Want to join the club? No dues and no meetings

So what is it that brings you here to this blog site? Is this a first-time visit, or do you belong to the club? I’m referring, of course, to the regular members of the blog-reading fraternity. (Or is it a sorority?) I’m not sure what our members are called. Are they blog junkies or blog groupies? Whatever we call ourselves, it feels as though we have stumbled onto a most engrossing, stimulating, and sometimes addictive diversion---a perfect retirement pastime. If following the blogs of your choice is not already a part of your routine perhaps you ought to consider it. Are there times when your present world is not big enough to suit you, or doesn’t take you to the places you would like to go? If so, latching onto a blog or two can be a fun and painless way to expand your horizons. 

If there is a chance that might work for you let’s begin with the obvious---a working definition. Blog (noun) - a website on which an individual or group of users regularly record opinions, information, etc on a particular topic or range of topics.

However it happened, you have managed to find this blog, and I thank you for that. But did you know that there is a blog, or blogs, for just about everything under the sun? The bloggers you read may be seasoned experts or overeager novices. But no matter what the subject, someone out there is offering their own opinions and information on the matter---as well as creating a dialog about it, Take any interest, hobby, habit, or obsession imaginable and you can be sure that any decent search engine can locate one or more blogs that deal with it.

It is an internet-enabled pastime of course---a bit like visiting with your neighbor over the back fence. Except in this case your “neighbor,” the one who wants to talk with you about your favorite subject, may live on the other side of the world. Chances are he or she will bring unique insights and ideas to the conversation---something new for you to consider or explore. Best of all, you get to choose when to visit, whom you will visit with, and when to add your own input to the dialogue.

Perhaps you’re a “show me” sort of person. You know, someone who says “I’ll believe it when I see it.” If so, the test is oh-so-simple. No special computer skill is required. Just go to any search engine---enter a topic, any topic, in the search line, then add the word “blog.” It’s hard to imagine a legitimate subject that won’t produce multiple responses. Simply review the results of your search, choose a site that appeals to you, call it up and read. If you decide to join the online conversation you will be coached through that process.

At once you will find that you have stumbled onto a new kind of community, a virtual-village of folks who are excited by what excites you. For me that process began when I logged on to an inconspicuous website called Hitch Itch, where I was introduced to the world of full-time RVing, something that interested me a great deal. (Sadly my wife did not subscribe to the romance of making our home in a tin house on wheels.) She preferred her own fan collecting and genealogy blogs.

Anyway, there on Hitch Itch dozens of folks were posting their blogs---proclaiming the virtues of living full time in an RV, sharing their travel experiences, and staying in touch with each other. Though I am usually a silent observer, I occasionally add my input to some ongoing dialogue. On an irregular basis I follow the travels and trials of folks I’ve never met, and probably never will. 

We have become new-age Pen Pals. (Remember those?) In the same way the blog you are reading right now allows, those blogging Pen Pals have invited the rest of us to join them on their own unique journey---while we learn who they are and what keeps them going. It has the feel of an old-fashioned party-line, an intimate conversation posted for the whole world to read

As for myself, I have several reasons to be blogging. This October Years space is clearly labeled “a writer’s blog.” I use the format to explore, explain, and (gasp) promote my books. Hopefully that is enough to keep people returning to these pages.
Personally, I enjoy resurrecting some story I wrote years before to ask what I was trying to say and judge how successful I was. I’m always working on a new story, looking for ways to make them better. Writing a blog helps me do that. If, at the same time, I nudge some blog reader towards reading one of my stories I’m okay with that.

Finally, whatever your reason for being on this page at this moment I hope you’ll return often, and tell your friends about it. As always, I’ll keep asking for your comments, though few of you have taken me up on that.
 In the meantime, I hope you’ll check out other blog topics that interest you. There is a whole world waiting out there, tens of thousands of conversations going on at this very minute. Chances are there is one or more that you’d enjoy being part of. You have the computer and internet connection. (That’s how you’re reading this.) Why not visit Blogsville and see if one of the conversations ought to include you?

Happily Ever After -- Or Not

It’s been a while since I turned these pages toward the “Writer’s Blog” part of our title, so I will begin with the obvious. Because my stories are about seniors, those of us in our October or November time of life, they naturally deal with “second-time-around” relationships. Though in today’s world those alliances are not all that unusual, certain assumptions are required to turn them into a story.

Consider for a moment, how adaptable are you? Are you the kind who could start over with someone new? Would you be willing to risk another relationship? Not everyone can or wants to do that. Yet that is not a rhetorical question for the October seniors I write about---the ones considering the prospect of a new life with a new partner. 

For some, those who have seen a promising marriage turn sour, a more hopeful second chance might be tempting. I’ve told a few stories about that possibility. But what about those who have suffered the loss of his or her life mate---whether suddenly or after a drawn out illness? Can there ever be “another time” for them? I’ve explored those possibilities too. In every case the resulting answers are personal and unique. There is no right or wrong response to dealing with such loss, and the daunting prospect of facing our remaining years alone.

In the face of so many variables, what makes me a credible creator of the relational settings from which to launch a story? Perhaps like you, I’ve spent a lifetime becoming one-half of a pair, learning to live with “the one.” (And she with me. Truth to tell, she’s had the tougher job.) At this October stage of the game would I be willing to go through that sometimes complicated learning process again? I can’t answer that, and hope I never have to.

Yet, to tell the story I want to tell I must set my characters in a place where “another time” is an option. In the course of ten novel-length “relational” stories I have tagged along as my Tanner friends, many of them as unsure as you or I, faced that possibility. 

The first part of that storytelling process is simple enough---introducing a pair of lonely and wanting seniors to each other, explaining how they have made their way to that point in life, and planting the seed of relational possibility---a glimpse of what they think they want. If I do my job well the reader will want to know more about their journey toward that place, which is the story I’m telling.

Lately however, perhaps prompted by this renewed blog-focus, I sometimes wonder if my depictions of a “second chance” relationship have been too simplistic. 

I understand that the blending of any two lives into a meaningful partnership is not an easy thing. That must be especially true when they come together late in life---bringing with them a lifetime of habits, preferences, and expectations. Our coming together with a life-mate the first time, all those years ago, required trust, chemistry, and patience. Though I’ve never been there myself, I am certain that a successful second chance, an October relationship, must include those same elements.

In a story I call Second Chances each of the Harris brothers has been widowed. Though not actively seeking a new connection, both are beginning to sense that being alone for the years they have left is not an attractive prospect. There’s nothing unusual about that. So with a typical male “go-get-her” resolve each of them charges off just like the first time---forty-some years before---assuming that if he can win “her” interest their pairing will succeed. Of course, each of them is defining “success” in terms of his first long and loving marriage. Their mind-picture of a new relationship is bound to look like a replay of that first satisfying time.

But it is not that easy, is it? There are so many variables. How can anyone be sure the formula that worked so well in one relationship will succeed with someone else, someone they are still getting to know? Small wonder that not all my stories have a gift-wrapped, happily-ever-after ending. Still, who am I to say they shouldn’t try? Actually, that is exactly the notion I am trying to sell---in a relationship or any other October pursuit, the way to “thrive” is to keep trying.

Perhaps you can tell that digging deep, looking for unseen motives is an occupational hazard for someone like me. If so, I accept it as the price of authenticity. I want the stories I tell to be more than feel-good caricatures of lost and lonely souls stumbling toward inevitable happiness. My Tanner friends know it’s not always like that in the real world. Fact is, you’ll find very few ivory towers in the October landscape.

When I step back to consider my own experience I remember when I first seriously considered a future with “her”---and how that youthful “me” charged ahead, relying on a naive “I know we can make it work” model. Fortunately, it did. But there were no guarantees. The best we can do is say our prayers, trust our instincts, and hope for a patient partner. 

That was true at eighteen. I’m assuming it is still that way at seventy. We give it our best shot and take our chances. Since I want my October Years stories to be credible, don’t be surprised to find there are times when “giving it their best” wasn’t enough to win the happily-ever-after my Tanner seniors were seeking.

Mentors for our journey to becoming

It’s hard to beat a good example---a role model who shows us how to deal with the good times, and more particularly the hard times. Many of us late-life travelers on the road to “becoming” appreciate that---having someone illustrate, by a life well-lived, how fruitful October, November, even December can be. It’s a fact, you know. The souls we choose to guide us will help shape our journey.

In that light can you think of a more inspiring sight than watching President Jimmy Carter smile his quiet, confident smile in the face of an intimidating future? Is there any doubt that you are witnessing a strong faith at work? In what is likely his personal December he is still showing us how to make the most of our time and energy, illuminating new pathways to becoming.

And beyond the trauma of his present situation consider the lasting legacy he has created. Whatever you thought of the man’s politics, there is no denying that he has been a prime example of how to live a productive and eventful life after the “main event” has come and gone---another proof that becoming is a life-long process. Though he rose all the way to the top, here he is making his December as important and meaningful in its own way as his September and October.

Take a moment to think about your own life journey. If you’re like me you’ve been retired so long that it’s hard to remember when you weren’t. Yet chances are you can still recall the giddy moment when you finally reached the end of that work-a-day rainbow. Since then, if you are among the lucky ones, you have had the time and opportunity to pursue at least some of the dreams you dreamed on the way to your October. I hope it’s worked out that way for you. 

But what about those late-life peers who complain of having too much time on their hands. Listening to them grumble I wonder why they ran out of reasons to keep going before they ran out of time. More to the point, don’t they realize that in a world full of possibilities we never stop “becoming”? We are always on the way to somewhere. In that case why not make the journey a productive one?

It’s true, we will never be able to do everything we dreamed of back then. Our world has changed. Our expectations are different. We have new goals to strive for. Besides, our capabilities have probably retreated a bit, perhaps more than a bit. The old ways of doing things may no longer work. But there are new ways that will.

We have learned that when circumstances change our responses need to reflect that new reality. We must adapt. We used that logic in our career, our parenting, and our relationships. Surprise! It also applies in retirement---one of the most important “change of circumstances” we will ever encounter. October and beyond is bound to be an unfamiliar world, with new rules and new challenges. If ever there was a time to trust our instincts and reach for the most inspiring role models we can find, this is it. 

I know there have been times when I’ve had to “adapt.” I’ll bet you’ve been in that space too---where the old ways were not as effective as they used to be, and better ones were hard to find. That happens at our stage of the game. I’ve probably spent more time than most focusing on October and its challenges. In the course of ten Tanner Chronicles novels I have explored many late-life speed bumps and their impact on October lives. 

I have dealt with loneliness and grieving, with disability and dementia, spending weeks at a time weaving those unsettling elements into a story. Along the way I have created friends that I consider October role models---who even in the worst of times trusted their instincts and never stopped becoming.

I suppose I have always been drawn to the imagery of the “role model,” a label I gladly assign to President Carter. On the other hand, the notion of “trusting our instincts” was one I had not explored until recently, when I read T D Jakes’ latest title---Instinct.

I sometimes make a big deal of “change.” It is, after all, an important part of October. So I was taken by Jakes’ way of addressing change---at any time of life, including retirement. The change he writes about is not an “off-the-shelf,”  “one-size-fits-all” process. Instead, he stresses the uniquely personal nature of change. For it to be successful it must focus on the individual ---on his or her history, preferences, expectations, and perhaps most surprisingly---his or her instincts. All that, of course, requires serious self-examination, something most of us resist. Yet, without an understanding of what makes us the person we are, how can we expect to create effective change?

I realize that for some T D Jakes’ reputation will precede him. He is, after all, a highly successful mega-church pastor who often writes on Christian topics. For some that can be a red flag. My take on such concerns is pretty simple. If you disagree with Jakes’ treatment of change, and the role instinct plays in that process, I assure you it won’t be because he has turned his case into a religious rant. There is nothing remotely approaching a sermon in the whole book---just his straight-forward explanation of the many ways our instincts impact change, or the lack of change.

Those of us who reside in an October world know the truth of it, change happens at every stage of life---no thing and no one stays the same. Our choice in the matter is rather simple---we can choose to play a part in directing our own change, or simply sit on the sidelines and accept whatever change comes our way. 

Perhaps you have decided to have a voice in the matter, but wonder how to make that happen. Should you model your response to change on The Donald---and the juvenile ravings of a geriatric egomaniac---or instead the quiet counsel of a caring role model? Personally I am swayed by Jimmy Carter’s example, and T D Jakes’ reasons for relying on my own instincts, along with my old friend Wayne Dyer’s thoughts on the power of intention---all of which urge me to continue my becoming, while retaining my role as co-author of my own story. 

In the end the choice is ours to make, dictated by our own soul prodding. But don’t forget, our choices and the way we live them are apt to influence those whose lives we impact, who like us are still becoming.

Geriatric Adolescence --- Really?

One bit of detail I was unwilling to delete from the new blog heading was the tagline -- "A writer's blog." Thing is, I call myself a writer because I write---in the same way you may call yourself a golfer because you play golf, or a painter because you paint. It's what I do, that's all

Of course, being a golfer doesn’t necessarily mean you play like Tiger. (Though that seems to be easier than it used to be.) Being a painter doesn’t mean you have to paint like Michelangelo or Rockwell. And being a storyteller, the label I prefer, doesn’t mean I have to write great literature. It means that I tell stories because that’s what I like to do. And I’ve decided to spend my October and November doing the things I like.

So I’m a writer, and from the beginning I have viewed this blog as a place to explore and explain some of the storylines I have woven into my Tanner Chronicles narratives. Since I tell the stories I want to tell, I take these ramblings very personally. At the same time, I understand that my stories and the ground they cover are not everyone’s cup of tea. So don’t feel like you’re the only one shaking your head.

Truth is, the most fortunate of us October types remain in satisfying, time-tested relationships. I am blessed to be one of those, and very glad of it. I hope you are too. Yet we both know that too many seniors, male and female, are not so fortunate. They are alone, and too often lonely. 

Before you start throwing things at me, let me be the first to admit that a great many, perhaps most, of those “alone” folks are exactly where they choose to be. They have no need for, and no interest in, a new relationship. What they had, and have taken from that time, will carry them through just fine. They too are among the blessed, and I respect their feelings. But for others, the ones I depict in the Tanner Chronicles, the notion of facing their remaining years alone is not an attractive option. They want, even need, the affirmation and companionship of a new life partner. It is those “wanting” ones who are candidates for my stories.

As you might imagine, October relationships---the ones I write about---are something different than the March and April connections we once pursued so eagerly. If you’re an “October or November” type you don’t need me to tell you that. To begin with, there is an obvious difference in hormonal levels---nature’s sneaky and very effective way of continuing the species. At the same time there are other priorities at work the second (or third) time around. Other considerations have become primary. 

At first glance it may look like those “seekers” are replaying earlier experiences---ones they first encountered as teenagers. Yet the reality of their latest wanting, what I half-jokingly refer to as their geriatric adolescence, is not at all like that first time. In most every way their measure of a prospective partner has changed. Appearance, status, income, even sex appeal, have become less important. The comfort of a caring companion means everything---someone who understands what a “special” person they are, and is willing to help them face the uncertain future that awaits us all. In the end, that undisguised affirmation and caring is apt to outweigh everything else.

A case in point. Johnny Blanton is one of my very favorite Tanner seniors. Fact is, he reminds me of someone I once knew rather well. True, some folks may find his laissez-faire life view a bit off-putting. Yet, given the person he is and the future he faces, his attitude strikes me as spot on. I suppose I even envy his willingness to accept the unvarnished truth of his sad situation.

In Best Friends and Promises Johnny has left the hospital to move in with Jan Pierce, a lonely and very caring librarian. Truth be told, Jan hardly qualifies as an old friend. They first met less than twenty-four hours before Johnny’s latest heart attack. Yet, for reasons she scarcely understands herself, she has invited him to spend his recuperation with her.

Watching Darien bid her father goodbye, Jan Pierce was struggling to make sense of the sudden and dramatic changes in her normally pedestrian life. She was sixty-four years old and had always thought of herself as stable, to the point of boring---given to cautious deliberation, cautious expectations, and cautious actions. An impulsive one-night affair was not her style, any more than inviting a man she scarcely knew to share her home. Why then was she feeling so comfortable, so committed to her unlikely choice?

Truth to tell, Jan was not accustomed to having a man in her life. She had not been a cute baby and had never grown into that condition. From her perspective the only constant in her life had been weight, too much of it. She had never married. As far as she knew, no man had ever considered proposing. Over the years there had been a few casual liaisons, including one that lasted for several months, largely because she had been willing to settle for the minimal affirmation it offered. 

Then, just days before, in the course of a single night, a worn-out Johnny Blanton had accepted her caring as something special. Later, during his days in the ICU, as she waited to know whether he would live or die, she had felt that caring grow.

Now, back in her apartment, Johnny was seated at the end of the sofa when Jan returned. He patted the cushion beside him and nodded for her to join him. “You know,” he said. “I really appreciate this---letting me stay here. I’m not sure what I can offer to make all the trouble worthwhile.”

“Just be yourself. That’s all.” Resting her hand on his knee she leaned against his shoulder. “We’re much too old to be playing silly games. I want you here. That’s enough reason for me. Besides, it’s not like I’ve ever had men chasing after me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should,” she nodded. “The thing is, from the first time we talked, about my scotch-on-the-rocks of all things, it was like I was visiting with an old friend. It just felt right. And too, I like being able to help. It’s been a long time since anyone needed my help.” 

“You’d better believe I need you and your help. And not just because I’m feeling so puny.”

She looked over into his weary, deep-set eyes. “So tell me, Mr. Blanton. Why does this work for you?”

“Well, to begin with I’ve never been very good at being alone.” How blunt should he be? “But, at the same time, I’m not everyone’s idea of good company.”

“Why would that be? What’s not to appreciate? Is there something I should know about?”

“Oh my. How can I describe it?” Was there a polite way to explain, in words that would not be graphically offensive? “I’ve been called ‘undisciplined’ and a ‘free spirit.’ To some folks I’m a ‘loose cannon.’ And there are other descriptions I won’t repeat in mixed company. All that stuff is pretty negative, but I suppose it’s partly true. It's just that I’ve never cared much what people thought of me.

“But there’s another side to that,” he continued, taking her hand in his. “The part I want you to know about. When I’m on your side I’m there one hundred percent, no matter what. That’s something you should know. I’ll be here for you in any way I can.” There was a moment of quiet as he searched for a way to spell out his final concern. “But there is something else.”

“What’s that?” 

For the first time Jan was witnessing Johnny’s obvious, almost blushing embarrassment. “You may have noticed,” he said. “Based on our one night together, that I am no longer the youthful love-machine my mind tells me I once was.” There, was that subtle enough? Had he made his point?

Jan stifled her laugh and poked playfully at his ribs. “Do you recall hearing any complaints?” 

“You were very kind not to bring that up. Actually, my situation has changed a bit since that first night. For the worse, I’m afraid.”

“Well, after a heart attack, I should think so.”

“When we were kids we used to joke about wanting to die while we were making love. If we had to go, that sounded like the best way. Just so you know, that is no longer my goal.” He paused to let Jan’s soft laugh wash over him, knowing it was exactly the tonic he needed. “I just don’t want to misrepresent my reasons for moving in.”

She leaned over to wrap her fragile old man in a most affectionate hug. “Don’t you ever worry about that. I want you here with me. You want to be here. What other reasons do we need?”

Johnny Blanton was weak and tired---there was no doubting that. But in the midst of his weariness, he sensed the pleasant knowing that he was wanted. That must mean he was exactly where he belonged.

And that is precisely what each of us wants, isn’t it? Even this late in the game, in spite of all the baggage we drag along behind us, the existential quicksand that keeps getting deeper and hills that get steeper each time we climb them---we want to believe that we are “exactly where we belong.”

For some that may look and feel different than any place they’ve been before. It may even include a new “someone.” If that is the goal they must be willing to set aside their outdated “April” qualifiers and focus instead on more-relevant “October and November” attributes. Perhaps their situation calls for a modest dose of geriatric adolescence. In that case, they could do worse than seek a Jan Pierce or Johnny Blanton to share their life.

Have you ever been in that place?

Chances are you know how it feels. We may not like to admit it, but if we have been around long enough we know it is true. Whether it has been calm and cushy or littered with trials we would like to forget, we understand that our October is only a way-station on the road to November. Which means that even at our age, we still need to keep our eyes on the road ahead.

There was a time, in the olden days, when I made my living as a Business Manager. Actually, in one form or another that was what I did for the whole of two different careers. An important part of that work was looking ahead and planning for what came next. As you can imagine, that works best when you know where you are now, and where you want to go.

Ten years ago, as I started off on what would become Career Path 3.0---a wannabe writer---I thought I knew where I was. It was a place I called “October.” But at that point I had no plan at all. Why would I? I had written a single novel-length story thirty years before and nothing since. I was six years into retirement, struggling to find a reason for getting up each morning. From my perspective October was not going so well. I’ve covered that ground before---how I was flunking retirement. 

Have you ever been there---that place where you are not sure what you want to do or which way to turn? I know from experience that those unsettling doubts---so many questions and so few answers---make planning ahead a tricky thing. It is hard to navigate such uncertainty at any time, but especially in the uncharted landscape of late-life.

I know that in my case, when I finally turned my attention back to that earlier storytelling interest, I was more than a little skeptical. It was, after all, a passing fancy that had come and gone before---one of those things I might try again some day, or so I told myself. But everyone does that. Right? We all have a story we want to tell, or some other dream we hope to play out. But how many of us get around to doing that? So much for planning ahead.

Yet, no matter what our goal, we all know how good it feels when our “wanting” actually leads to “doing.” There I was, a month or so before my fiftieth high-school reunion, ready to put pen to paper. But what would I write about? I asked that question a time or two before settling on a likely answer. Without looking back, and with only the most basic of plans, I began the Harris brothers’ story---two books that started with their fiftieth reunion. I had told myself I could do it, and I was. I liked the way that made me feel.

From the beginning I was telling up-close and personal stories of what I call the “October” of life, about real people dealing with late-life reality. Was the writing great? Not so much, though it got better with time. Besides, I had not set out to create literature, but simply tell my stories.

Along the way I populated those stories with a collection of ordinary, yet very special seniors---whom I imagined into being and came to care about. In the course of ten books those friends of mine have faced a litany of October challenges---good times and bad, illness and accidents, poverty and depression. There have been life partners lost, first-loves rekindled, second-loves found and sometimes lost. For ten long years I wrote about October, mainly because it felt like the time of life that described me.

Then it finally dawned on me. Who was I kidding? Times were changing, and so was I. Having spent all that time in October, it was time to consider a new reality---one that waits out there for most everyone. There is only one way to avoid it, and I’m not willing to settle for that. So here I am, ready to move on to what I call “November.” Though it’s a label I have steered clear of in the past, I’ll admit it seems descriptive of the guy I am becoming. 

Like my Tanner friends, and perhaps you too, I am graduating to the next level. Though I do so with a certain reluctance, I know it’s what comes next. We can’t hold back November any more than we can return to September. Though it feels a bit like losing an old friend, the time has come to say goodbye to October and get acquainted with November. 

I have carried on about “change” for years, how October means change---in myself and the stories I tell. Now I’ve reached the point where October doesn’t work so well any more. It is too limiting. Think about it for a moment. All around us friends and acquaintances are adapting, trying on a new time of life---sampling new possibilities and facing new challenges. They are increasingly content to tend their flowers, grow their veggies, and lose themselves in a good book. They choose cruises over backpacking, and prefer the comfort of their own bed to a big-city hotel. Bake-at-home pizza sounds better than a fancy restaurant. For some, financial planning has become less about high-yielding investments and more about keeping what they have. And always, lurking in the background, are the troublesome health questions we would rather not think about.

And then there is family---the children who have become parents, the grandchildren who are having kids of their own---a new generation for us to spoil. We love them to pieces, even though we don’t understand half of what they say and do. My God, there are times when they make Last Tango in Halifax sound like a documentary. And of course, when it comes to computers, television remotes, and cell phones they are the ones we call.

We know the change I am talking about will include new lessons to be learned. For instance, there was a time when I assumed that October, and certainly November, would be bleak and boring, a fate to hide from. Watching my own parents and grandparents deal with that time of life---living their own late-life routines, dealing with kids and grandkids who had no idea what their elders were facing---I never realized that along with bleak and boring, there would be frustration and pain, as well as pleasure and excitement. Though at the time I had no clue of what life was like for them, I see now that what was their life has become my life. 

It’s true, you and I have learned a lot in the course of a lifetime. Is there any reason to think our life-lessons have ended? Whether we see ourselves in October or November, life goes on. Every day arrives with its own expectations and challenges. November’s “to-do” list may look different than October’s, but it is no less demanding. And though it may not qualify as ‘planning ahead,’ it seems that life has a way of preparing us for the future. Until, in its own time, our December arrives. In the meanwhile, why not devote ourselves to thriving in our own October and November? That is what today’s new blog title is meant to encourage.

Beware, IT is lurking in the shadows, waiting to impose its will

    I’ve made the point before. Our October Years are a time of change. Just think how crazy it gets sometimes. Is this what we imagined when we first looked forward to our calm, quiet, and hopefully eventful Golden Years? 
    For years, even decades, you and I have looked ahead, thinking a little or a lot about this time of life. I hope the reality you are living matches the dreams you’ve dreamed---though of course we know it’s not that way for everyone. And too, even if you are among the fortunate ones, there is always the chance of being blindsided by some innocent appearing event you had never considered a threat to your peace or sanity. 
    I am willing to count Roma and myself among the lucky ones. We’re as healthy as seventy-eight year olds have a right to expect. Our offspring are doing well and out modest retirement seems both satisfying and secure. By all accounts life was good. At least that’s the way it looked to us, until IT raised it’s ugly head.
    Perhaps like you, we had spent a lifetime accumulating “stuff”---all matter of “stuff.” We had things we just couldn’t do without at some time in the past, reminders of family times and growing children, mementos of special events and places. Year by year we wrapped ourselves in bits and pieces of our own history, filling our closets and corners with evidence of whom we had been and what we had done. There were times when our home groaned under the weight of stuff. A time or two it even spilled out into a rented storage space. 
    That was all well and good until IT happened. By then there was no avoiding it. The signs were everywhere. It was time for us to slow down a bit, to shift to a lower gear. That happens, you know. It’s like that for lots of October folks---that time of life when the big house and all that goes with it becomes too much to deal with any longer. Some folks will decide to relocate, perhaps finding retirement more appealing in a Sun Belt location. For others it may be the reality of health issues or October economics that dictates a change. Whatever the reason that time will probably come---the time to DOWNSIZE. 
    At first blush we may actually look forward to the process, with its promise of blessed freedom---liberation from so much stuff. The reality, however, can be something very different. As always, it is about choices. First were the choices we made in some earlier time, when we decided to keep some memento or reminder, that bit of stuff worth saving. Now we are about to face a new round of choices---what to keep, what to let go. 
    The gist of it is simple enough. For whatever reasons you have decided to make-do with less, to part with some portion of your carefully accumulated treasures. But which ones will you do without? There are so many---all of them with their own special meaning to one or both of you. What are you willing to give away? Which of your memories are disposable? And who gets to make those choices? Finally, what if the two of you don’t agree?
    Though we are veterans, perhaps “survivors” is a better word, of that trying process, rather than bore you with our own mundane experience I’d like to offer a couple excerpts that depict my take on two very different sorts of downsizing.
  First, in Breathing Underwater, the Camdens are contemplating the need to move to a smaller, less expensive home---which will necessarily mean getting by with less space.

    At that moment Jim and Anita Camden were sitting on folding chairs in the middle of their two-car garage. The car had been moved outside to make room for their work. Around them, on both sides of the open room, long shelves held an eclectic assortment of cardboard boxes, each one a repository of some bit of their personal histories, the remnants of forty-nine years together---of the two of them as newly-weds, the satisfying family years, raising Larry and Ann in their comfortable Tanner home, and finally the empty-nest years that had led to their present quandary. 
    They were effectively surrounded by their own past. As always it would be about choices, Jim reminded himself--- suddenly captured by that insight. The persons they had become and the lives they had created were the results of choices made along the way. Now, awash in unexpected anxiety, they were about to come face to face with stark reminders of that past.
   Each of those boxes concealed the evidence of earlier choices---reminders of some once-special time that he or she had thought important enough to transport into their future. As they prepared to revisit decisions made for reasons they perhaps did not remember, they sensed the ghostly presence of times past.
    The task itself, as Jim had explained, was simple enough. It would involve a new round of choices---deciding what to keep, what to give away, and what to consign to the trash barrel. It would take a while, but it was time to begin---at least until Jim watched his wife’s head sink into her cradling hands.
    “How can we do this?” Anita whimpered. “We ought to keep it all. Every bit of it is important.”
    It was not a time to be debating the logic of what must be done. He knew better than that. Instead, it was time for kid gloves and going slow, allowing her to proceed at her own naturally-reserved pace.

    Best Friends and Promises, on the other hand, illustrates a very different sort of downsizing. Aaron Peck’s wife has been moved to an Alzheimer’s ward and the big house must be sold to pay for her care. Again, it was about choices---choices he must make for the two of them---choices he wished he did not have to make.

    In early March the house on Elm Street, their home for forty-eight years, was sold. For Aaron the troublesome process of selling---meetings with the realtor, leaving the house when it was being shown, the final round of paperwork---triggered a renewed sense of loss. For days he sorted and packed, urging the girls to select the mementos they wanted for themselves. In the end he avoided the weekend garage sale they held to dispose of the remaining items. It was more than he was willing to bear, watching the remnants of a lifetime with Leona being sold off as casual collectibles to unknowing strangers.
    Finally the dreaded day came. The home where their life together had been lived belonged to strangers. The girls went back to Portland and Aaron sat alone in the cramped living room of his Samson Street apartment, mourning the loss of what had always been their home, and the reasons that had made it necessary.

    Downsizing---some of us will avoid that trial and all that goes with it by doing nothing, leaving family and friends to deal with that after they are gone. For the rest of us the process will be a bitter-sweet visit to earlier times---a return that is bound to include hard choices and occasional regret.
    Finally, if you know someone who is or might be facing their own downsizing challenge you might pass this on to them. Perhaps they need to know that the choices will be hard, they may not agree about what is worth saving, and once they are done the remaining doubts they feel are quite normal. In the end it is a matter of life-balance---one way or another we are destined to part with all that stuff we have saved to remind us of what once was.

I love Paris in the spring - but Bogota or Bangkok in October?

I’ve mentioned before how, as a spoiled and self-indulgent boss’s son, I sometimes took advantage of my dad and his willingness to let me “find myself.”. From time to time, however, I am reminded that he too was capable of his own sneaky tricks. For instance---in spite of all the good things he did for my mother, brother, and me, the old guy managed to bequeath to me a particularly troublesome bit of himself---an itch that I have never completely overcome. You see, I was the one who inherited the Old Man’s lifelong curse---a pesky and persistent infection he called “wanderlust.”

In my case the symptoms apparently surfaced at an early age. By seven or eight I was spending hours at a time leafing through the big Rand McNally World Atlas the folks kept under the coffee table. From map to map to map---one colorful country after another---I toured the world. I tried my best to sound out the strange names and imagine the people who called those far-away places home, while wondering what it would be like to live there. 

Those questions grew more urgent until, at age thirteen I ran away from home, determined to see the world for myself. In the end I saw a bit of Eastern Oregon and the inside of the Umatilla County Jail. That was a letdown for sure, but not enough to dull that travel itch. Truth is, it’s something I’ve never outgrown. Later, Roma and I were fortunate to visit and even live in some of those places---as many as our resources and family situation would allow. Those were wonderful experiences, but not enough to cure an advanced case of wanderlust.

Then in my mid-sixties, I retired and we moved on to our own October Years. And surprise---it was still there, that undiminished urge to see the world. And now we had the time to indulge those fantasies. We began as tourists---twelve weeks revisiting old haunts in England and Europe. By then I was mulling new possibilities. What if we made our retirement home in one of those far-away places?

But though we now had the time, how much travel could we afford? Certainly, those with a hefty pension and fat IRA had more choices than we did. They could decide that “home” ought to be in Arizona or Florida or Europe---any place they wanted.

Yet what about those of us without those resources? Are we left out in the cold?  Those are very real questions. We read every day about the multitude of seniors who will not have saved enough to fund their “dream” retirement---at least not in the USA. Fortunately, in this new globally-connected age we live in a certain portion of that population, the ones inclined to create their own retirement adventure, now have a whole new range of options. For them the low-cost possibilities of “overseas” living, with its substantially reduced cost of living and  health care, can make “offshore” retirement an option worth exploring.

For those of us who fancy ourselves as bold, even at our age, there are new ways to scratch our travel itch in retirement. Today’s internet world offers possibilities at every turn. One of my favorite “wanderlust” fixes arrives as an email every few months, as it has for years. As near as I can tell the message has never changed in all that time. I have only to open the email and recite the first sentence or two to have Roma heading for another room.

“The hibiscus are in bloom,” the message begins. “As they are every month of the year. The gardener watches over them and the rest of the grounds, while the maid/cook maintains order in your bright and airy home. Just months before you would never have dreamed that the two of you could retire in such luxury for less than $1,800 a month. But now you know what so many others do not---that the good life and affordable health care are well within your reach.”

You’ve probably seen the pitch, telling how you can afford the retirement you dream of---somewhere. And perhaps you are one of those who find a certain satisfaction in dreaming about that. I know I do. Besides, the idea itself is not so far-fetched. For decades our fellow Americans have been taking advantage of low-cost foreign retirement, especially in Mexico and Central America. Lately, in the face of an increasingly harsh economic environment, that trend seems to have taken on new and novel forms.

In this brave new world of ours an up-to-date list of well-publicized retirement havens might be enough to send us back to the atlas---asking retirement questions most of us had never considered. For instance, take a moment to ask yourself what it would take to make Colombia a viable place to live out your Golden Years? Or Peru, or Thailand, or Uruguay, or Belize? I see e-mails ads for $300 seminars that will provide all the information you need to establish a home and live the good life in any of those countries---at a fraction of the cost you’ll pay here in the U.S. The sponsors claim they can make the case for that. Could they convince you?

Of late, the articles I come across online are most often touting two particular retirement destinations---Panama and Belize. Certainly Panama has a long history of dealing with and providing for US citizens. Belize, on the other hand, was formerly a British colony. It is the only Central American nation where English is the official language. Each of those countries already hosts a sizable ex-patriot population.

But in the end we’re left to decide what “retirement”---the label we assign to life-after-work---means to us. For a wanderlust junky like me the lure of inexpensive living in some exotic, out-of-the-way locale is a bit seductive and hard to ignore. But then, about the time those exciting possibilities have me thinking like a kid again, another of those pesky, hard-to-avoid October realities kicks in. “Is it practical?” I ask myself. 

Perhaps like you, we are a family-oriented family. How would it work to have Grandma and Grandpa living on the seashore of sunny Belize, thousands of miles from the clan, following our grandkids on Facebook or Skype, perhaps visiting them every year or two? And even if we could manage that, both Roma and I are kind of set in our ways. How would we adapt to a very different culture and lifestyle, no matter how inexpensive it was or how adventurous the challenge? When it’s all said and done we’ve decided to settle for the wilds of the exotic Willamette Valley, and the lifestyle we’ve lived for all these years. But don’t think for a moment that I’ll stop day-dreaming about the sunny beaches of Belize or Panama.

How about you? Do the possibilities of tropical splendor on a shoestring resonate with you? Or does “Is it practical?” win out?