Month: June 2024

I Still Believe

My new normal includes revisiting experiences and learnings from my past. My dad would be happy to know that, contrary to how it seemed in my youth, I learned the value of taking care of what is entrusted to me, be it material or ethereal. He taught me about organization and planning, and again, though I rarely exhibited it, follow-through. As I navigate a plethora of changes, those traits help me. Especially as I age and my brain works, let’s just say, differently.

Following through on a daily basis is important. But there are more consequential concepts engrained in my psyche. I, as many who read this, am a product of growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s. From the latter days of the beat generation (Beatniks) through the Hippie movement that included tuning in and dropping out, drugs, burn the bra, protest the war, and freedom to love whomever we choose.

Through my formative years I learned what I still consider to be the most powerful tenet of living in community with others; do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I know. This isn’t the first time I’ve broached this subject. But I still believe. I believe that being kind is better than being mean. Recognizing what is common in our humanity outweighs our differences in religion and politics. Helping is better than ignoring. You get the picture.

While the saying is basically biblical, living life loving and cherishing those whom you know and those you don’t does not require religion or even belief in a deity. Sure, we can glean valuable instruction about living from them. But the truth is that religions, just like the people who adhere to them, are both good and bad by nature. We must choose individually how we want to behave.

The longer I live, and the more I learn about myself and my likeness to every other person on earth, the more I want to choose kindness and inclusion. Sometimes this takes proactive effort when those I encounter are so different from me in both looks and ways of living. Dare I quote another biblical reference, “Judge not lest you be judged.” Again, regardless of its origin, it rings true.

And while I’m preaching (pun intended), love transcends people to every living thing, the physical world, and the universe as a whole. As a youth I would often step on or otherwise kill bugs, birds, and other small animals mostly just for fun, sometimes for the hunt. Now I choose to let living things live – unless they are invading my personal space or, I am sure, if I need them for food. I am not a pure pacifist. I believe in protecting oneself and community. I am no longer inclined to destroy anything just because. Still, I am not guiltless in my efforts.

So many times it’s the little things; a smile, “hello”, a wave. Not all actions need be monumental nor monetary. Though we should endeavor to positively impact our world through effort and donations. Lift up those around us and around the world rather than tear down. We all benefit by doing so. It feels good. It feels right.

I’ll quote another biblical passage, “This, too, is vanity.” We are such tiny specks in the grand universe. What does it matter what we do? Probably not much considering our position in the whole. Yet I think it is worth while, and true to self, to positively affect the world around us. The alternative just doesn’t seem to make sense. Not to me anyway.

I choose to believe.

Special Connection

Caregivers develop a special, deeper connection with those who are in their care. I have no empirical data to support this claim. Anecdotal stories do support it though. I have my personal experience, those of family members, and friends who have cared for and lost those close to them.

It is only logical to assume that caregivers who are not “related” to their charges develop special, deep connections with those they care for. Again, no empirical data, but I cannot imagine they don’t.

Pam and I had a special relationship from the git go. I am sure we were in love before we knew it. We lifted each other up, consoled each other, confided in each other, and counseled each other. I’ve realized more recently that she saw more good in me than I saw in myself. I know Pam struggled with her own positive identity. But I saw her true self as did she see mine.

Collaborating with my sister who has been the primary caregiver for our aging (99-1/2 years old) Mother brings to light changes in relationships with our loved ones. I with Pam, she with our Mother. As Jan confides in me, it is easy to empathize with the deeper emotional ties she has developed even as her caregiving role has changed. I hear it in her voice (our conversations are by the phone). The occasional catch in her voice. The tell-tale sign of tears welling in her eyes. Her concern for our Mother’s failing cognition and general health.

Jan’s experience has helped me understand my own special, deeper relationship with Pam as the insidious disease ravaged her both physically and mentally. I’m sure I’ve said before that I didn’t realize the depth of my love for Pam until we traveled that horrible path. But now I see that my love and care for Pam actually deepened even more with the experience.

It’s hard to explain because we were still so much in love after 20 plus years of marriage. But many things changed as she became more dependent on me for her everyday needs. She slowly lost the ability to convey those needs or communicate in complex ways. I know she hated the dependence, but was also thankful to have my help.

For my part, I had to listen closely, not due to volume, but to understand. I had to develop ways to provide both physical and emotional support that I never knew I could. And her condition was always changing, and thus my means and methods. I had no training.

Caregiving is a noble endeavor. One that I imagine is very fulfilling for those professionals who choose to train for and engage in it. Jan and I have witnessed how professional caregivers work with those to which they are assigned. Whether they are members of private, commercial organizations or of non-profits like Hospice. Of course, they are not all equally sensitive or compassionate. But for the most part, it is apparent that they, too, try to, and ultimately do develop special connections with those they care for.

As we age, our exposure to caregiving is thrust upon us almost by default. If not for an aging parent, then for a partner or other close relative. And there are those who must take on the role for their young spouse, partner, or worse yet, their children. In the midst of it, it’s hard to recognize the good and positive aspects of your care and commitment. Know, though, that regardless of the outcome, your efforts are not in vain. You become more sensitive, empathetic, compassionate, and wise. From then forward, you will find it easier to experience special, deeper connections with those you care for, and for other caregivers as well.

Strange and Wonderful Sounds

My ears were subjected to a cacophony of sounds as soon as I opened the car door. I knew immediately that it was cicadas. I’d heard a few at home, but nothing like the constant noise I heard from the parking lot at Squire Point. Returning after several weeks of on and off travel, it was great to be back. But the sound!

Having donned my boots and trekking poles, I set off to enjoy the trail. Last autumn’s prescribed burn coupled with ample spring rain allowed the undergrowth amongst the trees to flourish in stature and color. Patchy sunshine filtering through the majestic, aged trees dappled shades of greens and browns on trees and undergrowth alike.

But the sound. It didn’t take long to identify three distinct types of cicada music. The constant background of whining permeated the forest. Difficult to identify, it was something like a mechanical whirring of mid-range tones, like that of a fan in need of lubrication. Its volume changed only as I ambled through the woods. Clearly there were areas of higher cicada concentrations in the trees. But the sound never abated while I was outside of the car.

I passed smaller swarms of the bumblebee sized insects along the path. Their sound was more like the incessant buzzing we are familiar with. Louder than the constant whirring throughout the forest, the chatter undulated at different decibel levels as I passed, louder then softer, then louder again in a coordinated symphony of winged instruments.

Closer, I could hear individual cicadas in the nearby trees extending their invitations to females in hopes of completing the mating act during their short, 24 hour adult life. Watching the path below and ahead as I often do, I saw the remains of those who’s time had passed. In some cases, I saw only a pair of wings. Other forest critters having hauled off and feasted on the other remains.

Traversing Squire Point and entering Woodpecker Trail, there was actually a fourth sound. I thought it might be a nearly silent drone or some kind of electric bike, barely audible compared to the singing (not really singing, but…) bugs. I turned to look and saw a single cicada flying, then landing on a nearby fern. Such a delicate contrasting sound, and enlightening new experience!

Winding my way back along the matted dirt and naturally mulched path, I found myself hearing something different. Smaller, nearby cicada swarms were absent. For the first time this day I could hear the breeze high up in the trees. Its cooling refreshment barely reaching pathway level. Now that’s a familiar sound. But short-lived. Hike a few meters forward and back into the din.

Nearly five miles later, I was back at my vehicle. Take off the boots and put on shoes. Stow the trekking poles and drink the rest of my water. Looking down I found a wayward interloper at my feet. Yep. A cicada.

Above the twig, just below my thigh

Time to go. I got in and shut the door. OMG!!! It’s quiet! I didn’t realize just how loud the cicadas were.

As a side note, I was driving along the back roads east of the reservoir last week and thought my hearing devices were malfunctioning. I kept hearing a faint buzzing come and go. Since I have had a similar problem with them in the past, I took one out, and then the other. But I could still hear the noise as I meandered along the narrow, unmarked asphalt roads. I finally realized that, from time to time, I was passing swarms of cicadas. Who knew?!

Another thing I realized while on my hike today. I’m going to miss this natural world when my time comes – hopefully not soon.

Hmmm… What to Write?!

“I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking ;-)”

Not even my backlog list of topics yields a subject to write about. I’ve even been toying with the concept of writer’s block. But that’s not the sole reason for the lack of a post last week. I was gone for three days during the week and spent two days prior preparing for the trip.

I do enjoy writing this blog and appreciate the positive Likes and Comments. They give me courage to continue. But I also feel a commitment to meet my self-imposed deadlines and to write content that is meaningful and though-provoking. I’m not sure this qualifies. But maybe…

I continue to hold back. Yes, I have dabbled around the surface of controversial topics. But I am afraid of scaring off some readers. I can also admit that I am fearful of reprisals. Not so much from those who follow the blog. More from any entity that may interlope into this site. What a condition of current culture, that we have to tread so carefully.

No. Damn it! Not this time.

My son and I were discussing politics while camping with his family at Maquoketa Caves State Park a week ago. It is not typical to have internet access or cell service away from cities and towns. Yet we did, and our phones buzzed and lit with the news of Tridiot’s convictions. The discussion evolved to what ifs.

It was then that I verbalized that I might take a stand against an authoritarian regime if he manages to get elected. I/we simply cannot allow a faction of bullies who want to roll back time and eliminate social and political freedoms for any one or group who does not agree with them to do so – by brute force!

I am scared just to say it and write it. But I am at a stage in life where I have less to lose by waging the battle (figuratively speaking). Future generations are at stake. History does repeat itself. The parallels in political design to those of Germany in the 1930’s are clear. Today I was reminded how the Nazi takeover was not with a coup in one fell swoop. Hitler came to power legally, by election. Then he installed his henchmen in positions of power and dismantled the government to execute his malevolent plan.

I’m not sure what form my resistance would take. I am frightened just to consider. Better, though, would be to make sure that Tridiot and his henchmen do not come to power. So, I will battle my fears of reprisal and work toward that end. Please join me in this effort.

I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking 😉