Christmas Newsletter 2013

I didn’t send a Christmas newsletter this year. What was I going to say? Tom and I and the kids are fine, but it was a rough year for Dads?

My father died on March 1st, at the age of 99, and Tom’s father died on October 10th, at 90.

One of my father’s long ambitions was to live to be 100. When I saw him last January he said, “I was born in 1913 and this year is 2013, so I lived to be 100.” When I reminded him that his birthday was the last day of the year, so he had a little ways to go to reach 100, he smiled and said, “Close enough. Close enough.” And I knew he was ready. Six week later he got up for breakfast, got up again for lunch, laid down for an afternoon nap and died quietly in his sleep.

Tom’s father George had a slowly growing brain tumor that reduced his ability to connect thoughts to words, and a progressive lung disease that made it difficult for him to get enough oxygen. His last few days were difficult, but his final hours were peaceful. He lived to be 90 and died in his own bed in the house he built 57 years ago.

Both our Dads lived long and productive lives. They spent their lives doing the right thing rather than pursuing happiness, but they were nonetheless happy men.

My husband’s Aunt Peg died this year, too, 15 days after her only sibling, George, at the age of 84. She had never married nor had children. She was well educated and an artist, but she never had to work for money. Her father left her the income from a family trust, and that supported her, but she had no ownership or control of the trust, and I think she deeply resented this. She was a very private person, but I enjoyed her company and I wish I had taken more time to get to know her. Peg was one of the few people who read my blogs.

People grieve in different ways. I joined a church. I was raised a Lutheran, and I’m more liberal than conservative, so I looked for a church affiliated with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. My father always thought women could and should have whatever career they liked, so I sought out a female pastor. He would have liked Pastor Sarah. My new church has brought me a lot of joy and peace. I think the Lord led me there.

My husband is cleaning the basement. I’ve been telling him for years that he needs to sort through his stuff so the kids won’t have to some day. After his father died he stood in the living room of the house he grew up in and after looking around at 57 years of accumulated stuff, he said, “The kids don’t want it.” Tom is finally going through all his old electronics, cameras, empty boxes, etc. and selling, tossing or donating stuff. If we live to be 99, like my Dad, we have 35 years left to play with our toys, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only stuff.

Things don’t matter. The people we love, and the people who love us back, matter.

I found a poem recently that I want to share:

Out of the World There Passed a Soul

The day of my mother’s funeral I spend clearing out
her overgrown flower beds, down on my knees
in the leaf rot, nut shells, tiny grains of sandlot sand
spilling from the runoff gullies. The hot work was to see
not feel what had to be done, not to go on asking,
not to wonder anymore. Full from scraps I’d found
at the back of the refrigerator, her mongrel dog
lay curled on a stone and watched me work.
It was Sunday. The telephone rang, then stopped,
then rang again. By the end of the day, I’d done
what I could. I swept the walk, put away the tools,
switched on the indoor safety lamps, and then
(it hardly matters what I think I felt) I closed
the gate on a house where no one lived anymore.

by Sherod Santos

I get these poems through American Life in Poetry, edited by Ted Kooser, US Poet Laureate. Please follow the link to the website: www.americanlifeinpoetry.org

Earth Day

Today is Earth Day. The theme this year is climate change.

It’s pretty obvious that the climate of the earth is changing – we are experiencing more violent storms and higher average temperatures, the oceans are warmer and the polar ice is melting.

I believe that human activities are causing, or accelerating, this change. The climate on earth has changed before, but never as rapidly as since humans starting using fossil fuels to power their electrical plants and automobiles.

I read an interesting book some time ago called Collapse by Jared Diamond. He writes about the collapse of previous civilizations, such as those that flourished on Greenland and Easter Island. Diamond says, very convincingly, that these societies collapsed after they cut down all the trees. Trees also take carbon dioxide from the air; so fewer trees mean more carbon in the atmosphere and more warming. Will we cut down enough trees to cause an earth-wide collapse of civilization? It’s possible.

Diamond also speaks of the problems associated with the United States’ addiction to big cars and big, climate-controlled homes. He says the real problem is that the developing world wants the same cars and homes. He suggests we imagine what the world will look like when every Chinese family owns an SUV and every residence on the sub continent of India is air-conditioned. Even if the US froze their carbon emissions where they are today, would the rest of the world also freeze theirs?  It’s going to be difficult to say, “We will keep our cars and air-conditioning, thank you, but you can’t have the same things because of global warming.”

Our Congress could set strict fuel efficiency standards for vehicles and institute a carbon tax to help control carbon emissions from power plants, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. So I’m not sure what we can do, except make small changes individually to use less fuel, and to save as many trees as we can.

My kids are doing their part. My daughter does not own a car. She depends on public transportation. My son has volunteered to help a group that plants and tends trees in California. They are both moving to smaller, more efficient apartments this summer.

I have enough trees in my back yard to call it a carbon sink. I drive a small car. Other than that, I can only pray that the world wakes up to the problem of climate change before it gets much worse.

I don’t have any poems about climate change, so I am sharing one, just for fun, about squirrels.

Another Squirrel Tale

With them being all around my house

and even coming in at times,

how could I not have another squirrel

caper to report?

What I wanted to say of them was, that

I think they can give blessings. Surely

they are like little angels nesting in trees,

who like nuts.

I think they might even be able to

foretell winning lottery numbers, or

point out a good person to date, if you

are lonely.

But you have to be kind to them, or

they will never divulge they can talk.

From A Year With Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

Spinning

I wanted to do cycle spin classes for a long time, but I was afraid they would be too difficult for me. I finally got up my nerve and started last summer. Now I just love it. Cycle spin is a terrific workout, I really sweat like crazy, and my heart rate goes up nicely. At the same time, it’s easy on the joints. My butt hurt for the first four sessions, even with the padded bike shorts, but after that it quit bothering me. There are all ages, sizes and shapes of people doing cycle spin. Don’t think you have to be a super athlete to spin. If you want a good, fun workout, give it a try.

Of course, like any fitness class, the instructor makes a big difference.

My Tuesday night cycle spin instructor is Zack. He's a well-muscled, not too tall, blond guy. He's pretty easy on the eyes, in an innocent kind of way.

Zack is a little bit OCD as far as spinning goes. He times everything exactly, as in: We'll do a seated moderate climb for 20 seconds, followed by a seated difficult climb for 20 seconds, then a standing difficult climb for 20 seconds. We’ll recover for 30 seconds, and then repeat. He lays it all out for us, which is nice because I can really pace myself. He is also particular about having every joint and muscle placed exactly so - lift your hips one inch off the seat, lean forward, not too much weight on your hands, with tight abs and heels dropped.

He plays music, of course, as do all spin instructors, but it's just kind of background. If the planned routine is 3 minutes long, and the song is 3 minutes, 20 seconds, he turns the volume down for the last 20 seconds while he talks over it to get us ready for the next routine. It's a little disconcerting to never really finish a song.

But I sweat more for Zack than for anybody else, and all that structure makes the time go by fast, so he's one of my favorites.

My Saturday morning Cycle spin instructor is Jeff. He is a tall, muscular black guy with an earring and a Mohawk. When he is not a fitness instructor he sings karaoke. He was music major in college and he has an amazing play list. Sometimes at the beginning of class he sings along while we spin. (No one has breath to sing by the end of class.) Last week he was playing "Name the artist" for each tune he played. I am hopeless at that game, having absolutely no musical memory at all. I needed to have my son there. (He has an amazing memory for music.)

You would love Jeff! The thing about spinning is you set the tension on the bike wherever you want it, so you can work as hard (or not) as you like. Jeff is all about pedaling to the beat of the music. (Something I am also hopeless at - no rhythm - so I pedal to the beat of my own drummer.) His classes really are fun, so he’s one of my favorites, too.

I do Mike’s class sometimes. He is a little disorganized, but he plays great music from the 70’s, which I love.

Brian is absolutely gorgeous, plays great music, and is totally structured, but he’s gone back to school so he’s not teaching any more. (Sob)

Steve is completely random, and more than a little boring, so I probably won’t do his class again.

Julie spins like an anorexic maniac. I won’t do her classes, either.

Debbie is calm and focused, gentle almost. I can do Debbie.

If you start to spin, be sure to bring a towel (for the sweat) and a big bottle of water. The padded bike shorts are nice, and so are the special bike shoes that clip to the pedals. The shoes make it easier to pedal in a full circle rather than only applying pressure on the down stroke.

So – conquer your fears and look for a spin class. If you don’t like one instructor, find another. Keep going back until you toughen your buns. Pedal hard enough and fast enough to sweat. And enjoy!

Here’s a poem that really speaks to me now that I am retired and can do just about whatever I want:

Who Wants Those?

I am at a juncture now where I never have to
be serious again.

If I act that way—sober and concerned about
something . . . it is just a charade.

For people who are serious, well, let’s face it . . .
they seem to have lots of problems.

And who wants those?

From “A Year With Hafiz” by Daniel Ladinsky

A Poem for the New Congress

The NRA is selling fear: Buy a gun because “they” are coming to get you and a gun will protect you. Only a gun does not protect you. You are more likely to die or be injured from gun violence if you own a gun than if you don’t.

The following poem is one I’ve loved for a long time.

“True believers in liberty, and also security” seems like an apt thought for the times.

Fix

The puzzled ones, the Americans, go through their lives
Buying what they are told to buy,
Pursuing their love affairs with the automobile,

Baseball and football, romance and beauty,
Enthusiastic as trained seals, going into debt, struggling —
True believers in liberty, and also security,

And of course sex — cheating on each other
For the most part only a little, mostly avoiding violence
Except at a vast blue distance, as between bombsight and earth,

Or on the violent screen, which they adore.
Those who are not Americans think Americans are happy
Because they are so filthy rich, but not so.

They are mostly puzzled and at a loss
As if someone pulled the floor out from under them,
They'd like to believe in God, or something, and they do try.

You can see it in their white faces at the supermarket and the gas station
— Not the immigrant faces, they know what they want,
Not the blacks, whose faces are hurt and proud —

The white faces, lipsticked, shaven, we do try
To keep smiling, for when we're smiling, the whole world
Smiles with us, but we feel we've lost

That loving feeling. Clouds ride by above us,
Rivers flow, toilets work, traffic lights work, barring floods, fires
And earthquakes, houses and streets appear stable

So what is it, this moon-shaped blankness?
What the hell is it? America is perplexed.
We would fix it if we knew what was broken.

Alicia Suskin Ostriker

On the Death of a Child

The death of any child is a tragedy. The death of 20 children because a disturbed young man had easy access to an assault rifle is beyond understanding.

I’m sharing a poem today that has always made me cry:


Rispetti: On the Death of a Child

I thought I heard a knock on the door,
And I jumped up as if you were here again,
Speaking to me, as you so often did,
In a coaxing tone; “Daddy, may I come in?”

When at eventide I walked along the steep seashore
I felt your small hand quite warm in mine.

And where the tide had rolled up stones,
I said aloud; “Look out that you don’t fall!”

Paul Heyes