Young Bert suggested a good subject for the blog would be for me to “…write about getting old.” See? Right there is the problem. I understand how, if you’re 25, you might think that being 63 is old, but being old and getting old is no small distinction. For 20 years, I ran 10, 7 minute miles, 25 days/month, traveled 100,000 miles/year supervising 1,500 people in 35 cities. Now, I run miles every morning, then do an hour with free weights, and can curl 75 lbs 30 times -- which I don’t believe young Bert can do. So, who is he to say that at 63 I am old? I’m a God Damn gladiator.
Anyway, I have my doubts “…writing about getting old…” is such a good idea. The young among us, can’t relate. There are volumes written about aging by far better wordsmiths than I. Go read their stuff.
I did have a real nice B-Day though. Catherine took me to dinner and the Guthrie, bought me a massage at Life Time Fitness and a book. Two people from the Wolf Center called to wish me happy birthday and tell me they resigned. I had a nice chat with Britta and Tania and I was IMing with Ra and Bert. That felt good. Karen got my Mom and took me to lunch and Karen made me a calendar of the grand kids. I got good wishes from Janet K and my bro. My sister called. Emails are still pouring in. All and all, it was just what I needed.
Maybe the reason so many people send good wishes is because when you turn 60 freakn 3, everyone knows you need to be cheered up. I thought I’d make a list of the good things and bad things about being my age, then I realized I don’t have enough paper in the house to lists the bad things, so I’ll just focus on the good things.
Wisdom. That’s all I could come up with. And, for the role I play that matters most, i.e., parenthood, wisdom is of no value. I’d be happy if my wisdom was enough to keep my adult children from playing in traffic. Some of them have in the past, and plan to in the future, ride motorcycles up and down Hwy 19 to and from New Port Richey, FL. Pretty much the same as playing in traffic.
I don’t hunt, fish or follow sports. I’m too old for bull shit, I no longer indulge fools and I’m wise enough not to pay any attention to the opinions of Republicans. One might think as smart as I am, I’d be rich, so wisdom, by itself, doesn’t do that. You need something else to go with it. Wisdom is a funny thing. The smarter you are, the more you realize how little you know – and the more obvious it is that people who don’t know much think they do.
You become what you believe you are. It's a law of the universe.
For example, feeling like a victim leads one to the edge of a warm and inviting, but very dark pit of tar. Remember the Tar Baby in the Song of the South? Think of yourself as Brer Rabbit hopping along that fence rail and adroitly jumping into the briar patch -- instead.
63 Years of Memories....
63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.
There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.
Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!
How do you thank a place for memories?
2 comments:
Well said.
The interesting thing you left out of your philosophical post is that age allows you to wax philosophical which you so eloquently did.
What did that old refrigerator magnet say? Dealing with age is just mind over matter... If you don't mind it, it doesn't matter! That's my philosophy!
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