20130430 – Pondering …

It’s a rather moody day weather wise. Heavy thundershowers awakened us early this morning. Then for a while I lay in bed and listened as the rain softly echoed around the house. It stopped by the time I took S to work, and we were struck by how high the river was yet, and how many sandbags were still in place protecting low-lying buildings and roads near downtown.

By the time I reached my favorite Tuesday breakfast haunt the skies had darkened again and a few large raindrops splattered on the windshield, warning me to move quickly. As I took the last few steps to the door the deluge began. Water blasted through the drive-up window so hard one of the staff asked for a mop to get rid of the puddles growing in front of the register. Guess I know why those employees covering the window wear raingear!

Sitting down with my Egg White Delight (the new Egg McMuffin with fifty fewer calories, good but it could use a little extra flavor boost) I watched as the rain blasted cars and rooftops free of the dirt gathered since this month’s record rainfalls. And now, 45 minutes later, the sun is breaking through and temps are headed up toward the high seventies; I’m looking forward to a nice two mile powerwalk in a T-shirt this afternoon, a great time for pondering, noodling, and otherwise contemplating life.

I think I’m earning my nickname, Pondering Pops, today. I was thinking about my favorite blogger extraordinaire, Glenn at tosimplify.net and his recent efforts to locate fixtures for his new home-on-wheels, a VW Vanagon that he has repowered and is outfitting right from the bare walls. And I thought living in a condo was a pretty big downsizing decision, ha! He is trying to fit what amounts to a 4-6 cubic foot chest style refrigerator/freezer into his 48 square feet of living space while keeping his power consumption low enough to operate the thing along with all of his other stuff on solar-charged batteries. Meanwhile I try to manage a $140/month electric bill and a gas bill that varies from $35-$135 per month depending on the season, not to mention cell-phone and triple-play (cable, internet, and landline) bills that each top out above the electric bill and $350/month of gasoline to keep the cars fed. Not that I’d like to live full time in an RV, but the thought gets very tempting from time to time!

If you were going to simplify your life, regardless of your current stage of life, what would be the necessities unique to you? They could be necessities like food, clothing and shelter of course; probably transportation suitable to your environment; a means of support, i.e., earning a living or think of it as funding your life choices; perhaps a venue in which to give back to society/people and provide happiness in your life; and perhaps time for family, friends, yourself, and the things that interest you, maybe time to grow in your knowledge and faith? What are the barest necessities that would leave you with the resources and time to explore your inner self and the world around you?

Whether you are young and just starting out, married and raising a family, closing in on retirement, stretching your remaining years to their fullest, or just living in the sandwich like me, the question is a great one to pursue; and I do, often. Am I ready to downsize my life? How does that work and still let me maintain a multigenerational lifestyle? If I get rid of stuff, I’ll have more time for people, and for living a simple and fulfilling life. I think Glenn is right in trying to avoid the traps of consumerism and materialism. And he’s quick to point out that his solution is right for him, but not for everyone. We each have to find our own solution for living that simple and fulfilling life, however we define it.

Pondering it all on a moody and contemplative day …

-Pops

20130423 – Floods and Choosing Wisely

Floods really change the landscape, usually only temporarily, but sometimes permanently. This past week I’ve watched the “off the beaten path” intersection near our home gradually become a small stretch of rapids in the Grand River, and a popular viewing spot for the neighborhood locals. It seems that intersection is within the 100-year flood plain of the river, and we’re experiencing a 100 year flood, worst since 1904. Fortunately our home is located above the 500 year flood plain and in no danger.

Each day has demanded the obligatory pilgrimage to observe just how much higher the water has risen, until Monday morning when the river crested and began to recede. I even drove through that intersection several times while I could still see the centerline through the gradually deepening water which wasn’t reaching the differentials and axles on my SUV, and still avoid the stretch of forcefully flowing water that could have shoved me off the road. Later, it was fun to stand at the edge of the flood waters and see a river where the golf course was, that stretch of rapids where the road used to be, a huge lake where a fifty acre or so pond once stood separated from the marsh and sand mining excavations by a two-track and loads of scrub trees and bushes. I wondered if the road would still be there, or washed away with the receding water. I assumed the golf course would survive; it always has with minimal damage.

Eventually the paved road was less than a foot beneath the surface, but invisible beneath the brown floodwaters. The heavy current was enough to push smaller vehicles off the pavement, but large tow trucks and pickups with at least a foot of ground clearance, their drivers practicing a huge amount of caution and care, were able to get through to the airport. Stupid? Maybe, maybe not. Most drivers didn’t take the chance that the road may have washed out under the river, and just stayed on solid ground. Smart people? Most likely.

Two kayakers and a canoeing couple had to be rescued from the river this week, having ventured out onto the water despite warnings from local authorities to keep away due to the extreme flow rates of over 33,000 cubic feet per second. Were they risk-taking adventurers, or just plain stupid? The kayaker who helped rescue the canoeists had been told he was stupid by law enforcement the day before, and yet there he was, the very next day out on the river again, and quite likely saved two lives on the journey. Was he a thoroughly prepared and expert kayaker, or a stupid one who through dumb luck happened to be in the right place at the right time to save two other possibly stupid people.

Some people do what would appear to be dumb things, but they’ve thought about it, learned about it, prepared for it, learned the necessary limits, and taken appropriate precautions before taking on the risk.  Some people just choose to do really dumb things, to take big risks. Stupidity enters the picture when people leave out the learning, preparation and precaution steps.

I’m a normally risk averse person. Did I drive through a flooded intersection? Yes. Did I know what was going on and what could happen? Yes. Was I prepared? Yes. Did I know what the limits were? Yes. Did I take precautions? Yes.

I think there’s a metaphor for life in the flood and the behaviors I observed this week. Yes, life is a do it yourself adventure. But you don’t have to be stupid about it. Consider the choices, learn, prepare, know the limits, take the precautions, and go live it.

If life is my first, last and greatest crusade, here’s hoping I’m choosing wisely, not poorly …

-Pops

20130416 – Friends

Why is it such a pleasant experience to run into friends unexpectedly? Dave and Karen just happened to drop into my favorite haunt this morning and I invited them to join me for breakfast. I assured them they weren’t intruding, and we were able to catch up on things since their return from wintering in Florida. After a really nice chat they were off to take care of other obligations.

I proceeded to set up my office and had just started considering timely topics for today’s post when I spotted John and Bonnie heading over to a comfortable sun-warmed booth; wow, the sun is actually shining today, it doesn’t feel quite so much like Seattle as it has for the past week! They were celebrating the end of tax season for John as he wrapped up work last night on his couple of hundred clients.

I guess there’s something about the familiarity, the shared memories, and the social connection that leaves me feeling good about these chance encounters. Our daughter commented a few days ago on Facebook that it was so nice to be out shopping in a new town they’d only lived in for two months and to run into someone she knew. Maybe friendship is an important part of developing a sense of place as well.

Last week it was Stew and Kathy. We go back more than thirty years, having met as part of a model railroading group I joined when my family and I settled in Grand Rapids. Stew caught me up on the rest of the Kenowa Valley Switching and Sipping Society, both the fun news and the not so happy stuff such as dementia invading our little group along with heart conditions, diabetes, Parkinson’s and other ravages of age. Still it was good to be in the company of friends. Oh, and they just now popped in again.

Sometimes my wife and I think we’re social outcasts, with really small circles of friends. But then we think about her Joy group, my Promise Keepers guys, our church choir family, and Jim, the old goat, and our close friends, Mike and Carol, whom we haven’t even seen in fifteen years since our families vacationed together in the mountains of Colorado. These are people who know and have been part of the best and worst of our times, the fun we had and the messes we made, the struggles we got through, the times when they needed to carry us or we them, and they love us and care for us anyway.

Oops, now it’s Ann and Dale breakfasting on the spur of the moment. When they asked what brought me here I mentioned this is my regular Tuesday hangout for blog writing which promptly piqued their interest. And I digress, happily…

Then there are our friends Lou and Ginny whom we met when Lou and I were young Air Force Lieutenants more than forty years ago. Adversity and change so often bring people together. We haven’t seen them in twenty-eight years, but we still exchange cards every Christmas. Somehow I think we’d pick up right where we left off despite these long years of absence. And our “Second Generation” camping friends whom I’ve known for over fifty years. And the friends whose acquaintance we’d made when our children met on a two week People to People Student Ambassadors trip when they were twelve. Sixteen years later and they are still the best of friends; and we can’t get through half a year without a quick trip up north to spend some quality time with Barbara and Stan.

Friends, they just seem to pop up when you least expect them to, and I love it. Hmm, sounds like a blog post; oh wait, it looks like I’m already blogging!

Way back in high school, my junior year, we performed the musical Funny Girl, first high school in the nation to get the rights or so we were told. More good memories there folks! Anyway, there’s a Streisand song from that musical, “People”, from which a particular line springs to mind; “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world!” Whether we admit it or not, we all need people. Sometimes when we think we don’t need anyone, those are the times we need each other the most. Although our circle is pretty small, I guess my wife and me, well we’re pretty lucky, maybe a couple of those luckiest people.

To all of you friends out there thanks for the chance encounters, the warm conversations, the cards and gifts, the shoulders we’ve cried on, the laughter that reduced us to tears and aching sides, the campfires we’ve sat around, the love we’ve shared … and the memories. Thanks for the memories, the old and dusty ones, the new and fresh ones, and the anticipated and longed for ones yet to come…

-Pops

20130409 – Just Being There …

Sometimes the best thing about life in the sandwich and being a Grandpa is just being there.

The newly transplanted California contingent was home for a week for E’s first birthday. Yesterday, my son and daughter-in-law were working at home, son-in-law was home with his parents and a little under the weather, and daughter was visiting for the day with the grandkids. The wife was working and there I was, taxes unfinished, a pile of prep for my Chicago business trip waiting for my attention, washing the dishes after fixing fresh grass-fed beef burgers for lunch. I think the grandkids were napping.

I noticed it was kind of quiet; I looked over into the family room and there they were. My daughter, not my granddaughter, was in the middle of a mountain of toys busily building the biggest building she could imagine out of Duplo blocks (the oversized Legos for the toddler crowd). Not ten feet away sat my son, not my grandson, hard at work trying to figure out how to use every piece of wooden train track in the house to create a railroad complete with reverse loops, crossing, bridges and a pier for the little wooden freighter; a layout only a true died-in-the-wool model railroader like me could appreciate. I silently watched, not knowing whether to laugh at the juxtaposition or cry for all of the memories of my kids being, well, kids again. After choking up a little I ended up smiling and drinking in the scene, and appreciating just being there. By the way, both were successful and the grandkids loved and promptly demolished the results of their labors, and they didn’t really care! Twenty-five or so years ago they would have been crying and yelling at each other for messing with the other’s creation. Ah, good stuff, good memories.

Last Wednesday on the Californians’ arrival I heard the front door open, the patter of toddler feet in the foyer, and my favorite words, “Pop-pop?” Finally she was home, my little CJ. I dropped to my knees as she came running around the corner and flew into my arms. During the obligatory massive hug I realized she was looking past me, not at me, and I knew immediately what her next words would be. Sure enough, “Where’s Uncle Scott?” We all roared. It never fails. Not only is Uncle Scott a chick magnet, he’s a niece and nephew magnet for the whole family. If there was ever a family vote for favorite uncle, his wife’s side or his, doesn’t matter, hands down he’d be it! Oh, don’t worry about the chick magnet thing; he’s hopelessly devoted to my favorite daughter-in-law, who’s more than happy to remind them of his marital status when necessary.

And again the other day when they arrived for more family time C hugged her Uncle Scott, then danced into the family room with a resounding, “Woo-Hoo, Yaa for Uncle Scott!” Which exclamation was met with a wave of laughter and puzzlement, “Where’d that come from?” We didn’t even know she was familiar with the woo-hoo hoot common in the vernacular of the younger crowd. Just being there …

Wednesday, E took his first steps, right in our family room. He’d been one- and two-fingering it ever since February, and must have figured it was about time to throw caution to the wind. We teased him by placing the play lawnmower just out of reach until he did his junior Frankenstein impression, walked over and started mowing. By yesterday Lawnmower Man “Frankensteined” his way from the kitchen to the front door, with the occasional back step and one-foot balancing act for added effect. We were so proud of the little guy and thrilled about just being there …

Saturday night was the big event, E’s birthday party. People everywhere from both sides of the family; balloons, treats, dinner, cake, ice cream, and beverages all provided (well, Grandma did have to prepare a main dish and a fruit salad). We made conversation, gawked at E, relished the mandatory cake mashing, and enjoyed the evening; even made some new friends in the process of just being there …

Sunday night Mee-ma and Pop-pop got to babysit while the California couple had date night for the first time in who knows how long. Grandkids played for hours and watched Mickey’s Clubhouse, while Mom and Dad had dinner at Friday’s and entertained themselves with some unencumbered shopping at a few favorite establishments (whatever happened to dinner and a movie?). They loved it. And for us, playing with and watching C and E was all we needed to make it a great evening. Just being there …

Today the Californians are headed home. It’s been a heartwarming and heartbreaking week and we loved every minute of it. Except for Skype, we won’t see them again until September when, finances and schedules permitting, we’ll wing our way to the west coast.

Sometimes life in the sandwich is a matter of just being there, whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. That describes this past week to a “T”.

Already missing them, and wishing for a little more of just being there …

-Pops

20130402-2 Speaking of Boxes

Here’s a little story about boxes you might enjoy. I wrote it a dozen years ago.

“The Box”

The box was actually two boxes that lay undisturbed in the attic of our family home for more than thirty years.  My father discovered them when he cleared the attic to make way for some better insulation early in 2001.  Late in March as we worked together to move my sister into her new home Dad mentioned I should stop by and see if I wanted anything out of the boxes he salvaged.

Later that day he and I strolled into the garage and over to a stack of several cartons destined for the trash.  He pointed out the two he thought belonged to me.  As I knelt over the first and pulled open the flaps I was silenced by a wave of mixed emotions as I recognized the textbooks and favorite Readers Digest Condensed Books squirreled away from my freshman and sophomore years of college at Michigan State.  I had packed those books away for a move they never made. 

I had left home for good in the summer of 1970, just two years after graduating from Central High in Kalamazoo.  That summer I was off to Air Force ROTC field training in Kansas, and a Christian Music Camp as a counselor just before that.  I never had time to look back.  College, marriage, active duty, and moves to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Texas, Colorado and back to Grand Rapids started me on a new life and a journey into adulthood that left no time and no room for a few old textbooks, or even for some favorite stories.

When I opened that first box I saw the record of those early college years.  The view triggered a flood of reflections on campus life, military life, and church experiences; fleeting shadows in the life of a fifty-something graying husband and father of two nearly grown children, and further along life’s road than I cared to admit.  But those memories didn’t prepare me at all for the second box.

We set the first box aside and gingerly positioned the second one, patched together as it was with duct tape that barely held the torn sides and broken corners enough to keep the contents from spilling out.  As I pulled back the tape along the top and reached to open the flap the sight of a blue cloth cover and metal edges on an old binder stirred memories buried even deeper, memories not revisited since I made them more than thirty-three years before.  It was labeled “Music, Art, and Letters”.  In its pages were letters from the love of my life and poetry we wrote to each other.  I discovered futile attempts at song writing and favorite folk songs I used to play on my old guitar.  There were the house plans I drew after our visits to the beach and favorite quotes that appealed to my young mind. 

Beneath the binder were old classroom notes from those first college years, and the journal of my trip to New York and Washington, DC in the winter of 1968 with Methodist Youth Fellowship leaders from all over the state of Michigan.  I found mementos of my military training days, and many more treasures to explore on a cold winter day when I could spare the time.

My Dad smiled as we packed up those two boxes and carried them to my van for the trip back to Grand Rapids, and I knew he was pleased at helping me recapture pleasant memories through the pages of those old letters and books.  He sensed the importance to me of the treasure he had uncovered, but I don’t think he grasped God’s impeccable timing in this glorious find.

You see that same love of my life and I were teaching a Sunday School class on coping with life changing events.  We just finished phase one, offering tips for sorting through the work, relationships, and home baggage we each carry in our lives.  The assignment for the next four weeks was to unpack and examine our bags, sort through what we find, lighten the load, and load up what we need and want to carry with us on the journeys that lay ahead.  The next day as I sorted through those boxes on our living room floor, I thanked the Lord and my father for the perfect lesson and the chance to cherish a few old but precious memories as I carried out my own assignment, and gently re-packed a few more bags.

Good stuff folks … Terry

20130402 – Thinking about Boxes

My son and I found ourselves talking about creative things the other day, things like graphic design, logos, business cards, and business names. And then he said something that caught me by surprise. He said, “I don’t like the term ‘thinking out of the box’.” “Hmmm,” I said, “Why not?” Well, sometimes you have to work with certain constraints, particularly in graphic design. Business cards have limited space, images can’t be too large or too small, certain specific information must be included. It becomes more of a challenge and you’re forced to be even more creative given the limits imposed. So in creative endeavors, a box can be a good thing.

Boxes are good for other things too. I keep a box, actually what they call a banker’s box, to store things of sentimental value from my past, things my wife and children have given me, letters, cards I particularly enjoyed, small knickknacks that really don’t need to be on display, but that I like looking at from time to time. I limit myself to one box, a memory box if you will, so that my memorabilia don’t clutter up the house. I think my memory box is a good thing.

On the other hand, I’m also a packrat of the first order. I have several boxes of tax returns, the oldest of which dates back to 1966, my very first return. I also have boxes of magazines that I might like to reread, and boxes of computer parts that I might re-use (not!). I have boxes containing items of unknown origin from my desks at prior jobs. There are boxes of old business records from thirteen years ago. There are more boxes of electrical parts and plumbing parts and wiring parts and painting supplies and tools and scrap wood and camping supplies and beach toys and, well you get the idea. Most of these boxes are not good things, they are clutter, they are stuff, they are stressors in my life and I don’t really need them.

I’m a big fan of fellow blogger extraordinaire Glenn Morrissette. He writes “To simplify … the pursuit of happiness through simple living on the open road.” He bagged apartment living in LA, sold or discarded almost everything he owned except a few clothes, basic living supplies, and tools of his trade, and began living in a 19 foot motorhome. After 16 months he upgraded to a 21 footer because it had a better layout but still allowed him to stealth camp on city streets. He’s now decided the current home is way too big, so he is rebuilding a Vanagon to his own specs and will downsize to that 'home' fulltime in a few months. I guess he’s gotten rid of a little clutter! But he’ll be able to live virtually anywhere by turning the key and pointing in a new direction. That’s a little too much simplification for me.

On the flip side, my wife and I have been cleaning out her folks’ condo since her Dad passed away last year, and her Mom moved to assisted living in January. The condo had always looked nice and relatively uncluttered but oh what surprises those closets and storage nooks held! Dad must have had a hundred pairs of socks and nearly as many pairs of slacks. We donated over six dozen golf shirts to Goodwill and at least a dozen coats and jackets. I have five nearly complete sets of golf clubs in the garage, and I’ve already donated three dozen assorted clubs. We found over $175 of coins squirreled away throughout the house, and nearly two dozen golf caps and hats tucked away in various places.

Mom’s clothing situation is almost as daunting. Plus she has four sets of china and a collection of blue glass pieces that numbers over 50 as well as drawers of photographs and cards that need to be sorted and identified. The bathroom, four dozen rolls of toilet tissue. The kitchen, spice containers that were so old they were selling on eBay for five dollars a tin.

I’m realizing that I don’t want my kids to go through this when my wife and I are gone. The time to simplify is now; not to Glenn’s extreme, but as he often points out, to the extent appropriate for us and our own choices about how to live our lives.

Lest you think I’m getting off track, let’s get back to boxes. I think Glenn lives in a box, but he’s unencumbered by it and it actually gives him freedom. Mom and Dad lived in a box and it seems like it constrained them as much as their age and health did. And I’ve been living in a box too, one that my wife has been bugging me for years to dump out and recycle. I think the flaps have been pulled back and I’m beginning to see the light.

A few months ago I visited my primary care physician for a checkup.  I tend to be a little anal about my health, always checking weight, blood pressure, blood sugar, etc. And I ask a lot of questions. Not sure if my doc was getting exasperated with me but after we talked he had this to say, “Terry, everything you can control and manage is controlled; so the best advice I can give you is go live your life.”

I pondered that comment and realized that I had put a box around my life, based on perceptions about my health and what I thought the limits should be. I was worrying so much about my health troubles that I was letting those concerns unnecessarily constrain how I chose to live. This was not a good box, not even a healthy box.

So the lesson in this post is you really need to be picky about your boxes. Keep the good ones and get rid of the ones that just clutter up and confine your life. In fact I suspect there’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere.

I guess my wife is right (she usually is). I’ve got a lot of boxes to empty and recycle. It’s about time to go live my life, and put a few more experiences in the memory box.

Committing to living outside the box … Terry