On Tour

   For forty years I worked weekends. Actually I didn't mind that as much as all the evening meetings, 3-5000? Weekend work did have a significant effect when Joanne was President/CEO of Lutheran Social Services of South Dakota and we live apart.  Because I worked weekends, and she weekdays, it fell to her to commute home weekends. Weekend work also meant that our Iowa friends often came to The Cities to attend events with which we were connected. When I retired in 2007 I said to Joanne "Let's take an Iowa tour" and we did.
   Tomorrow I'll begin my 13th annual Iowa tour and the 2nd alone. First stop is for lunch with Jenine in Decorah. Jenine is Joanne's college roommate from their years at Concordia College, Moorhead, MN. Then I motor down beautiful eastern Iowa to Calamus where Ed and his wife Mary Jane farm. Ed and I were together in the USMC for three years. Mary Jane and Joanne bonded when we lived in Davenport about 25 miles from Calamus. Then it's on to Iowa City to stay with Ken and Barb Gamb. Ken and I began as ministry partners and ended up as the best of friends and, again, Joanne and Barb became friends. For 8 years Ken and I were co-pastors of Zion Lutheran in Davenport.
   "Friends are family you choose" is a quote from someone and I like it. Ed and I go back to USMC boot camp in 1959. Joanne and Jenine's friendship began in 1954 and and Ken and I began ministry together in 1980. These are not "old" friends, they are "long time friends". 🌝
    Family and friends, what would I do without them? They make life in the land of grief meaningful!

Takk for alt,

Al

Stabbed in the heart

    With my people bladder comfortably filled by family and friends there is equilibrium in the land of  grief. Blessed with good health, good opportunities and meaningful engagements, not to mention good books to read, life is satisfying. The discombobulation of the total grief that enveloped me in early bereavement is over. It took about ten months for me to regain the feeling of being myself again and that feeling persists.  Blessings abound in my life for which I'm immeasurably grateful. 
     Then suddenly in the midst of daily routine it strikes me, almost as if it's new information, Joanne is gone and she's not coming back. It's a stab straight to the heart and exacerbated by the recognition that it's over sixteen months since she died. Sixteen months of life in the land of grief with the accumulated experiences of that time, which excludes her, making the stab more painful. In some ways the pain is worse with the recognition of how much she's missed and how much I've missed sharing. Ah, yes, the presence of absence persists in the land of grief.

Takk for alt,

Al

Serenity

     Today at coffee a friend said "I think God's greatest gift is serenity."  Wow! I thought, I need to hear more about that! To my questions, he went on to elaborate that when we live in God's will the result is serenity. Harmony is the result of finding that to which we are called.
    It didn't end there. He went on to say, next to serenity is humility. To which I replied "I'm very proud of my humility." 😋 But, again, I was in total agreement.  Another friend did consulting with missionaries in Africa. He said "He always arrived as a dumb shi-t, who knew nothing." This approached opened up the conversation and he learned much because his openness allowed others to inform him and, also legitimized his asking myriad questions, since he didn't pretend to be an expert. Humility is the prerequisite to learning...if we think we know everything we have nothing to learn and we shut ourselves off from new knowledge.
    The history book club in which I participate is a constant reminder of how little I know. Every book we read opens whole new vistas of which I knew little or nothing. It also reminds me of how narrow was my education even though I was a history major.
    Yes, I have the greatest friends!👍

Takk for alt,

Al

Numbered days

We’re all going to die. Why is it so hard to talk about it?

Most of us don’t fear death so much as the process leading up to it.

by Lori Erickson

August 19, 2019

"It’s not as if it’s a big secret that we’re all going to die. It’s just that for many of us, most of the time, it seems like an event that’s going to happen to someone else, some hypothetical me far in the future. Spiritual teachers in many traditions spend a lot of time trying to get people to see the foolishness of this perspective.

“To contemplate dying each day calls forth an instant reordering of priorities,” writes Kathleen Dowling Singh in The Grace in Aging: Awaken as You Grow Older. “Just like a quick and deliberate shake of a kaleidoscope, it creates a whole new patterning, a whole new view.”

I’ve seen that shake of the kaleidoscope happen many times in those who’ve received a terminal diagnosis. Even if they’ve managed to avoid any serious spiritual inquiry in the years leading up to that moment, death’s imminent arrival often focuses their attention. Most are able to let go of the pettiness, the anxieties, and the prickliness that may have plagued them for decades. Lifelong jerks get a little less obnoxious. Introverts start opening up. Extroverts shut up so that other people can speak without interruption. Almost everyone I’ve known near death becomes a little nicer, knowing they’re near the exit..." The Christian Century August 19, 2019 

   Yes, indeed, "teach us to number our days..."  When I saw the title of this article I thought "true, but wondered, is the tide beginning to turn?"  Twenty years ago who had heard of a death doula?   While our culture is extremely death denying my hunch is that there are more people willing to face death openly,  

    Joanne's death certainly put my mortality forward in my consciousness. When I think of dying it isn't the death part that seems hard. What strikes me as difficult is thinking about all that I still want to do, which death  would prohibit. 

Takk for alt,

Al

Patience is a virtue.

  There are a few acres of native grassland on some land I purchased about twenty years ago. Were it not so hilly and rocky it certainly would have been plowed many years ago. Pastured for a hundred years or more it was colonized by invasive smooth brome grass with a bit of Kentucky blue grass also showing. A controlled burn would have been a quick was to bring back some native grasses. Burning isn't feasible because it would be too difficult to contain the fire. A conservationist recommended pasturing it during early spring until about the 1st of July. So that it is what I've done, renting it to a neighbor for his sheep or cattle.
    It is working! It may have taken 20 years, but today there is a good stand of late season native grasses; big and small bluestem, Indian grass, side oats grama and others. How fascinating that these grasses would lie dormant for decades and then emerge when the conditions are favorable. The livestock now graze down the early season invasives allowing the warm season natives to flourish. Likely the abundant rain this year has also helped this restoration.
    My neighbor who uses the pasture also benefits.  Using my ground allows his pastures to get a good start in the growing season before putting his stock into them. Now, without asking, he puts his animals in the pasture in the spring and removes them in early July. When we see each other in town later, we agree on the rent...that's community isn't it?

Takk for alt,

Al

Renewal

    "Isn't it ever going to rain?" was the summer refrain of my childhood. Rain is the life blood of dry land farmers. Spring rains through the middle of June were common but after that, rain was sporadic. Complete crop failure from drought are not a part of my memory but reduced yields due to dry conditions were  an almost annual event. Never do I remember too much rain in July and August during my youth.
     The rain gauge by my grassland recorded 3.4" since I emptied it two weeks ago. The sump pump at The Little House is running again.  How different this is from my youth. There are natural things that like the additional moisture. The biologist, who lives next door, says it's a great summer for ducks. Trees, except for some too close to wetlands, grow rapidly with the extra water. Grasses are doing a happy dance with all the rain. The grassland on which I did a controlled burn in April is now filled with big bluestem grass six feet tall. Nestled in the grass are many milkweeds. The four acres of wildflowers beside the prairie grass provide nectar for the monarchs, bees and other butterflies. The fire followed by ample rain has renewed the native grasses. (See picture below)
    Renewal of another form is taking place on U.S.Highway 81. Crushed rock is being laid in preparation for raising the road bed two feet. This will be the third raising since the wet cycle began in 1984. The two previous raisings were 5-7' each time. One more cost of climate change. (See picture below)

Takk for alt,

Al

Big bluestem grass waving in the wind.

Crushed rock to raise Highway 81, picture taken from the driveway of the farm where I grew up.

Little Things

     Perhaps it's no surprise that the bereaved in the land of grief feel the presence of absence in major events.  When the beloved is not present at a birthday celebration, at Christmas, at a graduation it is expected that the loss will be poignant. Certainly I've missed Joanne at those times,
    What has surprised me is that the absence is often the most profound in little things. Today, driving to The Little House, I drove past the farm where Joanne's father, Oscar, grew up. Joanne's stories of visiting the farm came back to me, e.g., during threshing season and having a ferocious hay fever attack. Joanne and I had dinner in that house when her aunt Clara lived there with her husband Clarence. Clarence reached across the table for something and Clara said "What's wrong with please pass?" That small vignette remained with us both and we often had a chuckle about it. Now I remember alone and it makes me sad, conscious of my loss.
     When I'm about an hour west of the Cities, heading for The Little House, I veer off the highway to county roads. One long stretch I favor has just re-opened after a two year reconstruction. Who cares? Joanne would have.  Now there's construction on two other roads that run parallel meaning I can't use either. Today I found a great alternative that made me glad, but who cares? Joanne would have.
     These things seem so trivial I'd not think to bother anyone with them. They do illustrate reality of life in the land of grief. Perhaps it's because one prepares for the larger things, plus they are usually in the presence of others, that they are often less difficult. The mundane seem too little to mention, especially given the amount of backstory necessary to create a meaningful context.
     Yes, I'm missing her tonight!

Takk for alt,

Al

Where did you learn that?

    Sometimes people talk about what they learned in Sunday School decades earlier. I'm sure I learned something in Sunday School but I can't point to specifics of that learning. This is shared by way of illustration of the idea that much of what I know, my knowledge base, I cannot trace to it's source. Where did I learn it? When did I learn it? Yes, of course there are those things, those bits of knowledge, the source of which can be clearly identified.
     I do know how to set a table for guests and I know where I learned it. During our marriage we did much entertaining. Joanne was in the lead, she did the cooking, except for those times when I'd do something on the grill. While she was busy cooking I'd often set the table, initially under her direction, but soon I had mastered the lesson. The table I set last night would have been to her standards and I think she'd be both pleased and surprised that I did it for the six guests who came for dinner.
      Much of what I know, and who I am, is a credit to Joanne. She had a powerful influence on me during our fifty-five years of relationship. There are specifics, like setting a table, I learned from her.  Yet, much of her influence has become so integrated into who I am I don't recognize that it came from her. Setting that guest table was an exercise that reminded me how much I owe her, filling me with gratitude for her, and our life together, What a gift she was and continues to be in my life.

Takk for alt,

Al

Birthday Dinner

Hosting a birthday dinner tonight took precedence over blogging. More tomorrow.

Takk for alt

Al

Table set for birthday dinner.

Chickens like cucumbers.

    Some have accused me of being a picky eater. My take is that I have discriminating tastes.😉 Not liking seafood, though I can eat fish sticks with enough tarter sauce, I announced to the family in Thailand, with whom I've lived for ten years, that dislike at the beginning  of my stay.  I didn't want to be served fish, then have to tell that I didn't like it, so I headed off that scenario. However, there was the time that Met brought home a mess of fresh calamari thinking it was "fish" I didn't like. 🙂 They enjoyed the calamari.
     Do you wonder where this is going?  In today's Taste section of the STRIB there was an article about cucumbers and what to do if you have surplus. (Pickle them) Now cucumbers are among the foods for which I have an intense dislike, except for dill pickles. But my dislike is not the point...memories of cucumbers came back to me.
    Many years ago, neighbors of The Little House On The Prairie tried raising cucumbers commercially.  This was when I was resident far from the Little House so my information is only anecdotal and its accuracy may be questioned. It seems they quickly learned that an acre is a lot of cucumber vines. Another learning was that the vines grow close to the ground while the human being tends to operate a bit higher. Then there was the fact that the commercial buyer wanted little cucumbers, perhaps the size of a little finger.  It was a brief endeavor.
     Going further back in history to my childhood, there are memories of my father's gardens. It was highly unusual that a farmer would have a vegetable garden; that was consider women's work. But, every year Dad planted a large vegetable garden. Mother, and we children, were "welcome" to pull weeds.
    When the cucumber production ran ahead of harvest our chickens were the happy recipients of the surplus;. did you know that chickens like cucumbers?  If not, that's your lesson for today. Joanne loved them so I happy shared mine with her. She was not a picky eater.

Takk for alt,

Al
   

Legacy

     There are things that I wish Joanne would have done better. Many of you received a card from her on a special occasion; birthday, anniversary, sympathy, special event.  She's send about 20 cards or more a month. So far so good. Her system of keeping addresses on file was straight out of the 1960s, when she began. She maintained, sort of maintained, two 3"X5" card files; in town and at large. Names, addresses and sometimes telephone numbers were written on the cards and often are legible. When someone moved she'd scratch out the old address and write the new one on the card. There are cards in the file with multiple addresses scratched out and new ones  squeezed on.
     Today I was addressing some cards and, as I squinted at her writing, I sometimes struggled to decipher "what is that letter?" or "what is that number?"  She steadfastly refused to computerize the files. Of course I wish she would have done it. Perhaps it's time for me......

Takk for alt,

Al

Grateful for cancer

We’re all going to die. Why is it so hard to talk about it?

Most of us don’t fear death so much as the process leading up to it.

by Lori Erickson

August 19, 2019

"It’s not as if it’s a big secret that we’re all going to die. It’s just that for many of us, most of the time, it seems like an event that’s going to happen to someone else, some hypothetical me far in the future. Spiritual teachers in many traditions spend a lot of time trying to get people to see the foolishness of this perspective.

“To contemplate dying each day calls forth an instant reordering of priorities,” writes Kathleen Dowling Singh in The Grace in Aging: Awaken as You Grow Older. “Just like a quick and deliberate shake of a kaleidoscope, it creates a whole new patterning, a whole new view.”

I’ve seen that shake of the kaleidoscope happen many times in those who’ve received a terminal diagnosis. Even if they’ve managed to avoid any serious spiritual inquiry in the years leading up to that moment, death’s imminent arrival often focuses their attention. Most are able to let go of the pettiness, the anxieties, and the prickliness that may have plagued them for decades. Lifelong jerks get a little less obnoxious. Introverts start opening up. Extroverts shut up so that other people can speak without interruption. Almost everyone I’ve known near death becomes a little nicer, knowing they’re near the exit..." The Christian Century

He'd been alienated from church for decades. When I asked the issue which caused his withdrawal he waved off the question with an embarrassed nod saying "it was stupid of me."  Now, on home hospice care he had his own morphine pump which allowed him to give himself a dose when the pain was too intense.  Told that he wanted me to visit he and his wife welcomed me into their home. Though only in his 60's he knew he didn't have long to live. In conversation he was very candid about his situation. Then he said "I'm grateful for my cancer." Cancer as gift?  He went on to explain that over the years he'd made decisions which created relational rifts. His cancer gave him opportunity make amends and he was making the most of his limited time. Not long  after that conversation he died having reconciled with the church and many others.

   "Teach us to number our days that we may gain a wise heart." Ps. 90:12 NRSV

Takk for alt,

Al

Description

Thanks , Amy & Lindean!  Brian Doyle's delightful book, Martin Marten has much I'll ruminate on for a long time and one I may well read again. Martin, of the title is actually s marten. It's the first novel I've read with a marten as a significant character. 😏 The book is full of excurses on a wide variety of topics.
    Cosmas, is a humorous character in the story who wears an orange jump suit and rides his bike at breakneck speed down Mt. Hood, where the story is set. Mr. & Mrs. Robinson were an elderly couple whose car went off the road in a snowstorm and there they died together. Later, at their graves Cosmas thinks, or perhaps speaks, this soliloquy.
      Miss Moss is about to connect with Richard (Dickie) in an 'unwedding.'   Now  Cosmas... "She (Miss Moss)  says she wishes more than anything in the world you two (the Robinsons) were there and that she will weep bitterly as she too takes the leap you took toward each other, because that's why she's leaping toward Dickie, because you leapt toward each other every hour of every day, and she saw that and admired that and watched your gentle patience and affection and respect and reverence for each other in every little aspect of your lives, which were of course not little at all, which she says is the greatest lesson she ever learned and which she wants to try to reach with Dickie. She says if she and Dickie  can be anything like you two, then she will account their lives a roaring success..." p. 270

    Isn't that a marvelous description of marriage?   It's a model that Miss Moss want's to emulate even as she plights her troth to Dickie in an unwedding.   "gentle patience and affection and respect and reverence" would that all marriages had a healthy dose of those characteristics.

Takk for alt,


Al

Blessed

Over coffee yesterday a friend asked what did I like best in parish ministry?  The answer was easy, 'teaching adults'. "What did you teach?" "bible mostly but that includes a variety of issues; theology, hermeneutics, history, archaeology, etc." 
   There were many other things that I enjoyed about ministry and high on the list was working with seminary interns. Relationships continue with most of those I supervised. Today I'm posting early because I'm eagerly anticipating a visit with a former intern, Sara, who is on sabbatical. Sara's ministry has all been out of Minnesota so it has been years since I saw her. We'll have much to discuss and will not require any outside help to keep the conversation flowing. 😊

   Continuing with the thought of death as sabbatical I'm including the following paragraph from the article I quoted and length yesterday.

"A deacon visited as the sun set, bringing sabbath prayers and peppermint oil lotion to anoint her, the foundation of spiritual care as taught to us by Mary Magdalene and Jesus. Sunday darkness arrived, and I had learned the secret she’d known all those years. Sabbath turns our worlds upside down, and asks: How do we gain something by doing nothing? How do we refill ourselves by emptying? I caught a glimpse of God and the beyond."  J. Dana Trent in the 8/14/2019 Christian Century p. 11.
   Less is more is hard lesson to learn isn't it?  A concentration camp  survivor said "I couldn't believe how free I felt when they took everything from me."  Every thing we possess also owns us.

Takk for alt,

Al

Death as Sabbath

"My mother's last sabbath"  by J. Dana Trent  Christian Century, August 14, 2019, pp. 10-11.

"I had the first true sabbath of my adult life in my mother’s hospice room.

I’d tussled with her over busyness for many years. She had staunchly kept the sabbath since she was a young girl, when she learned well that the hours of the Lord’s day were holy. It was a day different from the others—sacred time for ceasing from any labor and worldly activity one might do six days of the week. Only church, acts of service, family visits, and resting were permitted.

She practiced sabbath for herself and held hallowed space for me, too. Growing up, Mom ensured whatever apartment we rented was within walking distance of a Baptist Church, such that come hell or high water, we’d be there anytime the doors were open. Church gave her life. She was so buoyed by a mother-daughter sabbath spent studying, praying, singing, fellowshiping, and napping that she could continue carrying the heavy loads of poverty and single parenthood. We spent decades keeping holy days together.

J. Dana Trent

@jdanatrent

J. Dana Trent, an ordained Baptist minister, is the author of For Sabbath’s Sake: Embracing Your Need for Rest, Worship, and Community. She teaches world religions at Wake Technical Community College and blogs at jdanatrent.com.

See All Articles

Aug 14, 2019 issue

On Sundays, she experienced what many of us miss: a weekly glimpse into Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s “palace in time.” Sabbath was a temporary relief from being a mortal in this material world—a chance to rest in the balm of eternal life to come.

But then I got married and ambitious. Sabbath became a point of contention, not sweetness. Gone were the days when we shared a hymnal and swayed to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”

I am a trivocational religious professional: writer, minister, professor. Mom chided me for trying to do too much. I saw my fervor as staying alive; she saw it as hubris. I valued the rich sabbath inheritance Mom passed along to me, but I’d neglected its value in reminding me of humility and humanity.

And so we wrestled over sabbath—and life.

“You’re trying to do too much,” she’d repeat when I skipped sabbath rest amid duties for my three part-time jobs. I’m doing what I must do to be successful, I thought.

But success looked different to her. We danced like this for the last seven years of her life. Mom slowly and steadily letting go of this life; me gripping onto it as hard and as fast as I could. A piece of us longed for what the other chose, but we never met in the middle. I coped with her withdrawal through nonstop wheel spinning; she met my at­tempt to exert godlike control over my life (and hers) by doubling down on her surrender.

And so I was not surprised when she declined a green-scrubbed surgeon’s plea to repair her perforated intestines in a simple yet life-saving surgery.

I had to reconcile myself to her decision, releasing my desire for her to combat her condition—to fight for what I, and the world, perceive as valuable: more time on earth. I let go. Sabbath and death are, after all, an acceptance of what’s left undone in order to lean into that which transcends. Letting go on a day of rest is to trade chaos for peace; letting go of the lives we’ve known is to trade the temporary for eternity. In both, we draw nearer to God."

She writes "Sabbath and death are, after all, an acceptance of what's left undone in order to lean into that which transcends."  This resonates with my perception  of Joanne in hospice. Retirement was not an easy adjustment for her. Eventually she made it partly because of her infirmities. "Doing" was terribly important to her and the outpouring of affirmation she received via email, comments on Caring Bridge, letters, cards, phone calls and visits helped to her acceptance of "I've done enough."  With that assurance she anticipated the final sabbatical of death with equanimity. She died peacefully without fear or anxiety.

   Yes, rest in peace good and faithful servant!

Takk for alt,

Al

PS One question to ponder: Are you more comfortable 'being' or 'doing'?

Afraid

Self image is interesting and I like to think that I'm cognizant of self. An important part of my image of myself is that I'm non-anxious.  "Missed my flight? OK, can you book me...?" Likely there is, at least, a bit of truth in my perception that I'm low anxiety. That certainly wasn't always true but I've worked at being less fearful. Some of that comes with experience and age has given me much of that...'been there, done that.' Those of you who know me well may want to correct my perception.

    There is one thing that strikes fear in my heart. While I know it, and realize that it's not rational it still bothers me. The origin of this particular issue is very clear to me but that is only partially helpful in ameliorating my anxiety. It was imprinted on me in childhood.

   Do you want to know of what I'm afraid or shall I wait for a later post to reveal it? 🌝 OKAY, here goes...promise not laugh?  I fear being late, consequently I'm terminally early. Even when I try to be "fashionably late" I'm at least on time. It's a trait I learned from my father. Neighboring farmers used to joke that when they saw us going by on our way to church it was time for them to leave the barn and get ready to go! Consequently I'm almost never late, way early? yes, but seldom late. Being late provokes anxiety and I can't seem to help it.

   Ah, yes, nothing like wrestling with the big issues of life is there? Joanne? Seldom late but not afflicted with the anxiety I carried about lateness.

Takk for alt

Al

Next ???, Part 2.

My mind is so clean because I change it so often 😋. Or, maybe I'm just wishy washy! The topic is 'what's next for me after life in this condo'.  This has been a great place, first for us, and now for me. The energy of being downtown has, and still, appeals to me. The building in which my condo is located is called The Crossings because the skyway crosses through the 2nd floor, going off in four directions. (For non-Minnesotans; the skyway is a nine mile system of enclosed, 2nd story walkways covering downtown Minneapolis.) Joanne loved taking her walker and walking to Target in it, which was over a mile away and, of course, there was a coffee stop on the way home. Housed in the Crossings are good friends and many acquaintances. The heated, underground, parking is also a nice perk. The 1800+ square feet that I occupy is more than I need, but I'm not anxious to move. The satisfaction of my present situation made me think I'd stay here until I needed assisted living.
   A CCRC, (Continuing Care Retirement Community), was not something I'd considered until Tom explained their decision to opt for one. One of the prime movers for their decision was entering the retirement community in independent living with the option of continuing care; assisted living if they need it and skilled nursing also if they need it. They found a place with a vibrant community in the independent living units. They are excited about being a part of that community.
   The idea of being part of a new community has some appeal for me and that's new. Wish washy? Perhaps not, just new data to which I want to be open. From the response to last night's post I gather I'm not the first one to think about this and Tom and his wife are waaaaayyy ahead of me. One difference between us is that this will be their first downsize from a lovely old home, whereas Joanne and I made that move almost 10 years ago.
    Well, stay tuned and share your wisdom and experience with me.  Data gathering, conversation, research and contemplation is on my docket.  Fortunately it doesn't appear that a need to change is imminent for me, so I hope to choose well before a need arises. 

Takk  for alt,

Al

Next???

What if I suffer memory failure?  What if I have a medical crisis?  For sixteen months I've lived in the land of grief without adult supervision, though my children do try to supervise from a distance. But, those two questions above, have prompted me to consider "what's next?"   Not wanting to wait until a new living arrangement is a requirement rather than a choice I've begun to consider options.
   Nothing is imminent, I like my condo, it's location and my living situation.  This is in the 'preventive'  category so that, if and, when I should need help I'm prepared.  On our ride home from The Little House on the Prairie today Tom and I had a very helpful conversation about living wisely and well...his words.  He and his wife thoroughly studied and researched options and have made their plan.  If the time comes that I need additional care I want to be prepared so that I go to a place of my choice, rather than to a place chosen with a hurried decision forced by lack of preparation.
    Joanne is to be credited with the move we made to this condo which was a great choice.  Much of the needed downsizing has been done.  She was the one who recognized that it was time for us to make a move and she was the one who did most of the searching. For both of those realities; getting us moving and doing most of the searching, I am grateful to her.  Just another of the myriad ways she was a blessing to me.

Takk for alt,

Al

Roots

Have you ever appreciated something subliminally while never really stopping to full understand it? For the second time this summer I'm seeing the environs of The Little House On The Prairie through another persons eyes. This is helping me to realize consciously and appreciatively how deep are my roots here.  One set of grandparents settled here in 1884 and the other set in 1885...twelve miles apart. Tonight at dinner seven of us can trace our lineage in one way or another back to those grandparents. One hundred and thirty five years of family connections to this place creates roots! Joanne is buried by one set of those grandparents.
    On my nephews farm today we entered the building in which I was schooled for eight years. At dinner tonight a diner came over and introduced himself, Tommy Teller, with whom I attended school in that building for seven of those years.  Tommy was the object of my envy then because he had a pony.  Likely it has been 50+ since we had met. This, too, was a reminder of my roots. 
    Roots are another blessing for which I am grateful!

Takk for alt,

Al

The School House

   

Heritage Tour

How many persons really listen to you?  The deep listening that hears the end of the story with all its nuances and no interruptions?  If you are fortunate, perhaps two or three at most?  Today Tom and I embarked on a listening tour.  We began by visiting Springfield, MN., Tom's home town.  We saw the church where his grandfather and father were pastors and where he learned to play the organ.  He took us to visit their graves, we saw the school, the building that housed the family drug store, the golf course, lunched with his friends who are attorneys in town and much more. The best part were the stories that each of these sites evoked.  Tom's a special friend, though of recent acquisition, and so I listened with rapt attention as that was a gift I wanted to give him.  My reward were the revelatory stories which came as we visited the various sites.
      After a great tour of Springfield we headed west to The Little House on the Prairie. Near The Little House, we stopped first at the Bergh Cemetery where my brother, grandfather and grandmother, Bergh, uncles and aunts are buried.  In 1884 my grandfather, newly ordained and graduated from the Hauges Seminary in Red Wing, MN., was sent to Brookings Co., SD. to found a church.  The church was on the grounds of that cemetery. 
  From there we traveled to the cemetery was Joanne is buried.  It is sixteen months ago today that Joanne died.  As I listened to Tom in Springfield, so now he s listening to me.  This is neat model, i.e., this deliberately visiting each other's site and giving opportunity to talk at length about that which is important to us. Friends, aren't they wonderful?

Takk for alt,

Al

At This Age

"Memories--are all the aged have.  The young have hopes and dreams, while the old hold the remains of them in their hands and wonder what happened to their lives"  p. 11, The Gift Of Rain"  Tan Twan Eng.  (An excellent book.)

   No, I think the aged have more than memories.  However, there is much truth in the second sentence...many old people do wonder what happened to their lives. Sometimes when I am people watching, and see people I assume to be about my age, I try to imagine them as your children and wonder what transpired in their lives. What have they experienced?  Are they surprised about how life unfolded?  Were their dreams realized?
    Reflection on my life is a prompt for gratitude. Somehow I made a life and so many of the blessings of it are attributable to Joanne. My first unsuccessful attempt at college was a source of some embarrassment to me. However, had I been successful, likely I would never have met Joanne! So, I should really write an ode to failure. My stint in the Marines allowed me to mature enough to succeed in college and that's where I met her...on my second try.  Life often makes the most sense in the rear view mirror. What seems random at the time it happens gains clarity in retrospect.
    Life in the land of grief is good...yes, I miss her terribly...but I have memories and more.

Takk for alt,

Al

Finally!

 It was a gift and memory is refreshed by a little note inside the front cover.  Amy, who lives and works in Australia. happened to be in Minnesota for a conference just as Joanne entered hospice.  This provided opportunity for Joanne and Amy to have significant conversation. That's about 16 months ago, and just now, I'm reading the delightful book Amy gave us then...finally!  The book is Martin Marten, a novel by Brian Doyle.  And, yes, Martin is a marten...you know the mammal in the weasel, fisher, wolverine, family.
   Listen to Doyle...
        "People are stories aren't they? And their stories keep changing and opening and closing and braiding and weaving and stitching  and slamming to a halt and finding new doors and windows through which to tell themselves, isn't that so? Isn't that what happens to you all the time? It used to be when you were little that other people told you stories about yourself and and where you came from, but then you began to tell your own story, and you find that your story keeps changing in thrilling and painful ways, and it's never in one place. Maybe each of us is a sort of village, with lots of different being living together under one head of hair, around the river of your pulse, the crossroad of who you were and who you wish to be."  P. 152

       "Purity of mind is to will one thing" said the philosopher.  "I am legion" said the demon before entering the herd of swine. Unity of self is a thing to be desired but it requires agreement from the committee that inhabits us.  Let me illustrate,  After stepping on the scale, after breakfast, the part of me that would like to be thin decides to diet. This a sole decision without consultation with the other committee members of self. Not much later, after a strenuous morning, I'm guest at a particularly sumptuous lunch. Now another member of the committee of selves, this one focused on pleasure, comes to the fore saying "Diet? who says? Maybe later, but now I'm really hungry and this food is great."  So  ends the diet because there was no committee meeting to reach agreement for that decision.

   Yes, indeed we are stories, and those stories are the result of the ascendancy of one self or another and seldom from a unified committee of selves.

Takk for alt,

Al

Monosyllabic Introvert

"...remember to marry someone who is good company and can carry one end of the conversation and sometimes both."
   This quote from Garrison Keillor made me think of Joanne and our differences in conversation.  Many years ago, when she was flying much as the President/CEO of Lutheran Services of America, she accumulated many frequent flier miles. As a gift to me she used some of those miles to upgrade me to first class on one of my trips to Bangkok.  After I arrived in Bangkok I received an email from her asking about my flight.  My response was something along the line of "it was good."  You're not surprised that she found the brevity of my response under-whelming. 😛
    Sometimes I would tease her saying that "everyone has a lifetime quota of words and if that quota is reached before death a person is mute for the remainder of life."  Her response "I'll just borrow some of yours."  When she was convalescing at home after surgery I'd put out an SOS to her friends "Please call or visit Joanne because she's trapped at home with a monosyllabic introvert."
   Yes, I married "someone who is (was) good company and can carry one end of the conversation and sometimes (often) both."  Had I do it over again I would try harder to keep up my end of the conversation.  The presence of absence is often the most evident at those times when we would have been in conversation.

Takk for alt,

Al

Perspective Of Age

Smudges on my windows?  Care? of course not, they are signs that a little person was here.  Windows are easy to clean but I may just leave the hand prints as a reminder that I had visitors.  Window smudges are just a metaphor for the perspective that comes from decades of living.  So many things that once trouble me are of no concern in this decade of life.  Sorry that I'm old?  No, surprised that it happened so fast 😊, but old age is a privilege that many are denied.  It is fascinating to have lived so long that I've gotten to see how life developed for those with whom I grew up...many surprises I must say, with both successes and failures.  The writer and humorist, Garrison Keillor, wrote the following about being "of an age" published in The Writer's Almanac yesterday.

"My birthday is this week, which I mention by way of saying, “Please. No gifts.” My love and I went through major downsizing in January and we are pretty much done with Things now, even a picture of a wilderness lake taken by you or an inspirational book that could change our lives. My life is good enough. Every day is incredibly precious. When you reach 77, you’ll feel the same way. It’s a shame that a con man is in the White House as the Arctic is melting and white nationalists are shooting up our cities, but we’ll be okay, we just need a Trexit vote next year.

"Pharmaceuticals would’ve enabled Dostoevsky to retire from writing agonizing novels and switch over to light comedy in his old age and Thoreau to leave Concord and move to New York and find a girlfriend. He went out on a cold rainy night to look at trees and caught bronchitis, which agitated his TB and he went into a steep decline. As he lay dying, his aunt asked if he’d made his peace with God, and Henry said, “I was not aware that we had ever quarreled.” So he had a good last line, which many people don’t, but think what he and his girlfriend could’ve done with thirty more years"

   So it is in my dotage living in the land of grief...life is good.

Takk for alt,

Al

Obituaries again...

Obituaries are the only redemptive news anymore

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The life and legacy of Toni Morrison

             

Trailblazing author Toni Morrison was the first African American woman to win the Nobel prize for literature, died Aug. 5. Her legacy goes beyond awards. (Video: Adriana Usero/Photo: Illustration: Sarah Hashemi/The Washington Post)

 

By Philip Kennicott

Art and architecture critic

August 7 at 7:00 AM

"Toni Morrison is dead. So are D.A. Pennebaker and Aretha Franklin, and Philip Roth, Stephen Hawking, Ursula K. Le Guin, Milos Forman and too many others to name, even when limited to artists and writers who have perished in the past few years alone. By some accounts, two people die every second, thousands every hour, tens of millions every year. But at this moment in American life, the death of our best people has become a collective lifeline and refuge from our anxieties. It sometimes seems that the obituary is the only news that makes us feel whole.

Morrison was our essential conscience, a writer of narrative brilliance and moral clarity. The magnitude of her loss, at this moment in our descent into barbarism, is incalculable. But to spend time today with her work, with memories of her life and the testimony of those who knew her, is infinitely more rewarding than reading about all the other terrible things that have happened in the past few days. The deaths of artists and other creators make us reflective, and we live at a moment when looking back is much easier than looking forward."  From The Washington Post, 8/7/2019. 

    Yes, I do read obituaries. No, I don't remember when I started, but others in my age cohort tell me that they also read them.  After my previous blog about the lack of candor in obituaries and eulogies a friend forwarded an obituary that included the line "she was never a great student" 😃  It does say something about our time if we must turn to obituaries for inspiration. However, in any circumstance Toni Morrison's obituary would be inspiring.
    Did you ever think about writing your obituary?  Perhaps that is only a question a person of advanced age would ask.  Imagine writing your obituary...what in your life was most significant that you'd want to emphasize?  He/she took time to smell the flowers?  She/he attended 3000 committee meetings?  He/she visited XX countries?  He/she saved his/her pennies to give his/her dollars away?
Fill in the blanks for your obit.

Takk for alt

Al