Posted on February 7, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

“Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”

 

“I’m not scared of dying,

And I don’t really care,

 If it’s peace you find in dying,

Well, then let the time be near.”

And When I Die – Blood, Sweat and Tears

 

For many of us, the runway is getting shorter. We have lived long, productive lives. We’ve had our ups and downs. We’ve enjoyed pleasure and endured pain. We’ve won some and lost some. We’ve had periods of elation and times of profound sadness. We’ve taken “the good with the bad”. And now, with every passing obituary, we are staring at our own mortality.

On my recent Camino walk in Spain, I spent a few hours on the trail with a young woman from Australia. She had just quit her job and wondered what her future would hold. I suggested that she still had plenty of runway left and that mine was much shorter. She turned to me and said, “Len. Just take a smaller plane.”

Climb aboard as I explore death in the late innings.

Death has never been an easy discussion to have. As a good friend of mine said, “I’m not a big fan of death.”

Before lifting off, let me make it clear. When I address this topic, I’m not talking about tragic, unexpected death. It would be insensitive of me to treat this serious subject in a cavalier manner.

Also, I claim no expertise on the subject. And don’t want to become one.

Recently, I was stopped at the Farmer’s Market where I was approached by two friends who asked me if I might be interested in taking part in a “death café”. I was certain that I heard the words “debt café”.  My initial reaction was that I would probably rather spend 10 hours at Outpatients than sit around having coffee and discussing debt. Then again, I’m sure there are others who would rather hang out at Emerg rather than talk about death.

As a society, we’re not great at discussing anything remotely affiliated with death. I admit to thinking about it a lot more than I did when I was in my 50s. For the longest time, my ideas about death were formulated from a very young age growing up in a large Catholic family. There were the twin towers of the Bible and the Baltimore Catechism. Heaven and hell.

So, what is a death café? I looked it up and here’s one definition: “A death café is a group directed discussion of death with no agenda, objectives or themes. It is a discussion group rather than a grief support or counselling session.”

Fifteen of us met a week ago. I only knew a handful of people in the room. We introduced ourselves and were asked why we had decided to come. The backgrounds of those in attendance were quite diverse. Different careers, different cultures and different religious beliefs. I said that I was there because of curiosity. I wanted to hear what other people had to say on the topic. The introductions took about an hour. We used a talking stick, perhaps one of the greatest inventions of mankind! Prior to breaking for tea and cake, I was asked to play a few tunes that might be appropriate for the occasion. Not surprisingly, there are quite a few songs about death from which to choose, but I settled on Eric Clapton’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” and John Prine’s slightly irreverent “Please Don’t Bury Me”. One of my more interesting gigs!

Rather than delve too deeply into the discussion, here is a brief summary of some of the talking points:

. The miracle of dying

. Death on your shoulder.

. Fearful of the unknown at death

. Will I have a good death?

. Fear of dying in pain

. While we may not fear death now on a philosophical level, how will we actually feel when the time comes?

. Death doulas

. Being prepared – having the proper documents in place

. Instead of using the acronym DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), some people use AND (Allow Natural Death)

. Reincarnation

Much of the discussion was about the lead up to death. At a subsequent meeting, we hope to discuss what our thoughts might be “after the last dance”.

As we were getting to go our separate ways, one of the younger participants offered the chorus of this lovely song, a Capella. It was lovely.

“Trees grow slow and trees grow strong.

And trees sway with the wind their whole lives long,

And trees hold the ground as they reach for the sky,

And fallen trees still feed the seeds they cast before they die.”

Trees Grow Slow – Laurence Cole

Thanks, N.

Here’s a website that might be helpful for anyone who might be thinking about doing some advanced planning: www.advancecareplanning.ca

I was quite interested to learn that there were “death doulas”. According to the literature, “A death doula is a person who assists in the dying process, much like a midwife or doula does with the birthing process. It is often a community-based role, aiming to help families cope with death through recognizing it as a natural and important part of life”. Many people are not equipped to deal with the death of a loved one. A doula may be one answer in finding someone to help you.

When I returned home, I did a brief Facebook post to alert my loyal readers that I would be writing about this subject today. A friend sent me a private message indicating that three different friends had recently transitioned using MAID. I suspect that our group will hear lots more on this topic, especially as we have a physician in our group.

I’ll keep you posted.

“When the light goes dark,

With the forces of creation,

Across a stormy sky,

We look to reincarnation,

To explain our lives.”

We Rise Again – Leon Dubinsky

Have a great weekend.

Live it up!

 

 

 

Posted on January 24, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

We are family

 

“We are family,

I got all my sisters (and brothers!) with me.

We Are Family – Sister Sledge

Warning. If you’re under the age of 60, please check your gag reflex as I once again go down that dreaded and well-trodden road, “the good old days”.

Most of my stories start innocently enough. Somebody makes a passing comment, or I see something online that catches my attention, and I’m off to the races.

Last week, I was travelling back home from “The Hawk” with a few work colleagues. We swapped stories about our day at school. We were all teaching grade 6-8 students. This is not an easy age for young people…or teachers. Never was and never will be but arguably, it is much more difficult being a teenager in 2024. There are so many more distractions with the proliferation of social media. Case in point. Whenever I grant a few minutes of “free time” at the end of class, the first thing the students ask is can they use their cell phone. Mercifully, most schools have a policy that requires students to deposit their phones in a pouch in a “phone bank” hanging on the wall as they enter a classroom.

My young colleagues were curious to know what I was like as an eighth grader, as it appears that this remains one of the most challenging grades.

Now, all of us have selective memories and maybe we choose to forget most of the bad stuff of our youth and choose to simply remember the good times. My siblings might have their own take on what I was like at 14. I won’t ask them to preserve my dignity.

I told my friends that I have fond memories of my youth. I liked school, I played a lot of sports and don’t recall any panic attacks or dealing with anxiety. My theory is that I was fortunate to grow up in a big family. We learned how to share, how to get along (most of the time) and how to have each other’s backs when things went sideways. Singing together and saying the rosary were staples. We also learned a lot about discipline and respect. I am not going to suggest that the present generation eschews discipline and respect. In the 60s, there was a delicate mixture of fear and respect – at home and in school. It was unthinkable to question authority.

I had a great chat with a school custodian the other day. Anyone with an ounce of wisdom knows that custodians and school secretaries are the most important people in schools. They know everything that’s going on. We were bemoaning the fact that it is almost impossible to discipline students in 2024. Certainly not in the fashion of 50 years ago. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Each of us had several stories about punishment inflicted upon us when we went astray as youths. Nuns were notorious for cracking our knuckles with a ruler. Our parents weren’t reluctant to use the same instrument on our backsides. We concluded our discussion, agreeing that a swift kick in the arse never did us any harm.

My big, unwieldy family went their separate ways after high school and university and we had siblings on either coast and several provinces in between. In retirement, most of us ended up on the east coast with several of us back in our hometown.

If you read last weeks’ piece (shame on you if you didn’t!), you might remember that I used the expression “everything old is new again”. Even though we’ve had our differences over the years, we now seem to be at a stage of quasi-permanent peace. We have accepted each other’s idiosyncrasies and enjoy getting together. Two things that have resurfaced which bring me great joy are the two things that bonded us in our youth: music and food. From time to time, we get together and sing some of the oldies at the Museum summer ceilidhs. We usually get together for a rehearsal even though we’ve been singing the same songs for 70 years. My sister usually hosts these practices and bribes us to show up by providing homemade pie at the end of the rehearsal.

Our sister also hosts a monthly dinner at her home. I wouldn’t miss these for anything. We reminisce and we spend most of the meal laughing and poking fun at each other. My sister prepares good old-fashioned meals, the ones our mother taught us to make oh so many years ago. Breaded chicken breast, mashed potatoes (the way mom made them!), mashed turnip, carrots and peas. The desserts are mom’s as well. Cottage pudding: white cake with a warm, caramel sauce.

A few of us have resumed playing bridge.

Simple pleasures. Fond memories.

At my age, I don’t want or need material things. Give me experiences. Good for the heart and soul.

Families. Sometimes you can’t live with them but in the end, you can’t live without them.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. I saw this in a book I’m reading: “In life, you have to learn to count the good days. You have to tuck them in your pocket and carry them around with you.” I like this sentiment.

Posted on January 17, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

Then and Now

(Source of image unknown)

 

“Your old road is rapidly agin’,

Please get out of the new one,

If you can’t lend a hand,

For the times they are a-changin’.”

The Times They are A-Changin – Bob Dylan

Most of the time, I hate Facebook. It used to be a place to share messages with friends near and far, but it has turned into a huge dumpster filled with ads, memes and ridiculous “touch the…” to determine your personality. But like sugar and cigarettes, it somehow remains addictive.

Last Sunday while picking my way through the online trash, I saw the cartoon that you’re looking at attached to this post. As a hopeless nostalgic, I couldn’t resist adding my two cents worth. A “penny for my thoughts?”

So, to all of you septuagenarians, I pose the question: Was it more fun being 20 in the 70s or being 70 in the 20s?

For me, this is a slam dunk.

As mentioned in last week’s post, I love being the age I am today. Most (not all!) mistakes have been made and lessons learned, with a modest accrual of wisdom. In the 1970s, most of us were just starting our careers of screwing things up.

But, oh, the fun we had doing it.

Last week, I hitched a ride to Port Hawkesbury to substitute teach. I no longer own a car. Thankfully, I don’t actually have to hitchhike which was one of the great rites of passage 50 years ago. Not many of my 20-year-old friends owned a car. If you wanted to go to Halifax to catch a concert or a sporting event, you just meandered out of town and stuck your thumb in the air. Occasionally on a rainy day, you would get a bath from a motorist. The thumb was then replaced by the middle finger. Just about every university student in my hometown owns a car these days.

My “chauffeur” was a sports and music enthusiast so needless to say, the drive to and from “The Hawk” was a delight. I told him about hopping on the rail liner at the east end of Main Street, heading to the Forum in Montreal to watch my (then) beloved Habs. I regaled him with stories of watching” Le Gros Bill” (Jean Belliveau) feeding a crisp, perfect pass across ice to a streaking “Big M” (Frank Mahovlich). Sitting up for 24 hours, much of it spent in the smoky bar car, was legendary.

On our way home at the end of the day, our discussion turned to music. My friend told me that he and his wife are music lovers, particularly music from the 60s and 70s. For a man in his 40s, he had an encyclopedic knowledge of Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Neil Young, James Taylor… and on and on. He mentioned that he saw Dylan twice in concert and was nonplussed. He also mentioned Pink Floyd. I am aware that vinyl is making a huge comeback. He told me that he and his wife routinely purchase albums at Taz in Halifax. I was curious about the price, having paid the princely sum of $3.14 for Neil Young’s Harvest album at the campus bookstore at St.F.X. in 1972. He told me that most albums are in the $29.95 range with some going as high as $69. I understand inflation. Back in the early 70s, I could fill my VW Beetle for $5.00.

When I lived in Victoria in the early to mid- 70s, I had a terrific stereo system. I also lived in a dive and paid the princely sum of $85 a month rent. You might think that this was a steal, but you never saw “The Bongo Pad”. I think that my sound system cost me more than if I had purchased the ten-unit complex! I was in Victoria in 2023 and that building is still there. It might be the eighth wonder of the world. I could write a book about all the strange characters who lived there.

At the end of a work week, I would walk back from the mill to my apartment, pop a cold one, light a candle and slap “Dark Side of the Moon” onto the turntable. With headphones firmly attached to my skull, I would close my eyes and listen to the opening thumps of “Breathe”. Whenever I hear a cut from that album, I am instantly transported back in time.

One more vinyl replay. During my undergraduate years at St.F.X. I spent way too much time in the excellent music library at the Angus L. MacDonald library and too little time in the stacks. They had state of the art equipment and when I needed my music fix, I would grab the Simon and Garfunkel Bridge Over Troubled Water album, along with a set of headphones and head to a sound booth. One of my favourite cuts was Keep The Customer Satisfied. I loved hearing the sounds stream from one ear to the other.

Of course, vinyl albums had their day in the sun (or so we thought) and we moved on to cassettes, 8-tracks, CD’s. Today, you can dial up Spotify and get any song you ever heard in a nanosecond.

I once owned an impressive collection of vinyl albums. I had all The Beatles albums, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Buffalo Springfield, Carole King, James Taylor, Judy Collins, Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, Moody Blues, Fleetwood Mac, George Harrison, The Who, and several hundred more. I treated them like newborns, and I kept them in pristine condition. When the tide went out on vinyl and I was no longer playing them, I (gasp) sold them all for a few bucks at a yard sale. Other than purchasing Tech stocks in the early 2000s, this was one of the worst financial mistakes of my life.

The tide goes out but it comes back in.

But how was I to know that “everything old is new again”.

Being 20 in the 70s was a gift that kept on giving. We were young and carefree and other than relatively small student loans, we didn’t have a lot of pressure or responsibilities. At least, I didn’t. I managed to remain single into my 30s.

My greatest accomplishment of the 70s was surviving them.

And now, I am in my 70s in the 2020s.

In some ways, life moves more slowly. We don’t move as quickly or athletically. We have physical aches and pains and plenty of emotional scars but here we are, in all of our imperfections. However, time seems to march on at a frantic pace. Most of us are content to hang around home, reading a good book, enjoying a simple meal and taking power snoozes.

I loved my 20s and I love my 70s… and everything in between.

“We’ve been through some things together,

With trunks of memories still to come,

We found things to do in stormy weather,

Long may you run.”

Long May You Run – Neil Young

Long may you run.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. The “Death Café” scheduled for last Thursday was postponed due to inclement weather. I have been asked to sing a few tunes for the gathering when we meet in a few weeks’ time. I have chosen John Prine’s Please Don’t Bury Me and Bob Bylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door. After the postponement, I’m thinking of adding one more… Stayin’ Alive!