longer. And we sheltered and helped and supported and shared a little of our hearts with each of them before they ventured out again.

For all of these years our nest was never empty, until now. The little human who first appeared in our nest has become the last to leave, big and strong and mature, ready to make his own way in the world, his lovely bride by his side. As we helped them move over the weekend I began to ponder life in an empty nest, and found I wasn’t as excited about the prospect as I first thought I would be.

Part of living in the sandwich is caring for and taking care of your extended family, and feeling needed and important and loved in the process. How does that continue to work in their absence, when the sandwich is no more?

Our youngest left first and now lives on the other side of a continent; but we still talk with her almost daily as she shares the challenges of raising her own family and asks questions about so many different things that are new to her but facts of life for us.

Our oldest left last and now lives just a short drive away. Will we still talk with him daily? Will he call with questions about new challenges they face? Will he ask us over just to share a meal or fix something around the house? Will I still get to be a Dad every once in a while?

Many years ago, as he reached college age, I wrote a little poem, blank verse, about his leaving the nest. Now that time has finally come:

There he goes!  Made it out of the bedroom, now he’s down the hall.

Watch him turn the corner, Oops!  The carpet got him but that’s okay.

His first solo steps, and he wasted no time!

Traveled half the house on the very first try.

“How far can I go Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, thank you for giving us a son.

“Wow Daddy, a shiny new tricycle, blue with silver fenders!”

“Here we go Son, put your feet right here, now push one, then the other.”

There he goes!  Made it down the drive.

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please protect our son.

“Hey Daddy, a bicycle with training wheels!  Thanks!”

“Here we go Son, just like your trike, but you need to balance.

Don’t worry, I’m holding on to the seat.  You can do it.”

“Okay Daddy, let go now.  I can do it!

How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please keep him safe.

“Daddy, these training wheels are really noisy!”

“Well let’s take them off, Son.  Now you steer and balance together.

Feel how it stays up, and turns if you lean?”

“Its tricky Daddy, but I can do it!”  “Lets try again.”

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please comfort him when he falls.

“Gee Dad, this mountain bike is great!  Thanks!”

“Do you need some help Son?  Those gears are kind of tough to handle.

Feel each click of the shift, pick the right gear to get you up the hill.”

“I feel it Dad, sometimes it’s hard to pedal, sometimes easy.”  “That’s right, Son.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please give him strength for the mountains he’ll climb.

“Hey Dad, Drivers’ Ed is a lot of fun!

But I didn’t know there was so much to learn about driving.”

“Lots of rules Son, but they come with the territory.

Remember, take care of the car, mind the rules, and be sensible.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please show him the way, and give him faith.

“Car’s all loaded Dad; I’m ready to go.”

“Got everything you need, Son?”  “I think so.”

“What about…”  “Hang on to it for me, would you please?”

“Sure Son, remember to call, and write!”  “Thanks Dad, I promise I will!”

“How far will you be going, Son?”  “We’ll see Dad, we’ll see.”

Lord, walk with him every mile.

Hugs all around, then Mom and Dad retreat to the front room, 

and part the curtains a bit.

He backs down the drive, pauses, and signs “I love you” through the glass.

Holding each other, they mouth the words back, then wave as he pulls away.

Brake lights at the street corner…moist eyes in the front room.

She searches his face, “Will he be okay?”  His strained whisper, “We’ll see…”

Lord, we entrust him to you, and thank you for the privilege.

20131203 – Empty Nests and the Christmas Letter

Some of you are certainly prompt with your Christmas cards and letters! The first two arrived in the mail yesterday, emphasizing the big task on my list for the next few weeks; that of completing our own family Christmas greetings before the big event. I’m excited about the task ahead and looking forward to reconnecting with long-missed friends and distant family members. At the same time I have mixed emotions about this season. This just may be a hard to write Christmas Letter.

I always look forward to Christmas as not just a celebration of Christ’s birth, but a celebration of love and family and faith. It’s the giving of time and self much more than the giving of gifts that makes this holiday special for me. But this will be a celebration of mixed blessings, this Christmas of 2013. This year our home will feel more empty than it has in thirty-three years as this season marks the end of multiple generations sharing this place, and this space. It will be our first empty nest Christmas since we began our family a third of a century ago.

Oh yes, we’ll have plenty of family time, not to worry; but to wake up on Christmas morning to a quiet house, and not hear the squeal of little voices or the patter of little feet (or these days the gentle treading of my son’s size eleven slippers) will not necessarily be a welcome change. It will be a difficult adjustment, one that I do not anticipate with joy, one that will not provoke a, “Yes, finally have the house to ourselves again” kind of feeling (although I’m sure that sentiment will flash through my brain on occasion, perhaps in the middle of a steamy hot shower, or watching a movie in the family room in my pajamas).

Passages, reimagining life as I mentioned last week; that is what is being thrust upon us this Christmas season. And with no children at home, and grandchildren at the other end of the continent, this will be a rather abrupt shift to a new stage of life for us.

S and L, and D and I were working away at Mom’s condo Saturday, packing and painting and arranging, and sneaking in a quick pizza and soda for sustenance. It felt good and it brought back memories of our own first move to our own place. It’s a good thing to take on that responsibility, and the even bigger responsibility of being a caretaker for Grandma’s place for a time, a responsibility S and L are not taking lightly. Still, they’re excited to be moving out and taking this large next step in their life together as a couple.

Put in the context of celebrating new life, I think this Christmas will be exactly that, a time to celebrate the birth of newly re-imagined lives and the baby steps it takes to start down new paths, paths that may take us far apart, but at the end of life as we know it, will inevitably bring us back together in that sweet eternal, multigenerational home that my faith tells me is waiting somewhere down the road.

And speaking of Christmas Letters, are you for or against them? I have to say for, but with specific conditions: they should be limited to two pages or less including photos; and they should be directed at close friends and family with whom you have not been able to share the gift of time over the past year. I suppose a third condition might be that they cover major events or life changes, but not offer a blow by blow chronology of the entire year. But hey, that’s just my opinion, and how I approach my letters.

Christmas Letters are important to me because we have close friends and relatives who we rarely have a chance to see or talk with. I treasure those relationships but sometimes I have no way to share just how much they mean to me other than through a letter. The Christmas Letter is my way of reaching out and asking how they are and what important things have happened in their lives over the past year. And it’s my way of answering those same questions I assume they might have of me. Maybe I’m foolish to make that assumption, you know, that someone might actually care about me and my family the way I care for them. So be it; I’ll take that chance because Christmas for me is an affirmation of life and love and family and relationships. Oh, and if you’re friends or relatives who haven’t heard from us at Christmas recently and have been missing that connection then feel free to take me to task for that oversight; I’ve probably screwed up the Christmas Letter list somehow.

Empty nests and Christmas Letters; hmm…what strange bedfellows in the pondering business. Although that peculiar linkage may just get me past the emptiness I’m already starting to feel and warm up the old ticker enough to get me started on this year’s Christmas Letter…Pops

20131202 – Just Wow!

On Sunday afternoon my little suburb made me seriously proud, extremely ecstatic, and appropriately humbled to explore the absolutely beautiful performance spaces and supporting facilities of the new Jenison Center for the Arts. It is without a doubt one of the finest community performing arts centers I have ever been blessed to visit.

There are two groups of people who deserve special recognition for this accomplishment: the students of the Jenison Public Schools who have, through their persistent determination over the years to perform at the caliber deserving of Grammy Award status, demonstrated the need and the demand for a facility capable of supporting their gifts, talents, passions, and energy; and the residents who had the courage and will to invest their hard-earned financial resources in their community.

And let’s not forgot those visionaries whose determination brought this facility to life, who saw this project through, and the more than two dozen West Michigan contractors who contributed their efforts to its successful conclusion.

As I walked from space to space listening to our student guides describe the facilities and share interesting facts about all I could do was say, “Wow!”, lift my jaw off the floor, and again say, “Wow!” There are not adequate superlatives to describe just how remarkable a facility this is. It is destined to become the cornerstone of community pride and a magnet for new economic growth and expansion. I for one can’t wait; and I’m happy to be a resident in and beneficiary of all of the wonderful celebrations of the arts sure to be experienced in this place.

Did I say, “Wow?” Well then, “Wow!” it is…Pops

20131129 – Reimagining Life

I was reading AARP magazine (of course I’m old enough, it’s R rated for Retired!) and found one story after another worth pondering today; yes THREE DAYS overdue, I know. But hopefully you will benefit from more thoughtful pondering this week.

Marlo Thomas wrote a column called “On My Mind” where she shared some engaging thoughts on multi-generational bonding.  It’s a good read if you can get your hands on a copy of the October/November 2013 issue. Having grown up surrounded by her father’s comedian friends and movie and TV show producers her whole life she found herself always bonding with people a generation or more senior to her. She mentioned Pew Research Center survey results showing that 51 million Americans live in a household shared with two or more adult generations, up ten percent over the last three years.

She also talked about the wisdom shared and the education she received through those bonds. Yeah, I can relate; in my younger days I remember bonding much more easily with those a generation older than myself.  Not really sure why that was, it just was. I also found in her words reinforcement for my sense that multi-generational living can be a good and healthy thing, and very beneficial for all generations in the household. Providing of course that they learn how to live together as adults and give each other the space and the loving and nurturing relationships they need.

It seems to me like MG living was the order of the day for centuries and only in the last half century or so have we transformed from 'we' people to 'me' people. Nice to see, according to the Pew research that we may be tipping back toward more of a ‘we’ culture.

Another story talked about Valerie Harper’s determination and spirit in the face of a terminal illness at the age of 74; an age which doesn’t seem particularly old to me anymore now that I’m 63. There’s a lot to be said for a positive attitude, determination, and always putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult the path we choose or have forced upon us.

The magazine caught me by surprise when I discovered identified in its pages the city of Grand Rapids, Michigan, my adopted (at age 30) home town, as one of the top cities in the country for retirees with an income of under $30,000 per year. Huh? Well yeah! Housing isn’t too expensive, taxes are a sore spot but not horrible, and there are pro sports, concerts, cultural events, and recreational opportunities too numerous to mention all year ‘round, and lots of it free, yes maybe there really is an occasional free lunch! Two miles from my home I can hop on a bike trail network and ride dozens or even hundreds of miles on marked, maintained and vehicle free trails.

On Monday nights during the summer I can go to free jazz concerts with friends, and even ride my bike into town from the suburbs to attend the concerts if I want. I can watch sunsets on the beach of our own ‘West Coast’ (shark free!) and camp at over eighty state and two national parks within an in-state drive. And with a decent airport we can get anywhere in the country or North America for that matter without too much trouble. And for us aging folks health care in this city is not to be sneezed at; not with some of the top rated hospitals and specialists in the country. Not too shabby a retirement in my book.

And that brings me to the last interesting story, reimagining life. Now I know most of us go through a midlife ‘crisis’ regarding life and career choices, but how many of us really look at it as more of an opportunity, no matter what the triggering event, to reimagine what our lives can become? For many of us the crisis arises in our early forties when we have second thoughts about the path we chose. But almost universally we face this opportunity when we’re in our fifties or early sixties and considering retirement. Whether this opportunity is thrust upon us through loss of a job, illness, age, or relocation or it’s a choice we’ve made to change; what a great opportunity it is, to reimagine what our life might be like.

Until I was thirty, I pretty much got to live as me even with the divine Miss D joining me in my twenties. I chose my educational and early career path, and we did things for me, or us, like skiing, four-wheeling, camping, hiking, or just parking it and watching college football on a sunny Saturday afternoon. We didn’t worry much about health or family; after all, we were healthy and our families could take care of themselves. Yeah, we missed them some, but that was the extent of it.

From thirty to sixty it was all about family, raising kids, keeping an eye on aging parents, keeping up with the siblings, making sure we could pay the bills. Sure the midlife crisis hit, causing a fair amount of personal angst, some job changes, and rising concerns about the state of our future finances. It felt like a constant state of worry; even when vacationing at Mammoth Cave, or Disneyworld, or the Colorado Rockies.

So what can life be like from sixty-(three) to ninety? Maybe I can make a difference to small businesses in our community; a whole new semi-retired vocational track. I’ve been privileged to be elected Chairman-elect of our local chamber of commerce board of directors for 2015 – lots of opportunity to give back to businesses and the communities we serve. I like that.

On a personal level, maybe we can spend more time going to concerts, taking college classes, engaging in hobbies, camping, hiking, biking, taking up new sports like kayaking, building new friendships, living a little easier; in short doing more of the things we like but haven’t had time for over the last thirty years. Maybe we can travel enough to spend time with our children and grandchildren, no matter where they land. I suppose we’ll always worry about money, we just seem to be that way even though we already have enough to retire fairly comfortably. Reimagining life may require a little acceptance of “the way we are” and that’s OK as long as it ensures some caution and wisdom, and doesn’t keep us from living that newly reimagined life.

When you really start to reimagine your life you realize that you don’t have to be facing a radical change in circumstances, you can decide to reimagine your life no matter where you are in it if the time feels right. You also realize that regardless of the new path you choose you don’t have to do it all at once; in fact it’s probably better to take the changes slow and easy. That way you can always turn, stop, or back up without getting yourself too far out on a slippery slope.

In short, no matter how you reimagine your life, no matter where you are in life, regardless of your age or health, baby steps are a good idea.

Thanks to my grandson E (who I’m missing very much this holiday week) for helping me visualize stepping out, with baby steps, into a life reimagined…Pops

20131119 – Friends

I settled into my usual spot this morning for some heavy duty pondering when, not unexpectedly, my buddy Stu wandered over, tray in hand, gently moved The Hat aside and settled into the chair across from me at my high-top table. I felt my throat tighten as I quickly closed my laptop and gave Stu, whose best friend Thom had just passed away, my undivided attention.

Two hours passed quickly by as we reminisced about our relationships with Thom and each other over the past 33 years. We talked about all of the railroading we had done together, but we talked more about the camaraderie we shared that transcended the hobby. More than once the corner of Stu’s eye glistened as he recounted the times of need when his friend was there for him and how he returned the favor when his friend needed him. How often did we stop talking just to let the raw emotion pass before we could speak again? And when he said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him…” I truly began to understand the depth of their friendship.

It is a friendship that stands the test of time and distance. It stands the test of disagreement and frustration. It stands the test of personal strife and pain. It spills over into the rest of the family. It swells to engulf whole groups of people. It is a friendship that has a beginning, but no end.

Oh how I have missed that connection, that group of friends, that band of brothers and their families, as I moved on with my own family and my life. Friends often bridge time and distance like it was just yesterday. But what of the opportunities lost between those times, during those gaps when the relationship is left un-nurtured and ignored? Those lost opportunities become the seeds of regret and loneliness. And unfortunately for me, I have tended those seeds rather than those friendships far too long. Lesson experienced…and understood…but not yet applied.

I suspect we’ve all learned that lesson at least once, if not many times over. And I know that we sometimes make conscious decisions about friendships that no longer seem meaningful to us.

Many years ago my wife and I found a story about “little while” friends and shared it with our daughter when she made new friends during our week long camping trips, in hopes that she could appreciate those times when she might bond with someone for a time, only to leave that relationship behind as she continued on with her life.

I think it behooves us all to examine our relationships carefully, and recognize the difference between little while friends and lifelong friends. We can’t afford the mistake of casting off relationships thinking they were just little while friends and suffering the resulting pain of regret and loneliness instead of enjoying the love and happiness that comes from nurturing a group of lifelong friends, friends that become part of our earthly family.

For Stu and Thom it started with a meeting at a local hobby shop. It grew and flourished. And it won’t die just because Thom did. We all leave a legacy; part of Thom’s is an undying friendship.

What about yours … Pops

20131118 – Thom

It’s been a weekend filled with fond memories and regrets as I learned Sunday afternoon of my friend Thom’s passing. It’s Thom, not Tom, as he was quick to note when we first met over thirty years ago. It was early in 1981 and we had just moved from Colorado to Grand Rapids, which, as I knew from my model railroading connections, was a hotbed of model railroading activity and the location of a nationally published author and modeler, Dr. Bruce Chubb and his Sunset Valley Railroad.

As I worked my way into the local division of the National Model Railroad Association I eventually connected with Bruce and Thom and was invited to work on the railroad Bruce was always writing about. Thom was a long time associate of Bruce’s and a respected operator on the SV as well as an accomplished model railroader in his own right. He along with several of the other operators and builders of the SV, showed this young thirty-something lone wolf of a railroader the ropes, and welcomed me into the operators group which would become known as the Kenowa Valley Switching and Sipping Society.

Thom encouraged me to be more active in the hobby and in the local organization; and eventually promised to serve as my Vice Chair when our local division hosted a successful regional convention in 1988. He taught me more about railroad operations including dispatching and modeling and we collaborated on programming software on a new at the time TRS 80 PC to help with simulating the scheduling and car forwarding that would occur on a real railroad.

Over the years our little band of railroading brothers worked on and operated on each other’s railroads and had some great fun together including hazing and teasing, and the Christmas Parties and tongue-in-cheek annual Golden Spike award for not so distinguished events; well, you had to be there.

As my interest in model railroading waned and family events took priority I regretfully let my relationship with those guys slide and eventually stopped operating and building with the boys. It had been the better part of 15 years since I was actively involved with the KVS&SS when I ran into one of the group while blogging in my normal hangout one Tuesday morning a few months ago.

During our chat I told Stu I’d really be interested in seeing the group and operating with them once again. He put me in touch with Thom who promised me he’d add me on the Extra Board when he needed operators, and proceeded to do that just a few weeks later. Unfortunately, I was sick on the appointed day, and with Thom suffering from pulmonary fibrosis I passed on the opportunity to avoid infecting him. Shortly thereafter Thom came down with complications, went to the hospital, was placed in a drug-induced coma, and passed away.

I had waited too long…and life caught up with Thom and me. He was a good and trusted ally, a loyal convention companion and co-worker, and a steady coach and mentor. And I lost the chance to tell him that one last time.

He was my friend, and I will miss him more than he will know…Pops

20131113 – Wednesday with Terry?

My apologies loyal readers as an epic battle Tuesday with some very tenacious wallpaper lulled my brain into continuously looping the Jeopardy Final Answer music; crippling it and leaving it unable to pursue serious pondering. Fortunately my equally determined son, armed with an industrial strength wallpaper steamer and thirty fewer years of excess baggage joined me in battle; and sustained by moral support from the lovely Ms. D and equally lovely daughter-in-law E who also rounded up copious quantities of pizza and breadsticks, we triumphed over the paper monster.

Yesterday’s activities were just another reminder of how fortunate D and I are to have some of our immediate family close by (and how much we miss those who aren’t). Cleaning and renovating Mom-in-Law’s condo is a daunting enough task, and having some help certainly eases the burden. It also helps to have your children empathize with you and appreciate the mental strain you are going through in trying to whittle away everything but the essentials of the estate of someone still with us.

We worry constantly about how much to do to MIL’s primary residence even though we know she’ll not be returning; trying to guess at what will upset her and what she’ll be OK with. Sure we ask her opinion, communicate with her about each step we take and try to make sure she’s OK with it, but often she’ll bring it up again with a whole different perspective when we’ve already taken action. Frustrating…

With our Son and DIL as caretakers, they’re very sensitive to what Grandma would want, so their sensitivity will be very comforting when they take temporary custody of Grandma’s place. Ultimately she seems OK with all of the choices, but it is still her home and it will be for as long as she’s with us. Sandwich living can really be a bear sometimes! But we’re all family, and this is the way things are.

My Son and I got into a good discussion about the big picture of family this week. Years ago the “family” might have property in the city, in the country and at the shore; of course some wealthy families still do.  His perspective on property is a little different than that of other young people today as he sees his Grandma’s property as something he has as much responsibility for as his grandma and his parents. It’s a bigger picture of what the family has and what the family is, kind of a multigenerational living philosophy applied to more than just happening to reside in the same building. In fact S emphasized that it’s not really the property, or even multiple properties, but a sense of place; it wouldn’t matter where the property was actually located. Hey S, hope I got that right.

I could see that S gets what I was talking about a few posts back; that this conversation was as much about roots as it was property and generations living together. It led me back to the reunion this past summer and how I felt knowing my family’s history and that I had many more connections than I ever imagined before. Using a flora and fauna analogy I think people really need both roots and wings. We expect our children to fly, to become independent, to grow and live successful lives on their own and with their chosen mates.

But with wings come flocks and migration and breeding grounds; those sound a lot like roots to me. Yes I suppose a few of us are raptors (eagles, hawks, falcons for you non-birders) and lead a semi-solitary life. But it was pretty obvious to me that S appreciated having roots as well. And when you have roots you nurture and care for them as much you do those who have taken wing and flown.

Wow, rereading this post I realize yesterday’s battle must have scrambled my brain, this post is all over the place and not very cohesive. Well hopefully it still provides some food for thought.

Meanwhile I’m recuperating from my battle wounds, tending the roots, and preserving a home base for those who have sprouted wings (and, I suppose you could say, flown the coop!)…Pops

20131106 – Speaking of Family and Particularly Dads

As I sat eating breakfast this morning I happened to think back on a conversation with my Dad on Sunday. We were talking about his upcoming skin cancer surgery, transportation plans and how I always thought it was nice to have family present during medical procedures, not just for drop off and pick up chores. I often did that for my father-in-law when he had his skin cancer procedures.

The conversation drifted to other things including Thanksgiving plans, and Dad let slip that one of his regrets at age 86 was that he didn’t spend more time with his kids. I commiserated with him a bit and extended that thought to grandkids as well. The conversation ended and I didn’t think about it again until this morning when I realized it would be a good follow up to yesterday’s post.

As I wandered back in time I realized that some of the best times I ever had were those I spent with my Dad. When I was five and Dad was only about 27 or 28 years old he began building our new house and doing most of the work himself. He’d take me out to the house with him where I helped him carry concrete blocks for the basement walls and he showed me how to mix concrete and how to butter and stack the blocks together. I learned about running bonds and framing and plumbing and electricity and plastering and painting and hardwood flooring before I was ten years old, because of my Dad.

My Dad and I joined a young kids program called Indian Guides and he showed me how to hammer designs into totem blocks and how to lace together moccasins from a kit and how Native American people lived for hundreds of years hunting and trapping and paddling about in birch bark canoes. Dad would take me down to the YMCA to go swimming. Mom became a Den Leader while I was in Cub Scouts. Dad joined Boy Scouts with me and stayed with the scouting program until I was old enough to become a Junior Assistant Scoutmaster and earn my Life Scout rank. He was with me when I learned about camping and canoeing and camp cooking and swimming and life saving and all those other merit badges I earned.

Dad and Mom took us on some great vacations to Niagara Falls and Tahquamenon Falls, and state parks all over Michigan. We camped alongside the St. Mary’s river south of Sault Ste. Marie and were amazed by the great heavily laden freighters that sucked the water out of the cove as they passed. We stood on the shore under the Mackinac Bridge when it was barely five years old and he took pictures with that gleaming bridge in the background. I got to see the big fort just west of the bridge and it inspired my interest in Native American history even more.

Dad encouraged me to sing in the church choir when I was only a teenager, and to try out in school musicals that he and Mom always came to see. He taught me how to play golf and told me about the silly “mashies and groovies” game he and his buddies used to play during their league time at Red Arrow Golf Course.

Dad was a draftsman; they call them technical illustrators now. He taught me how to use the tools of the trade and, when I was good enough he had me do some drawing work for the patent attorneys he worked for. He never told me how many of my drawings he had to redo before they were good enough for the US Patent Office; I assumed most if not all of them; but he shared with me his love for his trade and I found that I loved it, too.

Time and distance pulled us apart as I graduated from high school and college, married, entered the military and relocated to Colorado, but Mom and Dad came to visit us. On one trip Dad and I found time to visit the Colorado Railroad Museum, to take the Landcruiser up into the mountains for a back country ride and race to see the train enter the Moffat tunnel up close. It was my time to give back a little to my Dad and it’s a trip we’ve never forgotten.

And last Summer I got to be with my Dad for, as he describes it, the “best time I’ve had in a hundred years”; that visit with my sister to Wallingford, Connecticut where we celebrated the four hundredth anniversary of our Great Grandfather Nathaniel’s birth. We began to see how we fit into that family picture of the Merrimans, and of Nathaniel who first landed on the Massachusetts shore in 1632 and helped found Wallingford in 1670.

All those times together, and Dad still regrets that he didn’t spend more time with his kids. Well Dad, I regret that I didn’t do half as good a job with my kids as you did with yours, this one anyway.

I keep hearing this theme every day, everywhere, from nearly everyone I meet: things don’t matter, time and people do. And out of the mouth of the last person I ever expected to hear it from, “I regret I didn’t spend more time with my kids.”

I don’t think it’s possible to spend too much time with your family, but I suspect no matter how much time they spent with their kids, every parent would say that it was not enough; it’s never enough. My Dad said it; I’ve said it; you’ll say it too.

For all of the time you gave me, I love you Dad…

20131105 – Resilience and Family

How do you deal with tough times and difficult situations? Are you resilient? Do you bounce back? Do you take things in stride? Do you move forward, past, beyond the event or environment? If you’re anything like me, you’ve never stopped to think about how your mindset as a child and young adult helps you cope with tragedies and loss. How would you respond if you suddenly lost a loved one? What if you lost your job or were forced into a career change? What if a change in circumstances took you two thousand miles away from the life you planned for your family? What if a short notice, short term project separated you and your spouse for a month or more?

A model railroader friend’s wife pulled into a parking spot to organize her food following her visit to the drive-through this morning. Another railroading friend and his wife joined me for breakfast, but not before he noticed B in the parking lot and walked over to check on her. He reported that she seemed OK and rather stoic as she pulled away; and then he explained to me that her husband and my railroading buddy of 33 years was in a drug induced coma and not expected to live. I hadn’t heard because we’ve been out of touch for ten years and just recently reconnected – he’s the only one in the group who had my email address and no-one else knew how to reach me to tell me what happened a week ago. I’m struggling today…

B is soldiering on, as is another railroad buddy of mine whose wife is in assisted living with Alzheimer’s. And another railroading buddy’s wife is suffering the ravages of age; but he’s so dependent on her we don’t think he’ll last a year if she goes first.

It appears as though life is catching up with the Kenowa Valley Switching and Sipping Society; and each of us is coping in different ways. S told me the group has an understanding that whenever one of us passes away, the rest of the group will take care of his railroad so his spouse won’t have to carry that burden alone.

As adults we’ve developed our own ways of coping, or not, and dealing with the aging process and the infirmities that come with it. But what about our offspring and how they will cope with the trials and tribulations of life? Will they make it? Will they be OK?

I wonder why some young people turn to drugs and gangs and life on the streets to cope, and I realize that maybe it’s all they’ve ever known because they’ve learned it from their families, and they’ve lived it. They may not even know there’s another side to their family history because they’ve never been exposed to it.

I recently read a Readers Digest article, “The Stories That Bind Us”, about resilience factors in children. I couldn’t find the RD story online, but it was derived from the same material that this New York Times story was. Resilience it seems has at least some foundation in the family narrative that is shared with our children around the dinner table. But another article that lists the questions which comprised the study cautions that it’s not just about the dinner narrative. It’s more about all facets and processes of family life and relationships, and in particular the ‘communication of history’ process and the early imprinting of children on their parents and siblings.

We do our kids a huge favor by building a strong sense of family, establishing family traditions, building effective relationship developing processes, and sharing with them the good and the bad in our family’s history. We help them by grounding them in the family and making sure they get the bigger picture and how they fit into it. They need to know about their roots and the family’s branches. Some of the best life lessons of those who persevered come not just from the experiences of strangers but the experiences of family members.

Relating to another recent post of mine this just seems to reinforce with me the importance of preserving some family history through the tradition of storytelling, and supplementing the stories with a little documentation and some family heirlooms. It appears becoming a family historian in a small way as I proposed is a noble endeavor and one not to be taken lightly. And I think it’s never too late to begin telling the family narrative, and adding to it every chance we get.

Parenting and grand parenting just became way more important to me than a lot of other things I could be doing in these later years of my life. I just wish there was a way to know if we were successful in helping our kids become resilient, and close-knit; and that they, too, will soldier on without us. Maybe all we’ll get is an occasional clue:

Son to daughter: I always knew you could …

Daughter to son: You taught me most of what I know about …

D whispering to me: “they’ll be OK…”

Oops; once again throat tightening, eyes welling…Pops

20131029 – Euphoria, Face Time and Unintended Consequences

Yesterday, following a weekend of wind and rain which resulted in a bumper crop of walnuts, it seemed appropriate to rethink my previous decision to just mow over them, wisdom being the better part of valor, and all that. Facing the prospect of a bone jarring, tooth rattling, glasses-cap-hearing protector shaking ride, I grabbed a rake and headed into the walnut laced perimeter to do battle.

I rather quickly discovered the unintended consequence of my previous tactic. While I mowed I certainly did a good job of husking the walnuts, and an even better job of pressing the remaining nuts deeply into the soft soil of the yard where the tines of a leaf rake were of little use. After one broken rake and two sore shoulders I abandoned the attempt and contrived my new approach.

Today, after my euphoric experience and a little face time (more to come on those two counts) I returned to the great outdoors, this time armed with two rakes including one of the stiff-backed, steel-tined garden variety. Step one; rake the leaves and loose walnuts with the leaf rake. Step two; switch to the garden rake and re-rake the entire the walnut perimeter, using the tines to pry the embedded walnuts out of the sod. Lesson learned: rake first, then mow. Price: double the original cleanup time before this mowing. Result: much smoother and stress free mowing experience, plus several hundred calories burned. Well, on to more pleasant thoughts.

Not that I would categorize a Stress Nuclear Heart Exam as a pleasant experience; but strangely enough, I felt rather euphoric during the drive home. I had obviously been stressing about this stress test for several weeks. My blood pressure was way up, I was feeling edgy, and I was asking all sorts of questions of the technicians even though I’d been through this test at least four times over the past several years. Last year’s test uncovered more coronary artery blockage and resulted in a new stent.

What would they find this time? Nothing. Fully restored blood flow. Bright clear images. Clean bill of health. Driving home I’m feeling pretty good; better than pretty good; relieved; great; euphoric. Hmm…good word, euphoric. Guess I’ve used it more than enough for this post.

Having arrived home after four hours with the cardiologist including drive time, I prepared a non-savory lunch to avoid temping my spouse to violate her pre-colonoscopy routine. For a little distraction she called our daughter to chat a bit. Speaker phone setting is mandatory to include the grand-kiddoes in the conversation. Our voices almost immediately prompted a request from Lil C to play with Meema and Pop-pop, meaning a switch to Skype for a little face time. Hey, who are we to pass up this opportunity? Who cares if we can’t touch the dolly as long as C puts the doll’s basket right in front of the camera and demonstrates how she cares for and tucks in her little friend? And proceeds to tell you all about it, and sings little praise songs she learned from her dad, and throws in a verse or two of “It’s a Small World”.

Interrupted by E’s demonstration of his prowess with nearly a quarter of the alphabet, C stated, “I need to practice my letter skills too,” remarkably articulate for a three year old don’t you think? She proceeded to pick up each letter E had just identified, repeat it and show it to us before getting back to our play time with the doll.

Words and letters from E, play time with C, and a chat with K; all in all a nice bit of face time with the family. That, some good news and a healthy bout of exercise made for a good day…

Another good day of life in the sandwich…Pops

20131022 – What Do I Do With It All???

A few years ago John Ortberg wrote a book titled When the Game is Over, It All Goes Back in the Box. The title is an obvious reference to the idea that when we die we don’t get to take anything with us; but there is much more to his book than the title. Right now though, I’m fixating on the title, particularly as we deal with all of D’s Mom’s stuff following her move to assisted living. The box isn’t BIG enough!

I’ve spoken a few times in this blog about boxes; thinking outside of them, putting stuff in them, sorting through old ones, well you catch my drift. Anyway, D and I hauled a large assortment of boxes out of her Mom’s place last weekend, most filled with cherished photographs and old scrapbooks, not to mention things like seventy year old transcripts and grandparents’ birth, baptism, confirmation, and death certificates, deeds, mortgages, D’s Dad’s photography studies and Army Air Force memorabilia. It was enough to fill the back of my SUV!

Because I’m a sentimental old packrat we already have a ton of this kind of stuff in our house and now we’re bringing over another ton to rummage through while we’re getting the condo ready for its next tenant. I’m thinking, “How can I possibly sort through all of this and decide what to keep and what to pitch?” It all has meaning for someone, but in what way and for whom?

There is a wealth of advice on the ‘net about sorting out and shrinking down accumulations of stuff, and organizing important papers that you should keep; but this stuff is a little different. It’s a huge archive of historical information and documents which have little or no legal or financial significance once wills have been discharged and real estate and investments distributed to their new owners.

Since I’m a bit of a genealogy nut I decided to try looking at this whole process from that perspective. And you know it actually started to get a little easier. Here’s my approach.

First I ask myself what’s important about what I’m handling. Is it relevant to a significant event in or a characteristic of the life of the person it represents; i.e., me or another family member? Would it help in telling that person’s life story? If not, it can go. If so, is it a duplicate or a lower quality version of something else? Then it can go. If not, is it the object or the information that’s relevant? If it’s the information then it can be transcribed (scanned, copied, etc.) to standardized digital formats and stored on CD or DVD and the original object can go. If it is the information and the object together, for example, an heirloom and its associated written lineage, then it’s a candidate, once properly protected and preserved, for display or retention in the associated memory box. (See, I did get back around to boxes, eventually.)

Having completed this process I’ll be left with a small (I hope) box of assorted artifacts meaningful to anyone interested in the family’s history, and digital collections of any documents, photographs, videos and audio recordings that with today’s optical storage technology (CDs and DVDs) will fit in a shoebox inside that same memory box. I suppose if there is a lot of audio and video the number of CDs and DVDs could be significant. At any rate, I’ll have enough relevant material to write a biography about each family member or family unit that can then be attached to our digital family tree. Oops, I think I just appointed myself family historian.

Seems like a good place to try this approach is with D’s family’s stuff since she’s an only child and her Dad was an only too. Plus right now most of that stuff is together in one place. Unfortunately that one place is our home; the rear entry, the living room, my office, the family room, our bedroom, the basement…hmm.

Well, please feel free to weigh in on the idea, and give it a try if you think it might work for you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be testing the theory…Pops

20131015 – Another Cadence and Caring for Number One

I suspected it would be a busy Tuesday with Terry, and it hasn’t disappointed. Mom-in-law said, “yes” to my breakfast invitation necessitating a bit of extra driving and adding to the schedule of events which already included stops at the attorney’s office, the bank, home to make copies, then the post office and finally lunch and blogging time. Driving the great circle route and making as many right turns and as few left turns as I could plan into the trip resulted in the rather fortuitous choice to stop for lunch at the “other” McD’s in town to enjoy a premium grilled chicken wrap, chilled beverage and some serious writing.

I say fortuitous because it appeared that I may have walked in on “take your grandkids to lunch” day at the one McD’s in town with a play room. An unscheduled but frequent happening, these things often occur on Tuesdays for some reason, perhaps coincidence, or perhaps “God-incidence”, and most often when I need some good fodder for pondering.

Sealing the deal was the mother who, two booths down, called to her daughter, “Cadence, Cadence!” I cast a startled glance in their direction and there were little Cadence, her sister, her mother and dad, and her grandmother, all reveling in her birthday celebration. I said hello and, after an OK from Mom she immediately said, “See my crown?” It had her name printed out in her mother’s nice and frilly handwriting. Holding up two hands, each with all five fingers extended she proudly announced to me that she was five years old. I explained that my granddaughter had the same name and just had a birthday herself. Then I thanked them all for triggering some good memories of our visit with our own Lil C less than two weeks ago.

At least three other tables and booths contained grandparents and grandchildren, and the playroom echoed with the laughter of several other young folk who managed to fit beneath the height restriction and found themselves firmly ensconced in various compartments of the elevated maze.

At one table sat a portly grandpa with his two grandsons, both dressed in identical blue golf shirts and jeans. They hurried through lunch, chatting with grandpa all the while and yet eager to hit the play room. As soon as he gave the OK they were off. He quietly cleared the table, grabbed the tray of trash in one hand and his portable oxygen device in the other and made his way to the trash bin, carefully placing his machine on the counter so he could use both hands to dump the tray. Then he walked slowly and cautiously back to the table and began to patiently wait for the two boys to wear themselves out.

In a booth around the corner sat two women, one a stocky thirty-something and the other a petite and spritely sixty plus with curly gray hair. As they talked it became obvious that their children/grandchildren had found the playroom and were whooping it up with the rest of the temporary tenants. Joining the two in the booth just a few minutes later was a tall, trim and tanned grandpa, with a full head of gray wavy hair, and dressed in jeans and a denim jacket.

I contemplated my own health as I contrasted the two granddads I just observed; one who could have just dismounted a horse after a morning herding cattle; the other for whom lunch alone was likely the limit of the physical exertion he could stand for the day. Hmm, I’ve got to take care of myself so I can be a caregiver to others. Wasn’t that just what I was thinking about earlier today?

I think about that a lot, especially since I’m a sixty-plus overweight diabetic with a heart condition. But even healthy caregivers need to not only think about it but do something about it. We’re not any good to anyone else unless we first take care of our own physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Every book for caregivers advises the same thing. And this includes moms and dads as well as grandparents and grandchildren.

We tend to think of the term ‘caregiver’ as applying to professionals and the sandwich generation like us taking care of aging parents. But it really applies also to moms and dads taking care of their children, and sometimes parents taking care of their grown but incapacitated children, or their capable adult children adversely impacted by tough times.

Every one of us can find ourselves in a caregiving role, planned or not. And families are just one big caregiving unit, raising children, supporting each other, and lending a hand to the aging and often the less fortunate. Very few of us avoid finding ourselves in a caregiving role at some point in our lives.

Back to breakfast this morning when my friend Jim briefly joined Mom and me, his breakfast crowd by chance having selected the very McD’s that Mom and I frequent on our Tuesday morning outings. Ever the gracious and kind gentleman, and a long-time friend of Mom and Dad’s, Jim welcomed Mom back and chatted at length about how he and Connie had missed seeing her in church, and missed Dad since his passing. Jim has been a caregiver himself and his wife has cared for stroke victims for the past thirty years. She’s turned her attention to Jim since his lung transplant more than a year ago and Jim has bounced back to remain the same caring and compassionate man he has always been.

It was obvious that the conversation provoked some thinking on Mom’s part because after breakfast she said something simple and yet profound on our way out the restaurant door, “You take care of yourself and make sure that D does the same!” I will Mom, I promise!

Well, I’m making progress on the healthy living front; losing weight, getting the lab numbers into normal ranges, exercising (but not enough yet), and spending some good chill time with the lovely and gracious soul mate of my life. With our roles flipped from the stereotypes we grew up with it is a challenge for us to take on each other’s typical tasks and responsibilities, at times frustrating, and at other times very satisfying. It’s also tough to anticipate each other’s needs and care for each other with all the busyness in our lives. And we’re not where we need to be on the “taking care of self” front, but we’re making progress there, too.

Want to be a good caregiver, no matter whom you’re caring for? Are you an inactive grandpa, or are you a sports-loving dad? Are you a cowboy? Or are you in less than the best health you can be? No matter where you’re starting, start! Start taking care of number one! And while you’re at it, remember to give yourself and your significant other the gift of time…together!

Doing the same…Pops

20131008 – Walnuts and Wonders

I spent a good chunk of this afternoon engaged in the ab-twisting, fat-jiggling, nut-shucking twice-weekly endeavor otherwise known as mowing the lawn. I use those carefully chosen modifiers to describe the experience of driving a lawn tractor over a prolific crop of walnuts provided by our particularly fertile forest, umm…grove, well actually – pair of walnut trees likely approaching 50 years of age and apparently in the prime of their lives.

Seeing a lawn at least eight days past its due date for mowing I couldn’t stomach the thought of spending three hours to first rake and/or pick up all of the walnuts that had fallen since last the lawn was mowed. That would be twelve days ago, but who’s counting? Plus, I had to tighten up my mowing pattern to double cut the seven inch long grass and avoid leaving clumps instead of mulched grass blades all over the place. I reasoned that mechanically shucking the walnuts by driving over them would make them easier to rake later, assuming the squirrels hold up their end of the bargain and bury or eat a few before I get to them.

While shaking off a few pounds I began pondering why I choose to put myself through this lawn mowing process for 7 to 8 months each year. At an hour a piece, and an average of three times every two weeks, by my reckoning that works out to about  40-45 hours per year; maybe even fifty if you believe global warming is impacting Michigan weather. That’s a lot of time to spend just mowing a lawn. Then there’s the weeding and mulching of flowerbeds, several thousand square feet of them, fertilizing the whole yard including shrubs and trees, pruning, planting, and winterizing; ow, my head hurts just thinking about how much time it takes to care for a yard.

What was I doing last week at this time? Spending time with my grandchildren examining little shells, watching shore birds, listening to the surf, finding little minnows in a stream, climbing rocks, having deep conversations with my three year old granddaughter; engaging in activities that remind me of the wonder I found in so many things when I was young. I spent some of those hours playing a fishing game with Lil C using a tiny fishing pole to snatch fish from the spinning “roundy-thing”. We built a wooden train layout involving, as I understand it, “uppy-pieces” to get the trains over the bridge across the lower tracks. I got to push E around on a little scooter in the back yard, and let him do backflips off my chest. I got to soothe my sick granddaughter by rubbing her back while she watched TV in misery. I got to have some good business conversation with my son-in-law, and watch my daughter be a great mommy and wife to her family. I got to experience wonder again, something that mostly passes us older folks by.

It’s a whole lot of work and love to raise a family. It’s a lot of work and a little bit of love to keep a nice yard. The thing is, my throat doesn’t tighten and the tears don’t well up when I park my tractor at the end of the day. It does and they do when I park that rental car in the airport lot.

Shucking walnuts and wondering…Pops

20131001 – A Good Day

Today was a good day. After a horrible infection in her throat and mouth, Lil C ate solid food for the first time in a week. D and I took our daughter and grandchildren to the ocean near Los Osos CA. On the way we stopped for lunch at Subway where Lil C handled the seating arrangements and made sure she would be sitting with Pop-pop.

At the beach I played with E in the sand and carried him all over the beach. He found some little tiny shells for me to hold. Then Lil C and I sat on a rock next to the crashing waves and she told me how she was scared by the noise and size of the water, and listened while I explained that fear can be a good thing, and asked me to climb with her on the rock but not help because she could do it herself, and showed me a little tidal water puddle on the rock. After family pictures we headed around the beach to the tide pools on the other side.

At some point on the way back to the car I realized that I hadn’t noticed any heart issues all day. I hadn’t felt anything bad other than some slight instability due to my medications. In fact there was a lightness to my gait, even through the heavy sand on the beach. I hadn’t felt like a grandfather all day, I’d felt like a father. I felt like I’d gone back 30 years in my life.

We continued on up the coast to Morro Bay, watched the sea otters play in a sheltered spot along the shore, walked through the shops by the bay, bought a toy jet for Lil C (she loves planes “I really like jets!” ever since seeing Planes in the theater), enjoyed some of the best salt water taffy I’ve ever had, and shared a pleasant dinner on the ocean where, once again, Lil C handled seating arrangements so Meema would sit next to her and Pop-pop across from her.

As we drove back through the coastal mountains toward home, we spotted a whimsical herd of dinosaurs on a hillside dangerously near town. Fortunately they were frozen in time, apparently the sculpted creations of a fancier of prehistoric times. Meanwhile, Lil C and E slept soundly, exhausted by a day of sun, wind and waves, until, as we approached home, Lil C awakened and asked, “Meema and Pop-pop, do you want to come home with us? Then would you play with me? And that’s exactly what we did.

Yeah, it was a good day, a great day, a real tear-jerker of a day in the best possible way. And for a day I didn’t feel old, I didn’t feel like an aging diabetic with a heart condition, I didn’t feel like a stuck in a chair old gray grandpa. I felt like a young Dad again, just for a day.

I felt loved…Pops

20130924 – Redefining Passionate

Thinking about my last post, why would I want to redefine the adjective ‘passionate’? Because a lot of people, when asked what they are passionate about, can’t tell me. In fact, I don’t know what I’m ‘passionate’ about.

Here’s part of the dictionary definition:

1.       having, compelled by, or ruled by intense emotion or strong feeling; fervid: a passionate advocate of socialism.

2.       expressing, showing, or marked by intense or strong feeling; emotional: passionate language.

3.       intense or vehement, as emotions or feelings: passionate grief.

4.       easily moved to anger; quick-tempered; irascible.

I need to clarify that I’m talking about major decisions here, so number 1 is the relevant definition for our discussion.

This question comes up most often when I’m discussing with people major decisions such as career choices. When they are having a tough time figuring it out I often ask them to think about where their gifts and talents lie, and what they are passionate about. Gifts and talents can be easy (not always though) but often passions are not, especially for those of us who are more reserved or introverted. Some of us just tend to be more analytical, clinical, or logical thinkers. We operate based on what we think rather than what we feel. We want to control rather than be controlled by our emotions. Note that doesn’t mean we’re unemotional; I’ll get to that later.

So, if we’re not compelled by or ruled by intense emotion as the definition says, how do we figure out what we’re passionate about? How can we apply the advice to assess gifts, talents, and passions to arrive at career decisions?

Words mean things so my first thought is to remove ‘intense’ from the definition, leaving ‘ruled by emotion or feeling’ as a basis for the choice I’m making. That doesn’t quite get it for me. Next I switch from ‘emotion’ to ‘care’ and things start to make sense because no matter how detached or analytical I am, there are definite things that I care about. I care about preserving nature for our children and grandchildren; I care about people going hungry; I care about helping people work and relate better; I care about building better businesses; I care about quality; I care about education. These are all things that are important to me; important enough that I might want to do something about them.

So in my little analytical world, where I instinctively operate as a strategic planner type, I think about what I’m passionate about in terms of things that are important to me, things that I care about enough to act upon. And given those cares, I can carve out little pieces that are within my power to address with the gifts and talents I’ve been given. It’s a definition of passionate that works for me; maybe it can work for those of you like-minded folks out there.

Of course all this pondering about being passionate is not to say that I’m unemotional, I can be very emotional. Ever seen ‘The Holiday’ with Jude Law; “I’m a major weeper”, in contrast to Cameron Diaz’ character who hadn’t shed a tear since she was fifteen. Major weeper, that’s me. I even cry at a sappy movie with a happy ending, or a sad one. It’s embarrassing. I may not show it very often, but I get very emotionally involved when it comes to family and close friends. Definitions 2 through 4 above; no problem! Well, actually I don’t fit number 4 at all.

My point: don’t get hung up on the word passionate when making career decisions, translate it to a word that works to describe what motivates you, what’s important, what you care about. And remember, what drives you today may be very different from what drove you years ago, or what will drive you years from now. Be prepared for changes in career direction. Your vocation may not change but the jobs you engage in during your career may differ dramatically over time.

As always, rethinking what motivates me…Pops

20130917 – Wiser Words

I don’t recall ever hearing wiser words spoken by a young actor than these from Ashton Kutcher. Go ahead, watch the video, I’ll wait.

What did you think about Chris’ (Ashton’s) thoughts on opportunity, about being sexy (smart), and about making your own life, not just living a life?

My thoughts: he didn’t just hit the nail on the head; he smashed it right through that board. “Opportunity is like hard work”; actually it is hard work, not just like work. It’s about constantly preparing and promoting yourself. It’s about the idea that if you’re not improving yourself, you’re dying; if you’re not running the race, you’ve already lost it.

And those thoughts carry right over into building your own life; it’s a DIY experience. Life is not something you just let happen, or that happens around you; you make it happen. Life should not be happening to you while you’re making other plans. Life should be the result of combining planning with execution and spontaneity for a true one of a kind (once in a lifetime?) experience. The life you live should be yours, not something someone else created for you.

And on being sexy; it’s about who and what you are, not how you look. Being smart, thoughtful, and generous; I think compassionate would fit nicely into the thoughtful and generous realm. I think wisdom and experience fit into the being smart idea.

In short, I think Chris covered a huge amount of territory in just a brief lesson; one that applies to all of us, young or old, rich or poor, regardless of our beliefs, values, or opinions. Who expected to hear this from a guy who played his characters on That Seventies Show, or Two and a Half Men? I didn’t. But then, I don’t know much about Ashton Kutcher other than what I’ve seen through his characters or in the tabloids. No wonder he feels like a fraud!

I don’t know why he chooses to play the parts he does, but I suspect it has something to do with his comments about opportunity and work. Acting is a job he loves, is really good at, and about which he is extremely passionate. He’s richly rewarded for his efforts. It could all change for him at any point. He said he was never better than his job, he was always lucky to have one, and that each was a stepping stone. I think making this movie about Steve Jobs really had an impact on him, but even more than that, it reminded him of the life lessons he learned a long time before.

Wouldn’t it be remarkable if we all saw jobs that way, that we didn’t take jobs for granted or expect them as an entitlement? Wouldn’t it be amazing if we appreciated people not for how they looked but for how they lived, for whom and what they are? And I wonder just what would happen if we all built our lives instead of living a life someone else built for us? Now there would be some serious and meaningful reality TV rather than the load of garbage served up as nightly entertainment these days!

Pondering my own life, work, and sexiness (he grins) in a whole new context…Pops

20130910 – Finding a Way – My Way

I read a wonderful post from a friend of mine yesterday, a friend whose blog I occasionally refer to in my own posts, because she is so thoughtful and insightful, and has found her way as a mother, pastor, runner, and in many other roles as well. Her post and her choices provoked some pondering about finding my way. It also led to the question, “Whose way is it, anyway?”

We all make choices about the life we will lead, the way we will follow. We choose the way we believe is best for ourselves and our loved ones. We endeavor to follow the way we’ve chosen to the best of our abilities, and to make our lives meaningful; to make a difference.

And we face the struggles and ridicule that often come with our choices. We face the screams of those that are infuriated by the choices we’ve made and those who wish to force us to follow their way. We face the insensitivity of those who have no idea how we arrived at the choices we made, and don’t care.

But then there are those who respect our choices; those who take the time to understand how we arrived at those decisions, and why we follow the way we’ve chosen. There are those who take the time to understand and then ask only to be understood as to why their choices may differ from ours. They are the ones who help to calm the discourse, the ones who add patience and thoughtfulness to the exchange of ideas, and the ones who temper the shrill and strident nature of today’s culture and conversation. I appreciate those people; I hope I’m one of them.

I’m a Christian. As one, I’m called to make disciples for Christ. It doesn’t mean I level withering diatribes against atheists. I try to understand why they choose that way over mine.

I’m a conservative. That means I believe in a limited government that provides for the common defense, protects the liberties we’ve been given rather than limiting them, takes care of those who can’t take care of themselves, and sets some reasonable rules so those who can take care of themselves play nice with others. I’m happy, within reason, to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, provided Caesar is not trying to redistribute what I’ve earned to someone who chooses not to make the effort. I try to understand the differences between my point of view and that of people with liberal or progressive views, and why they choose to believe as they do. It doesn’t mean that I criticize them for their choices; they are entitled to them just as I am entitled to mine.

Hey, I’m a Spartan fan too; I bleed green, no disrespect to our Vulcan friend Mr. Spock. But I don’t rag on my Wolverine friends who bleed blue (or is it yellow)! It’s my choice; no one else’s. Not that it isn’t tempting to engage in a little trash talk with my niece’s husband on occasion; all in good fun of course!

The point is, the way I’ve chosen is my way, not someone else’s way. I hope the way I’ve chosen is based on dignity and respect for others, common sense (to me at least), my experiences and the opportunities I see to use the gifts and talents with which I’ve been endowed. But it is my way, not someone else’s, and I have the right to follow it within the ethical, moral and legal boundaries that protect us all.

Finding my way, one choice at a time…
-Pops

20130908 – Welcome Back and Caution, Facebook Rant!

If you haven’t seen any Facebook links to this blog since April, you are one of many who I unintentionally cut off from Facebook status updates by setting my privacy settings too tight! Please accept my apologies, and welcome back to Tuesdays with Terry!

There’s a lot of pondering to catch up on since the last post you may have seen; I have continued to post weekly despite the accidental security block. I just never realized the Facebook links weren’t visible although I was wondering why my status updates weren’t getting any comments or likes!

Speaking of Facebook security, how about this proposed new policy that allows Facebook to use even more of your information publicly without any approval other than your forced consent to their new usage policy? I’m not real keen on giving up more control of my identity without my approval or appropriate compensation just because Facebook is a useful communication device. At least on a blog I maintain copyright ownership of what I write. People can see my image and other material I publish but it’s my choice. I’ll probably keep using Facebook, but I may strip out as much personal material as possible and just use it more like email or Twitter.

Since I’m ragging on Facebook let me share a couple other thoughts. When you see “scare” posts about personal security or contaminated foods or other provocative stories, please check them at www.snopes.com before sharing. Many of these stories are simply intended to spam Facebook or perpetuate myths with the assistance of concerned Facebook users.

Also if you’re encouraged to share something like a recipe or other story to “make sure it gets posted to your timeline” please think twice about whether all of your Facebook friends are interested to see the story or if that’s really where you want it saved. If you think we’ll be interested, go ahead and share it. But if you really just want to save it for personal use, open a document on your computer and copy the story or recipe to the document. That way you don’t have to go to Facebook to retrieve it, and you always have it, even when you don’t have an internet connection. Not that some of those recipes aren’t very enticing; just think twice about sharing please!

Well, sorry about the rant; I’ll shut up now and try to be more positive in future ponderings.

Welcome back…

-Pondering Pops

20130903 – Passages

My niece commented on Facebook yesterday that "Nine years later, the pain is still there. Time does make it easier but I still miss her like crazy." Her Grandma M, my Mom passed away nine years ago yesterday and I know exactly how J feels. The images of a lifetime of memories of her scroll through my head as I allow myself time to dwell in the past and preserve it a little longer. I keep reminding myself of something I often suggest to others going through the pain of loss; that you never really get over it and that’s okay, but you find a way to get past it, to continue on somehow.

My wife’s Dad passed away last year and it still hurts, but I find a way to relish the memories as I continue to find things of his, things he owned, things he wrote, evidence of the things he accomplished in his lifetime, as his daughter and I empty the condo her parents shared and in which her Mom continued to live until assisted living became the only choice last winter. D is occasionally quiet and I imagine contemplative as she works through all of their belongings, and I wonder how she manages the overwhelming task of moving on; I assume it’s just like me, by putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

Then I think about our daughter and her Grandma K and how so often their phone conversations become tear-filled because they miss her Grandpa K and each other so much. I realize how much pain my children will be in one day as they lose grandparents, and parents; who knows when because life is not predictable. These are all passages we face, passages of a certain time that will not fail to arrive.

J turns 33 today, D and I celebrate 42 years of marriage tomorrow, C turns 29 Thursday, S turns 33 in a few weeks, and Little C turns 3 before the end of the month. These too are passages, a whole month of passages, of continuing, of moving on. We’ll celebrate a little tomorrow, send cards, share hugs and kisses, spend time together when we can, and keep on living as we were meant to do.

Life is a passage, a collection of passages, actually. We arrive, we live, our lives intersect, we experience joy and pain, happiness and grief, love and despair, and eventually we pass away. What we collect between arriving and departing should be experiences, relationships and memories, not stuff.

But stuff we do collect, some people more than others, and I tend to be a bit of a packrat. I’m also a sentimental old dude and some stuff I find it hard to purge: like a great grandfather’s Bible, a Father’s diplomas, a Mother’s wedding ring, birth certificates, baptism records, photographs of ancestors, a family heirloom, all reminders of passages. Well, maybe that’s okay, because it’s the family story, the family history.

But, whatever stuff I stick myself with should not be a burden to my family when I leave. And I don’t want them to stick themselves with my stuff just because it’s my stuff! I want them to know that it’s not important that I have a collection of model railroad equipment or Hallmark ornaments, or coins or stamps or books or jewelry or whatever that I just couldn’t part with; I can’t take them with me and who else wants a collection of things that’s uniquely mine, except me. I want them to know that as soon as I head for assisted living, or the dementia unit, or the great beyond there’s only one place they have to look for the really important stuff, the file box I keep in a corner of my closet floor.

It’s my memory box, the place I capture the reminders of events and relationships that are nearest and dearest to me, the cards, the letters, the mementos, the poetry and prose I wrote, the photos I took or saved, and the reminders. Oh, and the digital equivalent I keep on my computer. Those will be the records of my passages, of my footprints on this earth. That will be the stuff of life that they should keep and share with their children and their children’s children. That will be the story that every family should have and share, the story of the passages that both ground us and give us the wings we need to fly.

Un-stuffing, and leaving a few footprints in the sand…

-Pops