Elder Orphans -a November epiphany

  I won’t apologize for this bit of repetition that I offer for those who did not see it the first time, or perhaps need to be reminded. It is one of those subjects I have dealt with before, and may well address again some day. It is, in my muddled, moss-covered opinion an increasingly serious matter---one that deserves another look.

For thirteen years now I have tried to make the case that late-life, our October and November Years, works best as a shared effort, when two or more of us---friends and lovers, family and caregivers, face that sometime harsh time together. I have written whole books making that case---following my Tanner Chronicles friends as they stumble toward the relationships that will help support them in October and beyond. 

Having spent so much ink stressing that point, you can perhaps imagine my pleasant surprise when, I came across an effective and incredibly descriptive way, just two familiar words, of defining the unfortunate seniors who are forced to face late-life alone.

It may be those folks are Elder Orphans. Take a moment to repeat those words out loud. When I first heard them they had the ring of an epiphany---a striking, suddenly-revealed truth. In two short words, catchy and amazingly accurate, is captured the essence of a growing, wide-spread October/November crisis. I was impressed at the time, and still am. Like a lot of things, the more aware we become, the more we are able to see the all-too-obvious signs all around us.

Lest you think my not-so-nimble mind has created that simple, yet startling insight, I am happy to credit a Huffington Post blog by Carol Marak (www.twitter.com/Carebuzz), part of an extended blog series on Aging Alone that addressed Elder Orphan problems and possibilities from a personal perspective. 

“Who will care of them?” she asked. “Who will look out for those unfortunate ones?
"Dealing with late-life complexities is hard enough in the best of circumstances. But who will help the aging, the childless, the single---when they are alone and in need?”

Those 'lonely ones' are, of course, the Elder Orphans. Like their infant counterparts, they are literally on their own at a distressingly vulnerable time of life, and just as much in need of caring support.

Chances are they are socially and physically isolated, living without a family member or surrogate. Too often they are lonely, depressed, and perhaps dealing with diminished decision-making capabilities. To make matters worse they are seldom acknowledged as a group or class that needs help.

So what does the future hold for our Elder Orphan population? By all accounts their numbers are increasing, and the help they need grows accordingly. Going forward it is likely that more seniors will need more help for a longer period of time. According to Ms. Marak a recent AARP report offers precious little solace, confirming that the demand for elder caregivers continues to grown faster than the supply. In the face of funding shortfalls and rapidly increasing costs, Caregiver per Orphan ratios are steadily declining across the country. Being an Elder Orphan is not about to get easier.

Though I operated without that catchy label for all those years, my Tanner Chronicle stories often focused on those who qualified as Elder Orphans. Take for instance Johnny Blanton, one of my favorite Tanner friends, who happened to remind me of someone special, someone many of you knew. 
In Best Friends and Promises Johnny lives in a low-cost, county-owned apartment, surrounded by neighbors who scarcely acknowledge his presence. Though he would be unwilling to admit as much, (actually he would scream like hell.), in many important ways he had become an orphan. You tell me, is this a viable depiction of an Elder Orphan?

For all his gregarious instincts Johnny Blanton led a spartan, decidedly isolated existence, the unfortunate result of circumstances over which he had little control. In the course of his four-year residency in the County-operated Senior Housing Complex he had concluded that, as a group, his neighbors suffered from a multitude of shared failings. To a person they were old, financially strapped, grouchy, and judgmental. Most depressing of all, not one of them subscribed to his long-cultivated interest in having a good time.

Wary, unsmiling widows were everywhere. He passed them in the hallways. They crowded the dingy activity room. Without exception he found them  unnaturally distrusting of his well-intentioned attention. At one time or another he had approached nearly all of them, hoping to spark some degree of interest, and had struck out at every turn.

Except for Mrs. Perkins, who lived across the hall from his apartment and provided him with a steady supply of day-old newspapers, Johnny had not made one female acquaintance in the entire thirty-unit complex. He took that sad reality, and the slight it represented, very personally

To make matters worse Johnny’s success at making friends among the male residents, he called them “inmates,” had been only slightly better. Many were deaf, blind, or immobile---which tended to limit their “good time” potential. Sadly, the few who still found drinking beer a viable social pursuit were no more affluent than Johnny. After years of having Aaron Peck and others pick up the tab, he was reluctant to cultivate drinking buddies who expected him to play that role.

As a result, his social life had become seriously constrained. For three years Willie Thomas, who did not drink at all, but played a mean game of cribbage, had been his most reliable ally among the residents. With Willie’s passing the previous December that welcome friendship had been lost.

In his heart of hearts Johnny Blanton was a very social creature. It appeared, however, that in the sterile confines of the Senior Complex his declining years were destined to be lived out in a state of stagnant depression. To his way of thinking it would take a miracle to change that unfortunate situation.

An unfortunate situation, eh? One that begs for a compassionate storyteller to provide the “miracle” Johnny is hoping for. That, however, is something for another day. After all, storytelling---fictional accounts of non-fictional situations---is one thing. Living real life in the Elder Orphan fast lane is something very different. It is, however, something that you and I can play a part in addressing.

You see, most of us know an elder orphan, probably more than one. They sit in the midst of our congregations. We may pass them shuffling behind their walker in the supermarket aisle, or rub elbows with them at the senior center. You may  also find them in hospital emergency rooms, their only source of the health care most of us take for granted. They are, in fact, everywhere---out of sight right before our eyes.

So, from the first time I read Ms Marak’s post I wanted that label and what it stands for to be part of my personal October & November Years dialogue, with you and myself---now and in the future. 

And along the way I hope I can be observant enough, and bold enough, to spot the elder orphans who cross my path---to acknowledge their place in my world, and perhaps take the time to hear a bit of their story. 

That’s an important thing, you know, showing them that for at least a few minutes someone cares enough to listen. There are so many folks out there who need our casual gift---the simple act of acknowledging and affirming their presence. Isn’t that what every orphan wants, no matter what their age?

Let's pretend - take two

  I know. It takes a lot of nerve to repeat myself like this. But I am in a 'remembering' mood this morning---'remembering' again about my earlier 'remembering.'

I posted this bit of nonsense a year ago to the day. I enjoyed where these thoughts took me then, and I still do. Hopefully you will join me as this old man meanders through his past. Heck, if you are old enough you may 'remember' too.

                      ********

It’s okay, you know. I am used to it by now---showing my November age like this. I don't get hung up on what others may think. Actually, the more I do it, the easier it becomes, especially when I get lost in my slightly unorthodox memory.

  For instance, let’s take a moment to consider something as mundane as Saturday morning. Most of us like Saturday, don’t we? Especially if it is not a work day. But you can be sure I am not talking about just any Saturday morning. I happen to have some particular ones in mind, from a time when Saturday morning was still something special. And I hope you will join me for a few minutes as I return to some of my well-remembered, all-time favorite Saturday mornings---circa 1945, 1946, or 1947.

  What? You say you cannot ‘return’ to 1945, because it had come and gone before your arrived on the scene. Darn, I am sorry to hear that, because that means you missed some really good Saturday morning times.

Take this, for example. As I recall it was ten o’clock, mid-morning, when the living room radio greeted us with.........”It’s Big John and Sparky! And There’s No School Today.” Man, after all these years I can still hear that happy call to action as clear as anything. I’ll bet you would have loved it too.

  Or how about Chandu, the Magician? I think that was nine o'clock, or maybe nine-thirty. True, he was a semi-creepy fellow, at least the way I pictured him in my mind.. But he always had a trick up his sleeve. And in the end he was on our side. What I remember most of all was the spooky organ music in the background.

  Earlier that morning, at eight-thirty, we had tuned in to Smilin’ Ed and the Buster Brown Gang. It seems like I ought to remember more about that half hour than just the excited introduction, with Tige, the Buster Brown dog barking like he was happy to see us. At the time I don’t suppose I even realized there were other programs airing at that hour, or why anyone would bother to listen to them if there were. By then I was hooked.

  It was, as you can tell, a different time. Later, many of us would learn to consider Saturday a ‘sleep-in’ day. But not so in those post-war radio days, at least not in our home. Mom had to get us up early enough on Saturday to have breakfast finished before eight o’clock. Though rousing us for breakfast on a school day took some doing, Saturday mornings were different. 

  After all, brother Roger and I needed to be parked in front of the old hardwood Zenith radio by eight o’clock for Let’s Pretend, the storytime program that always started our radio Saturday. (Why was it we had to ‘watch’ the radio?)

  So, you might be wondering---what does that have to do with anything. What was there about my childhood Saturday mornings that warrants these ramblings? I will try to explain.

  Have you ever wondered why out of the blue you stumbled across some obscure thought or memory that you had not considered for decades? Was there some existential purpose at work, or was it purely accidental? Whatever the reason, that’s the space I find myself in this morning. 

You see, as I have mentioned before on these pages, I have spent my October Years writing stories---fictional stories. By definition that means I have made them up, created them out of thin air and a dose of dubious brain matter.

  Yet not until a few days ago, for reasons I still don’t understand, did it dawn on me that I was in the 'What if?' business. That is one way to describe fiction, isn’t it? The writer, any writer, begins with a question---What if an alien force is threatening the earth?---What if zombies are about to invade?---What if the killer is about to get away?---What if an eighty-year-old guy falls for Lady Gaga? Thing is, no matter what the question, the resulting story will attempt to provide an answer. 

  That is what writers of fiction do. They answer 'what if?' questions. That is what I try to do. Except, my stories are not about world annihilation, zombie invasions, Donald Trump’s crowd-counting skills, or the hard-to-define allure of Lady Gaga. Instead, I tell ‘what if?’ stories about October people facing October life---and then November.

  It was those thoughts that brought me to an awkward pause, wondering how I would introduce my latest story, Closing the Circle. I stumbled around a bit before it dawned on me. In a very personal way it felt like I was closing my own circle---from Let’s Pretend to What if? My sometimes muddled mind saw the irony of that. Having learned to pretend as a child, here I am spending my October Years creating 'what if?'---i.e. 'pretend' answers. In a very real way I was right back where I had started.

  So what about Closing the Circle, you ask? (At least I hope you do.) What if a young man, adopted at birth, sets out to find his birth parents? What sort of story might I create to answer that ‘what if?’ question? Then to further complicate matters, what if the birth parents he finally finds have their own deep regrets about having separated before his birth, leaving each of them to wonder about the future they might have had together.?

  Of course, there are as many answers to those questions as there are persons who choose to answer. I happen to like the answer I 'pretended' into being. And at the same time, when I was done it felt a bit like closing my own circle---from ‘pretending’ to ‘what if?’ and back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Following that same line of remembering I invite, actually I urge, those of you who remember those long-ago radio days to use the 'Comment' section below to offer your own examples of radio favorites. 

A snapshot of the great divide

          

You probably know the drill by now. Whether you rely on Fox News for your ‘truth,’ or MSNBC fills the ‘truth’ bill for you, you are apt to end up with the same questions.

“How could the other guys, (be they Democrats or Republican) be so wrong? They must be sniffing something. Either that, or their irrational hatred of Clinton, Obama, or Trump (take your pick) has turned their brains to mush. In light of the plain-as-day facts, what else could it be?”

And so it goes, day after day---endless hours of  mind-numbing air time---talking heads debating ‘truth and fiction,‘ ‘facts and alternative facts,’  ‘news and fake news.’ And while those passionate adults carry on like unschooled children, the rest of us are growing tired of it, and longing for the day when the other side finally comes to their senses and admits they are wrong.

My advice, for what it is worth---”Don’t hold your breath.”

This will likely be one of my shortest posts ever. In fact, I consider it more like a homework assignment for you readers. You don’t need my input to interpret what it means to you.

The Pew Research Center is a reputable outfit. When they produce surveys like the one below, people ought to take notice. 

I offer this data with only minimal input, pointing out a couple of the more notable results. There will be no political commentary, beyond the obvious observation that our beloved country is incredibly divided over a wide range of social, economic, and political issues. As you would expect, when people view the world and the way it works through such diametrically opposed filters our political discourse is bound to be contentious.

Still, like it or not, we as citizens ought to know the information these charts reveal. Perhaps more importantly, our children and grandchildren should be aware of what it means for their future.

I apologize for the print size. I can't change that. Hopefully your tired old eyes can make it out. As you can see, the charts themselves demonstrate graphically the wide and often widening gulf between what the press labels ‘Conservatives’ (Republicans and Republican leaning-the top line on each chart) and ‘Liberals’ (Democrats and Democrat leaning-the bottom line on each chart). 

Reading the Charts --- In periodic surveys from 1994 to 2017 members of each of the two groups surveyed  (Republicans and Democrats) were asked whether or not they agreed with each of ten statements. Each group’s percentage of agreement with each statement was charted, creating a twenty-three year trend line of that party’s responses.. For instance, in the 2017 survey 63% of Republicans agreed with statement #1, while 30% of Democrats agreed with it.

Take a few minutes to review each of the results, especially the ones that reflect a wide and growing spread between the two points of view, in particular---statements regarding blacks, immigrants, the needy, and environmental laws and regulations. 

   To be sure, the interpretation of this data is a personal matter. You have your opinions and I have mine. I am, however, willing to venture a caution to those who lobby for the most ‘American’ of solutions --- “Why can’t men of good will simply put their heads together and sort it out?” 

Why can’t they do that? My guess is that as the opposing world views reflected in these charts become more entrenched, with each side turning inward to their own ‘truth,’ the already shrinking patch of middle ground grows ever smaller. In the end, no matter how the resulting conflict plays out, chances are the result will not remind us of those long-ago Social Studies classes that taught us about the ‘American Dream.’ 

Although these ten charts are a mirror of USA-2017, they may also serve as a coming-into-focus crystal ball, foretelling a future we would rather not experience.

Finally, not because of my insights, but because I consider the Pew Research charts so important, I hope this becomes one of the most ‘Shared’ posts we have done. Whether ‘Sharing’ on Facebook or ‘Forwarding’ an email, the process is simple. No matter what their political persuasion, people should to know the story these simple charts tell. Young or old, they ought to see these graphic representations of our democracy in action---or is it inaction?

Growing into our gifts

When the veneer is peeled back to reveal the reality of it, blogging---pretending to offer one’s own insight or wisdom---is like most human activities. It usually says more about the blogger than the world he or she claims to understand.

That was one of those personal insights that bubbled to the surface as I began a deeper look at ‘Becoming,’ especially late-life ‘Becoming.’ For a dozen years or more my stories and blogs have endorsed the virtues of using the gifts we have received and the time we have been given.

Yet rarely have I paused to wonder where that ‘Becoming’ obsession came from, or what it says about me. Then, somewhere in the course of this return to ‘Becoming,’ it began to sink in. For some reason I have developed an aversion to ‘wasting’ the God-given years I have left. I am not sure if that is normal, or even healthy, and I don’t pretend to know why that is, but I am sure that reality will color what follows.

******

Allow me to introduce Brene Brown, Ph.D. (www.brenebrown.com), an author and research professor at the University of Houston. As I noted in an earlier post, her emphasis on “growing into our gifts” strikes me as another way to frame the notion of 'Becoming.' I happen to believe that her closing remark ---”it’s time to show up and be seen” applies to us October and November types as much as it does to the midlife folks she is addressing.

Here is what she has to say.

I think midlife is when the universe gently places her hand upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear:

“I’m not screwing around. It’s time. All of this pretending and performing - these coping mechanisms that you’ve developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt - has to go.

“Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy of love and belonging, but you’re still searching and you’re more lost than ever.

“Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through you. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.”

              *******

With that, let’s move on to ‘Becoming.’ As I explained a while back I am devoting a few posts to the in-depth exploration of some of the ideas and concepts I have addressed over the years in my writing about seniors, and the daunting world they face. Today’s post, about ‘Becoming,’ deals with a reality I have addressed in both novels and blog posts. 

Perhaps I have returned to the notion of late-life ‘Becoming’ because so many of my peers seem to have settled for the status-quo, as if at their age they have nothing more to give? --- Disclaimer #1 - If that is my reason, it is far too presumptuous of me. How could I possibly know their degree of ‘settling?’ Besides, who am I to judge how they live their lives? I have trouble enough with my own.

On the other hand perhaps this ‘Becoming’ obsession of mine is a purely defensive mechanism, sparked by my own weakness---fueled by the guilt of having wasted so many opportunities, and having left so much of my own life undone. Or could it be that my extended exposure to Wayne Dyer’s mind-bending wisdom has tilted my brain in that direction.

Anyway, no matter the ‘why’ of it, ‘Becoming’ --- making the most of late-life in our own unique way --- has become an important focus of my stories and blogging---including today’s post. There is even a novel, of which I am rather proud, titled Becoming. The series of blogs I posted last summer, and the resulting book---Living With Dying---turned a spotlight on my efforts to continue ‘Becoming’ in the face of a serious medical diagnosis.

Along the way I have learned that in late-life, when the need to chase the almighty dollar is hopefully less urgent, there are many other satisfying reasons to keep ‘Becoming.’ Best of all there are few rules and no ‘right’ way to do that, beyond what you find fulfilling.

It was that thinking which had me subtitling these pages ‘Thriving in late life.’ True, at the time I was referring to our 60s and 70s. Now in my 80s here I am again, back for another bite of the apple. 

    *******

So, first things first. Whatever our age and whatever our goal, ‘Becoming’ is a matter of change---of moving our thoughts and actions from Point A to Point B. To be clear, that minimal understanding makes no judgment about whether tomorrow’s Point B, the result of our change, is better or worse than today’s Point A. In the same way ‘Becoming,’ as a process, which does not imply any particular outcome, positive or negative. 

There are other things we know about ‘Change.’ To begin with, it is a given---we are always changing. That is easiest to see over time. Take a moment to recall the person you were five or ten years ago. Can you identify some of the ways that you, the person you know best of all, have changed in that time. Now, take a peek into your crystal ball. Will the ‘you’ that appears four or five years from now look and feel like like today’s ‘you?’ (I realize, of course, that at 81 it is an act of faith to believe I will be here in five years.)

 *******

That look into a future we can’t actually see is apt to produce an obvious question. What is it we want to ‘Become?’ As I’ve said, the word itself denotes ‘change.’ And no matter where we are headed we will continue to change. We will not be the same next week as we were last week. That is a given. But can we influence the course and direction of that change? Can we choose the change we want, using our ‘Becoming’ to accomplish or avoid a particular result?

Many of us know how October and November can sneak up on a person. By now our ‘status-quo’ has certainly deteriorated a notch or two. Some of what we could once do, we no longer can. It probably feels like we are decelerating---sometimes slowly, sometimes not so slowly. And there are bound to be times when we believe the opportunity to become more than we are has passed us by. 

I don’t want to sound like I spend my waking hours dwelling on nothing but ‘Becoming.’ Truth be told, it was the Living With Dying series I mentioned earlier that renewed my interest in how I could make better use of the time I have left, be it weeks or years. From that point of view, what options do we have? 

On one hand, we can accept that we are too old and too set in our ways to become something more---whatever that means to us. In that case we can settle for what we have, and remember the good old days, while bemoaning the sad fact that those days are gone forever.

Or instead we can draw on a lifetime of hard-learned lessons to steer us toward a modestly-optimistic use of the gifts we still have in our quiver. Of course, our notions of what amounts to a worthwhile result have changed over the years. In my own hopeful moments I like to believe that my understanding of what makes me ‘whole’ and ‘complete’ has matured with time.

On the plus side, however, I believe that everything we need to create such change is close at hand. Actually, it has always been with us. If I am going to ‘Become’ something more than the person I am now the implied change, however modest it might be, must begin with me. There is no one else who can do that for me.

We are already familiar with the seeds that create change. They are called thoughts, and most of us have them every day---by the thousands. It is our thoughts about a desired result that trigger change, promoting the urge for something more or different---first as a wish, then as a willingness to imagine how a desired change might feel, and finally as a determination to follow through.

Of course our dreams of change must be realistic, as well as age-appropriate. In the end, however, achieving those dreams, whatever they may be, is not nearly as important as knowing in our hearts that we have done our best in that pursuit.

      *******

When all is said and done the choice---whether or not to keep moving ahead in our own way, at our own pace---is ours to make. The Divine Life Force I accept as real does not judge how far or how high our Becoming takes us. But rather, the test is how well we live out the Source’s love-based expectations.

To become more than we are today and expend our life energy, however limited it may be, on what we perceive to be a higher purpose---that is my idea of a worthy goal, something to strive for. That is especially true when those energies are pursued in the name of love, kindness, and caring, as opposed to meeting our need for ego-gratification.

You remember, don’t you---those dated images of late-life as ‘rocking chair’ time? I believe we are called to make it more than that. What form of ‘more’ works for us is our choice to make. No matter what we have in mind it will always begins with the same first step---a thoughtful decision to change, to keep Becoming.

*******

It is not often I can include such graphic evidence to support my rambling logic. But when it comes to ‘late-life Becoming,’ and making the most of our senior years there is convincing proof close at hand, in the form of the recently published The New Senior Man, a companion volume to the earlier The New Senior Woman, by my friend Thelma Reese and her late collaborator, Barbara Fleisher. 

Each of these books is devoted to contemporary examples of ‘Becoming’ in action---profiling dozens of men and women who have found their own very personal way of dealing with late-life. I recently checked out the following reviews for Senior Man, the latest of the two. I encourage you to click on the links below to read what the professionals think. 

    - HuffPost
 - BuyBooksPro
  - Elderchicks

I have read the Senior Man volume from beginning to end. It is an amazing collection of stories that show how ‘Becoming’ can be lived out in many unique and different ways. Disclaimer #2 -- As I noted a couple months ago Thelma and Barbara, the ‘Elderchicks,’ were kind enough to include my October adventure in their assortment of New Senior Men stories. 

With that you have heard my pitch for ‘Becoming.’ I happen to believe it should be an important fact of late-life. At any age we are on the way to somewhere. Why not chart that course ourselves, rather than trust some random fate to take us somewhere?

A year later - still spinning our wheels

Once again I have returned to an earlier post, focusing on this new and different world that has me scratching my head. Will this rant of mine change the course of what I fear is our descent? Not likely. Still, there are some things I need to get off my chest before I choke on them.

It was exactly a year ago, as we awaited the beginning of a new presidency, when I first posted my unsettled concerns on these pages. Sad to say, little has happened in the ensuing year---with its party-bound politics, lack of civility, and the apparent demise of everyday truth---to soften my grim uneasiness. 

True, the new tax measures promise to spur the economy. That can’t be bad---though the full price of that windfall remains to be measured and paid. The economy, however, was the least of my worries a year ago, and remains so today.

**************

As you might expect, over the years I’ve had a few folks take exception with my depiction of our 60s and 70s as “only” October. So far no one has argued for “September,” but quite a few of you have suggested a later month. 

Having recently crossed into my eighty-first year, these days “November” better describes my mood and physical capabilities. Heck, I’ve probably dipped a toe in “December” a time or two. So it was, a while back, that I stepped forward to add “and November too” to the blog’s title.

But of course my use of “October” was never meant to be simply about age. It also denotes a state of mind. More to the point, like the month of October on a calendar, our October and November Years are times of harvest---times to gather the fruits (Some of them dried and withered) of the seeds we’ve sown in the course of a lifetime and the things we’ve learned along the way. I happen to believe that even in these late-life years there are ways we can put that experience of ours to good use.

        I will admit that one of the risks I faced in telling the October stories I told was the temptation to dwell on the maudlin---stressing the negatives and hardships of late life. Of course, by this stage of the game we’ve had our share of bumpy roads and unexpected detours. And there will be more of those. If we’ve been paying attention at all we should expect that. 

But today I am prompted to move beyond those individual circumstances to address something I find even more upsetting ---something for which my personal life journey and the life views I have accumulated along the way have not adequately prepared me to deal with.

You see, if you are my age, odds are infirmity and distress have been part of your personal experience. Most of us have learned to accept that. Yet it seems that every day this November mind of mine struggles to make sense of a more sinister form of reality---the cultural infirmity and divisive distress that plague our society. 

What I perceive as the chaotic unraveling of our national persona has me wondering how much I overlooked as a younger person. Have things always been like this? Was I just too blind to notice? Have we as a  nation been lulled into complacency by decades of relatively-civilized peace? Are we simply experiencing a regression to the human norm, or has there been a fundamental change in the path of social evolution---a new “human norm” being created before our eyes?

How else would you interpret the headlines that assault our sensibilities daily? On the local level it feels like every morning’s newspaper and every evening’s newscast provides new evidence of predators and perverts, addicts and con-men, not to mention politicians gone amuck. Have we simply become accepting of an unprecedented scale of violence and mayhem? 

Have we grown so numb that we look right past the all-too-obvious warning signs---middle-school girls being bullied to death---wide-eyed young men unleashing their lethal revenge in our high schools---an ever-increasing number of us, young and old, dependent on mind-altering pharmaceuticals? There are times when it feels like our beloved nation is drowning in a tsunami of insanity.

And while our towns and neighborhoods struggle to stay afloat, our national political dysfunction continues to stir the flames of discord. Finger pointing and blame have displaced bipartisan problem solving. In a world of spiteful politics and crushing, always mounting debt, most of which will never be repaid, I fear the great majority of us are being hung out to dry. 

Meanwhile the Wall Street and Washington vultures slowly circle, fighting to get an even larger piece of the pie before it vanishes into the economic quicksand. The supposedly “drained swamp” still hides menacing creatures, and smells as bad as ever.

Surely I am not the only one who wonders what has happened to the world we knew. It becomes harder and harder to recognize the country where I grew up and perhaps thought I understood. Small wonder the October characters I wrote about were apt to stumble as they tried to make sense of it.

Again, my question is simple enough. Has it always been like this? We may have grown up hearing our parents and grand-parents grumble about “the younger generation,” and how things were not this bad in “the good old days.” Sometimes they even hinted of ancient cultures where age was venerated, and equated with wisdom. Truth to tell, I’m getting old, but the wisdom and understanding I had hoped to gain seem to have eluded me.

So, are today’s headlines just more of the same? Did the world of our childhood and adolescence always include the troubles we read about now and watch on the tube? And if it did, is it the scale and frequency of those problems that has changed---or is our increased awareness simply a matter of more thorough and divisive reporting, better police work, and cameras on every street corner? 

Whether or not our generation is dealing with something new and different, I have no doubt that for many of us, this crazy new world impacts our ability to “thrive in our 60s and 70s.” If so, I’d say that makes it an October issue.

I would appreciate your help here, your input. If you wish, I hope you'll pass this on to your October  and November friends. (The email link below is easy to use.) As always I'd be interested in hearing your input via “Reply.” (below) 

With that, I will try to calm down a bit in time for the next post. (Who hid the scotch?)

Happy Healing

Happy New Year to all. 2018 is only hours old and already it has me off on a new tangent. Fact is, I did not plan to be writing this. The inspiration---if I may be bold enough to call it that----seemed to arrive out of the blue. I’ll bet that’s happened to you. The path you set out to follow, the one that seemed so right, even tempting, yesterday seems to have lost its appeal. I’m not sure where this detour will take me, but I am willing to spend a day or two to find out.

You see, I have spent years weaving ideas, some of them important and some rather trivial, into stories about late life. It has been an enjoyable challenge---telling what I believe are true-to-life tales about today’s seniors---wrapping the lives of those  friends I have created out of thin air in the values, virtues, and vices that seemed to me worth depicting. 

But I will admit there have been times along the way when I was tempted to forego the storytelling part, and instead take time to focus on those October/November values, virtues, and vices in greater depth than a fictional narrative allows. There are things that happen to us every day---things we too often let pass without notice. With that in mind I decided that for the next few weeks I will concentrate my blogging efforts on recalling the lessons learned in those special moments and how blessed I am to have had them in my lives.

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If you are a late-lifer like me, chances are you view the world from the relative quiet of an October/November perch. From there we sometimes revisit the times and events that shaped our lives. In our more reflective moments we may even consider which of our efforts have been worthy and worthwhile, and which have been a waste of time.

That certainly holds true for this old guy, who claims to tell stories about folks living out their October years. As I said before, of late I have felt less committed to telling those stories, and more inclined to dwell on the hard-learned realities they were meant to illustrate. Having spent a lifetime learning those lessons, perhaps it is not surprising that I want to explore some of the more important ones in depth, without the distraction of weaving them into a story.

That’s what I hope today’s post will be---an in-depth look at one of those realities we have dealt with for a lifetime, but have perhaps never given the attention it deserves. Hopefully by the time we are done you will have spent a few minutes remembering the ways you and your life have been touched by this bit of magic. Whether you consider it a virtue or a vice, it is something everyone of us has experienced, and been thankful for.

At this stage of the game I want to focus on what seems to me the heart of the matter---the handful of lessons that make their way into my thoughts when I leave the door opened a crack. That is exactly what happened a couple nights ago, when a particular notion, or more precisely a particular word, caught my attention.

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The word in question was “Healing,” a plain, but powerful, word that everyone can relate to. In the course of our lifetime each of us has been healed many times, in many ways. Truth is, we are constantly in the process of being healed, sometimes successfully, sometimes less so. In any case, for reasons I still don’t understand, my midnight thoughts settled on that seemingly unremarkable word, and a rather remarkable truth I don’t remember considering before---that being healed is one of life’s great blessings. 

Some of the best moments of my life, and yours too, have been times of healing, when we are made well and wholeness has been restored. You know the feeling. Having endured a time of infirmity or deprivation, you are restored to your allotted degree of health and wholeness. That welcome reprieve can arrive in many forms---physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual to name a few. But whatever the burden that has been lifted from your shoulders, the resulting wholeness has qualified as healing.

Like I said, it is a good word, one of many lurking behind those mind doors. There are so many interesting possibilities to choose from---words and ideas I have explored in my stories. I look forward to dwelling on some of the others in future posts---topics like ‘life choices made,’ ‘what is really important,’ ‘starting over,’ ‘family and friends,’ ‘trials and temptation,’ ‘lingering hatred,’ or the old standby ‘true love.’ It is hard to know why, with all those candidates waiting to be explored, it was ‘Healing’ that captured my thoughts the other night, but it did.

So, as I put my thoughts on paper I hope you will take time to refer to your own moments of healing and restoration. I invite you to consider your personal experience---comparing your insights on the universal reality of healing to mine. After all, healing is an important part of life at any age, but especially old age.

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To begin with, I submit that our word-of-the-day---Healing---describes one of life’s greatest blessings. It is also an incredibly versatile word, that can be used in many different ways, to mean many different things. But in every instance it implies ‘making healthy’ or ‘returning to a higher degree of wholeness.’

We most often think of ‘healing’ in terms of physical health. We sometimes refer to health care professions as the ‘healing arts.’ And thankfully they are all that and more. Everyone of us can cite examples how healing has restored health and wholeness to ourselves and loved ones. 

Still, we understand that ‘being healed’ is not the same as ‘being cured.’ Our October/November world is full of people like me who have had more than one brush with cancer or some other life-threatening condition, and been returned to a satisfying and functional lifestyle---without being ‘cured.’

Still, whether our search for physical healing has led us to health-care professionals, faith-based spiritual gurus, or sincere thanks for a fortunate genetic inheritance---at one time or another each of us has sensed the comforting warmth of having been made well again.

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We realize too that those moments of blessed healing will not last forever. The time will come, tomorrow or ten years from now, when some form of misfortune will once again have us wishing and praying for a new round of healing. Yet, we must not allow that blunt realization to lessen our gratitude for the welcome healing we have experienced in times past.

We are, after all, a vulnerable species. As long as we live our need for restoration, in one form or another, will never end. Beyond that, we know by now that late-life healing is a relative thing. No matter how well the bones heal or the new knee works I will never dunk a basketball again. (Not that I ever could.) I know by now that October/November ‘wholeness’ is at best a mental judgment, a willingness to accept a level of renewal in keeping with the rest of my late-life existence. Truth is, by this time of life it seems we are always healing in one way or another.

For example, Roma’s pacemaker arrived as a mechanical means of coping, not curing. My new round of immunology therapy is simply the next step in an ongoing cancer coping journey. On the very afternoon I started to create my first notes about healing, our daughter Amy lay in a hospital bed, recovering from the ordeal of donating a kidney---itself the very definition of a blessed healing act.

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Healing, however, can mean more than restoring a broken or infirmed body. Some of our most satisfying healing experiences, the ones that have touched us most deeply, had nothing to do with mended bones, restored organs, or renewed health. The same sense of ‘being made whole’ that we usually associate with physical healing applies just as well to other facets of our being. There are innumerable non-physical conditions on our October/November plate---vital elements of our being---that may need restoration and wholeness. Truth is, there are some infirmities the army of caregivers, who stand ready to serve us with their skills and pills, cannot heal.

By this time of life we may be alone or isolated, perhaps dwelling on wrong turns taken in the past, or ‘what if’ moments we managed to misplay. We may be in need of another, more personal, sort of healing---something beyond physical restoration. Perhaps it is a hard-to-define blend of emotional, mental, and spiritual infirmity that has us seeking, in our own way, a more satisfying sort of non-physical healing. Hopefully by this time of life we have cultivated our own means of addressing those intangible healing possibilities.

And for some there are more intimate and personal sorts of ‘unwholeness’ begging to be healed. Relational health---getting along with family and friends---is an important part of a ‘whole’ life. If that is a problem for us, perhaps it is time to mend the relational bridges we have burned over the years. At any time of life, but especially in our October/November years, restored and revitalized personal relationships are a most notable sort of healing.

And then, of course, there is perhaps the most vital and satisfying form of restoration---Spiritual Healing--the soul-deep wholeness we all seek, no matter what we call it. There will be no miracle drugs, space-age cures, or other short cuts to help us accomplish that. A million books have been written on the subject, each claiming to show the way to spiritual health. Yet in the end it is our personal inner compass, not someone else’s advice, that will guide us on that most personal of faith journeys.

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Finally, as you can certainly see by now, I am not here to tell you anything you don’t already know. I do hope, however, that a few minutes spent revisiting the notion of ‘healing’ will help each of us shine a light on our own blessings of healing and wholeness---and perhaps renew our sense of awe at how fortunate we have been, in ways we don’t always stop to appreciate.

In the course of our lifetime we have been healed over and over. But it is not our passing acknowledgment of that healing which matters. Instead, it is our expression of gratitude that validates how good life has been to us.