What Is Old Age Anyway?

For several years now, I have been struggling with an affliction that I could call “outdated views of old age.” When I was growing up back in the 1950s, 60 years old was “really up there.” Today, that has changed dramatically. Now, 60 is “the new 50.” I have had trouble grasping that.

There is a government program that promises to help “mature” unemployed workers find part-time jobs. In my recently unemployed condition, I decided to go to the local office for this program and see if I could find some work to help tide me over. I am mature, I am unemployed, and I supposed that was all that is required to take advantage of this program.

The lady who runs this program is herself quite mature; she’s in her 80s. I bit back the old cliché that she is well preserved. But she is. She and I have visited quite a little over the two weeks that we’ve known each other; like me, she can’t really afford to retire. And she didn’t care for retirement very much when she tried it, anyway. I had thought this lady was around 72 until she told me she is 81! And at that moment I began to see something new.

I have been uncertain about how I feel as I contemplate continuing to work at an age when most of my contemporaries are retired and enjoying their freedom. To be honest, I have had more than a tinge of self-pity about it. My life has been one of inner searching, not accumulation of retirement funds, let alone anything resembling monetary wealth. There has been no career, no high-paying jobs; now I near retirement age with an exceedingly slim balance in one savings account, no IRA, no investments. I cannot afford to retire. And I have a Ph.D. Even though I realize that this situation is the result of my own choices, somehow it doesn’t seem right.

But after meeting this lady at the government program’s office, I see another side to it. Continued activity. Challenges. Things that will keep me physically healthy and mentally alert as I move on into those “golden years.” There’s nothing wrong with doing things that keep me healthy and alert as long as possible. My only request is that I might find work that does more than just build a bottom line for a cadre of anonymous shareholders.

As it turned out, I am too rich (although I can’t afford to retire) to qualify for this program. All the time and work to register produced nothing. The job interview I got through the program led to nothing, although I think the people wanted to hire me. That’s what happens to me when I try to get help from the programs I have paid taxes into.

But the opportunity to get acquainted with that 81-year-old lady, who enjoys working and likes the way it helps her stay spry and alert, taught me something. That makes the entire fiasco worth the time I spent there. I know now that age really can be just a number. I’ve been writing myself off based on ideas about old age that just don’t hold true today. Now - I don’t do that any more.

The disappointment was worth that.

Finding Gold In a Long Commute

Recently I was laid off from the job that I had held for 13 months. It took me some 18 months to find that job, not including a period of waiting after another job didn’t work out. I had felt financially stable, finally, and I was beginning to get some debts paid off. It was a good feeling.

Then the shoe dropped. Shoe, heck. Felt like Paul Bunyan’s heaviest boot!

I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted. Of course there was no job, no income, no certainty about the future. (They said I would be one of the first to be called back, but I can’t wait for six months and it will probably be that long.)

But also there was no getting up at 5:00 a.m., no 100-mile round trip every day on top of 8 hours spent typing, no more driving east at sunrise and west at sunset, no more reading minuscule print off product packaging, no more typing Spanish text…OK. There are things I can like about this. That’s good.

So let me think a little about that 100-mile round trip. I was literally adding 500 miles to my odometer every week. That’s 2,000 miles in one month. It was a lot of wear and tear on my car which, fortunately, was fairly new when I got this job.

Over those 13 months, I had time to watch each season in detail – the crops ripening in the summer heat, farmers harvesting during the autumn as the colors changed, the austere beauty of a winter sunset over a field full of snow, the challenge of driving in sleet and snow storms, and of course the new greening as the world came back to life, and the planting of the new crops.

There was time to think about the seasons, about the Creator of all things, about myself and the growth I felt going on within me. And I have to conclude that it was a remarkable year. Some really odd things happened to me during the year that I put 100 miles on my car every day.

There were several unitive moments – times when the world and life somehow seemed so beautiful that I couldn’t bear it. For instance there was the day last fall as I was driving home, enjoying the perfectly clear deep blue sky, bright sunshine, vivid colors, crops ripe in the fields and farmers working in clouds of dust to harvest them. It was, for several minutes, so beautiful that I wept briefly. There was another moment like that a few weeks ago as I waded through the crowds leaving the park after the Fourth of July band concert and fireworks display. There were others. These two were among the most vivid.

Then there was the boil-water order I found one day last summer when I got home from work. My job was close to a Wal-Mart, and I decided that instead of depending on boiling water I’d buy some bottled water the next day. (There wasn’t any left in town by the time I got home.) So the next day I went into the Wal-Mart, a store I had never been in before, and I had no idea where the beverages were. The usual greeter wasn’t around, and I wondered who could direct me. It was only a few seconds later that a man came steaming past me into the store, pushing a noisy shopping cart full of empty plastic jugs. Supposing that he intended to fill them with water, I followed him and he led me right to my destination. It was the timing of his appearance that made me see the incident as, well, not a coincidence.

And one day I was struggling with low blood sugar, at the end of the work day, and faced driving home at a time when I really wasn’t well. I prayed that somehow I would get home safely. Now I make a habit of driving 55 mph, which is the posted speed limit on the two-lane highways in my state. Everybody who comes up behind me passes me as soon as they get a chance. That day, however, there was a series of drivers who would come up behind me on each leg of my journey home. When one turned off, another would come along in a couple of miles. I was followed all the way into my home town. On a day when I had asked for help, not one of those drivers passed me. Again, I didn’t think that was a coincidence.

You see what I mean? Things that don’t normally happen to me were happening. Maybe it was partly a matter of me being more aware of what went on around me. But that doesn’t explain the afternoon at work when, for just a split second, it seemed that I was standing behind my chair and looking at the back of my head. It was over so quickly that it could have been just a figment of imagination. But I was flooded with emotions and sensations that clearly were not imaginary. It had been a true out-of-body experience. For a tiny fraction of a second I had been something more than I normally am, larger, more confident, stronger, more joyous. It was a true mystical experience. I can prove it…because to this day I can’t really describe those feelings; my description is only a guess. And probably the only truth we know about such experiences is that they are indescribable.

So all that driving was worth it, because it opened me up to new levels of perception and sensitivity. And that is what I need the most, after all. I’m working on this current unemployment situation from the inside out, and I’ll need all the perception and sensitivity I can muster.

Life Lessons in Free Cell

As a newly unemployed person (was laid off a couple of weeks ago) I am faced with a bunch of activities that I am thoroughly tired of: searching want ads, printing off cover letters and resumes, examining my wardrobe for interview outfits. It is a scene that has produced very little for me over the years of my working life, and here I am – months away from retirement age – going through this again. I had hoped that job would hold me until I at least had the option of retiring.

I have been running away from those activities (until today) by indulging in my passion for Free Cell, which has replaced Spider Solitaire as my computer game addiction. I enjoy these games because they confront me with screens of playing cards in utter disorder, and the point of the game is to put them in order. I enjoy doing that.

But I have played Free Cell for so long now, and with such intensity, that the program usually gives me very difficult games. I don’t mind challenges, but I prefer them to offer me at least a ghost of a chance of success. And so, believe it or not, I am discovering life lessons in Free Cell.

My Source tells me frequently that I am impatient and that I try to force things to happen instead of just allowing them to unfold. Nowhere do I find that more evident than when I play Free Cell! The more thoroughly I look at the screen, the more slowly I go until I manage to find a move that opens the game up, the more patient I am as the game progresses – the more likely I am to win it, although it had seemed basically hopeless at the beginning. I have to be cautious, I have to tinker with the moves, and I even have to be sure they will lead to the result I desire which means I have to pay careful attention to details. And I must look ahead a few moves, not just rush forward.

There are often times, also, when I feel backed into a corner; I see no moves to make regardless of how I stare at the computer screen. Then, suddenly, as I am about to give up on the game, I see something that I had overlooked. I look carefully at it. Often it involves risk, but I try it. Voila!! The game falls open!

When I am playing this game patiently and allowing things to unfold, I win. And the moment when things look the darkest is the exact moment that I move the single card that throws the game open. Generally speaking, I win more games than I lose because of these factors.

Will that help me in the greater “game” of seeking sources of income? While I play this “game” called “looking for work” will it help if I am patient, pay attention to details, refuse to give up, and allow the results to play out however they will? I certainly feel backed into a corner; the local economy is downright depressed, and I’m competing with many younger people. I’m not sure I have much of a chance here. But it works in Free Cell. What do I have to lose?

Book Review: My Stroke of Insight

MY STROKE OF INSIGHT by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph. D.

It was an internet video by Jill Bolte Taylor, talking about her stroke and what she experienced, that interested me in this book.

Jill was working as a scientist, as part of a team trying to map neural circuits in the human brain. She actually thought it was cool when she woke up one morning, realized she was having a stroke, and decided to take advantage of the chance to study what her own brain was going through.

To try to summarize briefly what Jill tells us, I can say that we have two halves or hemispheres in our brains. The right hemisphere or right side of our brains is the emotional/spiritual side, where our instincts and sensitivity and things like that come from. The left side is the logic and language center, where we have our speech and language and ability to reason.

Jill’s stroke powerfully affected the left side of her brain. Her language capability was going in and out. Her ability to think logically enough to call for help was going in and out. At times the left half of her brain went completely off-line, to use a computer word.

What happened at those times was the part that interested me the most. When the right brain dominated Jill, she became aware that she was part of an enormous flow of energy, and in a state of peace. In her book she calls it Nirvana. A Christian mystic would say she was in a state of unity with God. (Yes, there are Christian mystics. Many of the early saints were mystics. We even have them today. Our beloved Mother Teresa was a mystic.)

Then the left brain would come back into operation, and Jill lost that state of peace but was able to keep trying to call for help. During the stroke, she kept going back and forth between the state of peace and the ability to try to get help. During it all, she remained conscious, and in no fear at all because of the peace that she was in.

It took her eight years to fully recover – physical strength, speech, ability to reason, ability to resume her work as a scientist and teacher.

She gives much information about strokes – what can cause them, what stroke patients need for recovery, how the medical profession should treat stroke patients. She works now to spread this information on behalf of stroke patients.

She also has things to say about the spiritual side of our nature. In most of us, the rational left side of the brain dominates. One of the things we do with the “left mind,” as Jill calls it, is to make judgments. She has a lot to say about how we can live in more happiness and peace by learning how to let our “right mind” be more active within us. She chooses now to be a different person than she had been before the stroke, quieter, less judgmental, less easily frustrated and angered, and more at peace with herself. And she shows us how to do that also.

Parts of the book are fairly technical, with descriptions of how the brain works, but she is a teacher and does a pretty good job of explaining it so that laypersons can understand. I found all of it interesting. The things she says about our spiritual nature, our connection to God, to that flow of energy and source of peace, were what fascinated me the most. If you want to learn about stroke or the needs of stroke patients, or if you want to find out what Jill experienced during her stroke, you will decide to read this book. I heartily recommend it.

Book Review: Dewey

Do you believe in animal angels? No? To be honest, I am not certain that I do either. But after reading this book, I have started to re-think the question.

Dewey Readmore Books was a real cat in a real library in a small town in Iowa. His story is told in DEWEY: THE SMALL-TOWN LIBRARY CAT WHO TOUCHED THE WORLD, written by Vicki Myron with Bret Witter.

Somehow, on a cold night, Dewey found his way into the outdoor book drop of the library in Spencer, Iowa. The next morning he was found by the author, Vicki, who was the chief librarian. The library board and staff adopted him, later the entire town adopted him, and he actually gained a fair amount of worldwide fame.

Dewey took his job as library cat seriously. He gave his attention to the staff members and the library patrons. He had a remarkable ability to identify people who needed his attention – people who were depressed, who needed a laugh, who had some special need. He had an unerring instinct for doing whatever the situation called for to comfort a sore heart, to bring someone out of his social shell, to give a laugh.

The book is about more than Dewey, however. It is about life itself. Life in rural America during the 1980s and 1990s, the ups and downs of farmers and the communities they depend on. It is about Vicki herself and the family and health issues she had to confront. It is about people who struggle and survive, clinging to hope and faith.

But back to the animal angel issue. All of us who have pets know that our animal friends are sensitive to our moods and work to amuse or comfort us when we need them to. But Dewey, card-carrying member of a notoriously free-thinking and independent species of animal (the cat family), seemed to carry this sense to the level of art. I have known many cats but I have never seen one with the instinct that Dewey had. And that does make me wonder if he was an animal angel. That cat certainly had a gift for easing others’ hearts.

There are amusing sidebars in the book to break up the narrative, providing such information as Dewey’s daily routine and his rules on running the library.

I had a little trouble getting into the book at first; the writing seemed stiff. After a while, I didn’t notice it any more.

If you enjoy reading about animals in general or cats in particular, or life in small towns, you should enjoy this book.

"Give" and "Receive" Are Action Words

Well, of course "give" and "receive" are action words. They are verbs, the parts of speech that describe actions. Some actions have things called objects; you read the book, you write the letter, you wash your car. Other actions do not; the sun shines, the dog barks, the rain falls.

But in this post, think of "give" and "receive" as special action words. With capital letters.

I have a friend who is fighting a brain tumor. She's a dear person and a spiritual sister to me. She used to be a nurse, but she is no longer able to work. One of her greatest joys is to give to others. That is the urge that sent her to nurse's training in the first place.

So what do you do, when you itch to give, and you can no longer work as a nurse? You give what you can, where you can, and to whomever is there.


She and I visited the local supermarket briefly last Sunday, after church. We shared the same shopping cart. I got a couple of odds and ends I would need to see me through the week. She was on her way to her mother's place and was looking for some things to take to her, foods the elderly lady would like to eat.

Then my friend's urge to Give hit. "Do you need potato chips?" I had plenty of potato chips at home.

"How about pizza? Do you like pizza?" I do, and again, I had a few in my icebox.

"Hey, do you like ice cream?" Well, of course I do, but I don't eat a lot of it in the winter. And in the summer, I am cautious about keeping it around because I can't stay out of it. And I am trying to control my weight. So I said I do like ice cream, but it's too cold to eat it now.

I can't recall the entire conversation in all its glory and magnificence, but my friend wound up buying two packs of ice cream sandwiches, each a different variety, to take to her mother's. And I agreed to take a few of the sandwiches on to my own place from her mother's. (Her mother and I live in the same apartment house.)

I wound up with three ice cream sandwiches. And yes, I have already eaten one of them and have promised myself I will eat the others only on weekends. (Come on, weekend!) I honestly would have preferred not to take them, to wait until warmer weather, but as surely as they had been spoken to me, words came into my head: "She wants to do this. Let her."

At that point, she Gave and I Received. She Gave out of her urge to share with others, and I Received out of the urge to help her Give.

And when you get right down to it, you can't Give unless there is someone to Receive.

Someone said to me once, speaking of her own difficulty in receiving the gifts of others, that we are taught by Jesus (and many other teachers as well) to give to others. And that it is an act of love and generosity on our part to receive, so that the person who needs to give can do so. Every time my friend with the brain tumor wants to Give me something, I remember what that other person said, and I have to admit I have pride and the desire to be in control. That makes it hard, sometimes, to accept things from others.

So when you accept gifts in spite of pride, or the desire to control, or any other problem you might have with other people giving you stuff, you swallow all that, you understand the other's need to share, and you Receive.

I really did enjoy that ice cream sandwich. And I look foward to eating the others!

Earhquakes, Jobs, and Other Changes

April was a busy month.

I survived the earthquake in Illinois. I started a job. I lost the job. I sort of have another job.

There isn't much to say about the earthquake. What can you say about that anyhow? You wake up, your bed is shaking, you don't hear a train going by. You know that if you get up you will feel even less secure; you're used to trains shaking your furniture, but it feels distinctly scary to have the ground trembling under your feet. You just lie there and hold your breath until it stops, then you heave a great sigh of relief and turn over and go back to sleep.

But there is a lot to say about jobs.

I wound up with two offers. One required a 57-mile one-way commute, the other a 10-mile one-way commute. I took the one with the short commute. I was invited to call the other place back if the job I took didn't work out.

Well, it didn't. It was a classic case of a "bad fit." Generally I can learn a job with sufficient training and practice and time. Those things weren't available for once. A corporation, as long as you show potential, will give you enough time; anywhere from three to six months is what it can take for you to learn a job. But this time, after a little over three weeks, with three hours of training and no experience or direct supervision, I was out.

I know the theories. You don't lose something until you no longer need it. You manifest it, you don't like it, and you decide to manifest again. I know all that. It still felt like I'd had something within my grasp and it was snatched away. It has been hard to deal with.

But it was not a good fit. When friends asked me how my job was going, I would say either "She hasn't fired me yet" or "It feels less strange every week." I was alone in a three-room office, and I felt cramped, confined. I am used to having people around me at work, and there was nobody there but me. I never said, "I don't like this," but I wasn't at peace with it. Even so, with more time and support I could have learned it, could have adjusted.

I'm not sorry I tried it. I guess some types of jobs aren't as learnable as I thought. I learned some things. Heard some interesting stories.

But I took the other place up on their invitation. I called them the next day. There is a place for me, but - as has been the history with this place - I don't know exactly when it will be available. Probably sometime this month, but precisely when is unsure right now. I am almost out of resources and I can only trust it will be sooner rather than later.

A cat, when it falls, will land on its feet. Maybe I have done that myself.

On the other hand, I face such an expensive commuting situation that I am seriously thinking of downsizing. A smaller place to live, lower rent, some of the utilities included in the rent. Losing the garage for my car, losing my lovely backyard that I have enjoyed watching the last year and a half, going back to an apartment. Again, the labor of moving.

But none of that seems as important as the spiritual growth I have experienced here in this tiny house. I am reluctant to leave here and go on to the kind of life I will have with a two-plus-hour drivetime every day and no backyard to come home to. Can I manage to stay in touch with the small moments that have taught me so much? Will my life be all hustle and bustle with no opportunity for the contemplative pursuits that feed me?

And beyond all of that, I have chosen to share my experiences and wisdom (such as they may be) on a full-time basis, somehow, and none of the jobs I agonize about seems to offer me any way to do that. Yet I believe my choices will come to pass. That remains an open question. I was wondering, for a few days, if that will actually happen, but now I am regaining my peace with it.

Stay tuned.