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?

October works best as a shared effort

Do you believe in signs? I do---sort of. Perhaps “believe” is too strong a word, but I do pay attention to the twists and turns of October life that seem to make or reinforce a particular point. Who knows, it might be a sign.

With the upcoming publication of Breathing Underwater there will be eleven Tanner Chronicles books on my shelf. Each of them is a relational story---hopeful seniors in search of a lasting relationship. Yet in the midst of their seeking each of them is dealing with one or more of the distressing realities that dot our October landscape. 

From time to time all of us come face to face with some kind of late-life obstacle. But no matter what the challenge, one important truth remains unchanged---dealing with October and beyond usually (though not always) works best when it is a shared effort.

I hope you will stay with me through this, all the way to the end. What I’m hoping for is a celebration of a late-life truth for which we ought to be thankful. But to reach that comforting space we must first address some very uncelebratory realities. 

You see, it was a real bummer, that day last week when Roma and I had to go our separate ways so each of us could attend one of the two funerals scheduled just a couple hours apart. Of course, we knew those sad mornings are a part of October and November---but that doesn’t make them any easier. We live in a vulnerable time of life, a time when we depend on each other more than ever.

The fact is, the October challenges we face rarely impact just us. It is a simple bit of logic---the truest of the truth usually is. The trials we deal with are bound to touch our partner, our family, our close friends---everyone who cares about us. Having steered a dozen or so fictional acquaintances through the quicksand of senior troubles, I can attest---and you can too---that those hard times impact all the players. 

More than that, our often-twisting October path is a two-way street. As much as we need the caring and support of those around us, there will be times when it is our turn to offer the help they need. There are even times when the apparent “victim” is called on to support his or her own support team. At every turn late-life works best as a shared experience. 

Needless to say, the last miles of our journey toward the great unknown we cannot avoid are apt to be a daunting time. Does that sound too dark, too depressing to think about? I hope not. Over the years I have painted some of my Tanner Chronicle friends into one or more of those distressing corners.

However, in my way of thinking the most depressing circumstance of all would be to face those times alone. Those last miles are a time for special caring and support. For those of us who have experienced the need for a special someone to see us through October and beyond the opportunity to grow old together makes all the difference. 

The willingness of my Tanner friends to seek a new connection that will hopefully help overcome their loneliness is at the heart of my stories. Making that time of life a shared experience is an important motivator for the October characters I have imagined into being. Somehow, a 300 page tale that ends with the two of them going their separate ways is not all that satisfying---though it has happened a time or two. 

Finally, however---we mustn’t forget that not everyone is a candidate for that “together” future. For any number of reasons many of our October peers choose not to rely on another life-mate, but instead focus on a different sort of shared future---one that includes themselves, their family and friends, and the memory of the partner who had seen them through their shared trials. If that works for them, who can argue with the choice they’ve made?

Darn it folks, be careful out there

I have a theory. I’d be interested in knowing if it makes sense to you. You see, I believe that most of us who have reached our October Years can accept and appreciate the subtle, often hard-won maturity we've gained in the course of our lifetime. That is a reality I try to reflect in my Tanner Chronicles stories. Moreover, I like to think those life-lessons, the challenges I have faced---some won, some lost---are a part of the person I've become. But if that is so, why hasn’t the maturity I claim for myself served me better?

The truth of course is highlighted by the sobering fact that mature or not, at age 78 I can no longer do some things that I once did. Most everything else I don’t do as well as before. Perhaps it’s a guy thing---how hard it is to accept the sad fact that self-esteem can no longer be won by doing what I do better than you or someone else does it. Of necessity, ego satisfaction has ceased to be a competitive endeavor. In my more lucid moments I remind myself that I must accept my limitations and concentrate on those activities I’m still able to do. (A list of candidates that seems to shrink by the day.)

    Look, you and I have been around the block a time or two, and hopefully we’ve learned a few things along the way. Though our culture may not value “elder wisdom” the way some societies do, I know that I’ve gained a lot of know-how over the years. I’ll bet you have too. So, why don’t I pay more attention to what I’ve learned?

Example #1 -- I told this little story a couple years ago, certain that I had learned my lesson and would never have a reason to repeat it. The fact that I’m retelling it here gives you some idea of how well I listened to my own advice the first time.

My son’s request was simple enough. He needed an extra pair of hands to take down a storm window. He’d seen me do that a time or two. So when he ran into a two-man job he asked for my help. And why not? He had reason to believe that I knew what to do and how to do it safely. 

True, the window was large---six feet by six feet, and heavy too---a bigger job than I normally tackle these days. But it was my son asking. He needed some help. Was I supposed to tell him  his old man couldn’t handle that?

Long story short---when I tripped over the limb I should have seen lying there I let go of the frame and reached out to cushion my fall. I’m not sure how he did it, but Terry managed to brace himself and hold that heavy sheet of glass, wrapped only in a flimsy metal frame, upright. While I grumbled about a bruised hip and scraped knee he gave me precious seconds to get back on my feet and get hold of my end of the frame. Had he not been able to do that, I would have been wearing a sheet of broken glass around my neck.

Fast-forward a mere two months, to August 2013. It was a bright sunny morning. I was up on a ladder, painting the house. Suddenly, before I realized what was happening, I had fallen four or five feet and kissed the very-hard ground with my shoulder. I’ve recounted the resulting  damages  elsewhere -- broken ribs, broken clavicle, punctured lung, etc. Suffice to say, my recovery was long and painful. However, in the process I learned that pain is an effective teacher---but only if the student is ready to learn.

Fact is, some of us are slow learners. Why else would I have been stretched out on a hospital bed nine months later, wondering how to carry on with one good arm and one good leg? The doctor had just rendered his diagnosis---a fractured pelvis and broken arm. I would be on the mend for a few months. In the process of once again acting like a forty-five year old, life had sent me another learning experience.

In the face of such graphic and painful evidence, I am reminded again that our October Years need not be about giving up or admitting defeat---but they are a time for being realistic, for having the good sense not to attempt what may have been doable in times past, but not today.

It is a simple admission I’m talking about, a favor we owe ourself---straight-forward advice that shouldn’t be hard to follow. Except that is, when our ego feels the need to make a point, or a special someone asks for help, or you would rather a grandchild not hear the distressing news that Grandpa “doesn’t do that any more.” Though I rarely confess that “I can’t,” I am getting better at explaining that “I don’t.”

I guess that means I’m still learning---even at my age. And giving thanks every day for the caring prayers that surround me and the enabling help that Roma and Terry provide. What about you? Have you ever been in that "learning" space, that place where it pays to be extra careful? Are you still there? If so, I’d like to hear how you dealt with it. In the meantime, please be careful out there in October-land.

October connecting -- It's a new world

Hey there, October friends. Welcome to the twenty-first century. You’ve heard the news, haven’t you? We live in a new and “connected” age. Obviously you’re connected enough to be online. That’s how you’re reading this. But beyond that, how connected are you? Have you become one of those social media types?

Though not all October folks will admit it, I decided a while back that it was time for me to come out of the closet. It was time to reconnect with my family and friends---via Facebook. It was our daughter-in-law’s idea. She assured us that “it’s the best way to keep track of your kids and grandkids.” How could we argue with that?

Of course, at our age we should have realized there are times to be careful what we wish for. True, we are “keeping track” of our extended family and other friends more than ever. That’s a fact. And it’s fun to read about them and what they’re up to, especially the grandkids---with their awards, achievements, and fun. 

Yet on the other hand, how much do we need to know about their tantrums, tattoos, and wild parties? So far we’ve been able to bite our tongue in the face of our “When I was a kid” objections. A good thing too. There are too many things about my own adolescent times I simply don’t remember any more. That too is probably a good thing.

But we've also found that the benefits of connectivity go far beyond our amazing grandchildren. We've heard about, and visited with, friends and acquaintances we might never have connected with any other way. That seems to me a blessing.

Of course, things change quickly in today’s cyber-world. The experts tell us the younger generation is rapidly deserting Facebook. Why is that? Well, it seems there are too many parents and grandparents listening in on their conversations, and they don’t appreciate that. As a result they are moving on to more confidential online meeting sites---places that you and I don’t know about.
  Does that mean we, the October generation, are winning the Facebook war simply by showing up" Probably not. But after hearing that October folks, the ones I want to visit with, are becoming a larger part of the Facebook audience, I wondered if I ought to expand my Facebook involvement. 

I let that possibility percolate for a few days, making notes on how I might do that. Before long I was dealing with an interesting new possibility. Specifically---what if I extended the reach of my October Years blog to include Facebook---with its enhanced opportunities for an actual dialogue with October folks about topics that matter to them.

At first I thought in terms of Facebook posts that featured entries from my October Years blog, like the one you're reading right now. But with so many other seniors adding their voices to the internet these days in the form of blogs, articles, photos, and videos, there is more worthwhile content out there than any of us will ever see. Why not spice up my October Years Facebook page with October-oriented material from those other sources, interspersed with my own blog material? 

For instance, why not a blog post about “Cyber-seniors”---one that features this video about Cyber-seniors? When I received this clip in a recent email it seemed to fit perfectly in a discussion of being connected. It’s a fun look at ways to help unconnected seniors expand their reach and stay in touch. I hope you’ll check it out.

I’ll be the first to admit that I had other reasons to consider an expanded Facebook presence. I now have eleven books on Amazon---recounting my personal interpretations of October life and relationships. If a Facebook connection helps make more folks aware of those stories, I can deal with that.

One last disclaimer. Not everyone is a Facebook person. Some of you have made the conscious choice not to be a part of that space. That’s fair. But even so, I hope you'll take a moment to check out the video noted above. It does not require a Facebook account. Simply click on the highlighted “Cyber-seniors” link. If it’s not for you, perhaps what you see could be of interest to someone you know. Perhaps you have a special October friend who might enjoy it. If so, I hope you will pass it on. Finally, if you'd like to follow this October Years blog I hope you'll add it to the list of sites you visit periodically. As always, I welcome your comments.