Wednesday, February 23, 2022

Clearing the forest floor

Before making the big change and moving over to the old growth forest (the retirement community), we had to clear the forest floor in our old condo. The place had accumulated a lot of debris and clutter over the years. Some of it was precious clutter.

To put it in a positive light, we decided we were on a quest for simplicity, a good Quaker value. We discovered that simplicity is not as simple as it seems.

After 70 years living in two countries, 13 towns or cities, and multiple houses, we had a lot of stuff. Actually, because our missionary life-style required that we live light, we had less possessions than many of our peers. But it still seemed like a lot.

De-cluttering-guru Marie Condo helped, although we found her book funny. (Verbally thank your old socks for giving such good service to your feet? Come on!) Marie advised us to make a pile of stuff in a given category (nick-nacks, for example), then go through the pile item by item, deciding what to give away (surely our son will want this ceramic cow that came

from my mother), what to donate to Goodwill, what goes to the dump, and, finally, what we get to keep. This last small pile we would take along as we entered our retirement forest.

Marie told us to only keep items that give us joy. My problem is that too many things give me joy. I am easily pleased.

I admit that we didn’t follow all Marie Condo’s suggestions to the letter, but we did manage to get the job done. Partially. Actually, a lot of hard decisions went into boxes to be stored in our son’s large garage; we figured we could go through that stuff little by little in the next few years (a task still pending).

Some thoughts on simplicity that emerged from our downsizing adventure:

1.)   Simplicity feels good. As the accumulation of possessions lessens, I feel relief.  Whether it’s clearing out closets or refrigerators, raking leaves, cleaning my desk top, simplifying my schedule, re-ordering my priorities, or making a major move, the resulting sense of lightness and rightness makes it worth the effort.

2.)   Simplicity is complicated. That’s a great oxymoron. None of this is easy or automatic.  Simplicity is not simple. To let the stuff in my files, on my desk, or in the attic accumulate takes no effort whatsoever. Bringing order out of chaos does. It requires time, energy, organization, wisdom, and generosity, a willingness to give away what might be useful to someone else.

3.)   Where our treasure is, there will our heart be. Jesus said that. And our treasure should be invested in things that remain. And so I pray, “Lord, help me give my heart to things that are permanent. And show me what they are.”  To my mind come images of worship, gratitude, relationships, a glass of grape juice given to my grandson, a word of encouragement to my neighbor. Things that leave no paper trail, sacrifice no trees—but that build for eternity. I also think of Jesus’ promise to his disciples that if they would learn to abide in him, their labors would produce “fruit that remains.”

Now that I’m living in the retirement community, do I ever miss something I gave away? Of course. I also encounter things on my shelves, in the bookcases, and hanging in the closet that I still could do well to get rid of. I guess the decluttering will go on until I die.


I might as well laugh.

Thursday, February 17, 2022

Changing planets


Several years ago we found ourselves in possession of an invitation to interplanetary travel. The prospect both excited and frightened us. We lacked the training such a venture would require. We didn’t feel ready to actually change planets and begin colonizing in a new reality. What to do?

In other words, we had come face to face with the decision to move into a retirement community. At the time it seemed like a capitulation, like we would be giving up our independence and admitting that we were old. Grim thought.

We faced a decision almost everyone comes up to if they live beyond 60 years: How and where to spend the rest of our lives? There are only so many options. Some prefer to stay in their ancestral home, perhaps a farmhouse, and be the hub of extended family activities. Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go and so on. This is an American ideal, a Thomas Kincaid calendar painting. It seems that not many actually get to enjoy this ideal.

Others downsize and live in a smaller dwelling, valuing their independence for as long as possible. A move to a Home may be a future consideration, thinking of the need for assisted living. But it’s not a pleasant prospect. And there’s always hospice care at the end of the line.

Some decide to live with their kids or grandkids. This has its advantages and disadvantages, for each of the generations living together.

And many older people, at some point, make the leap to a planned senior living situation. These vary in what they offer and in what they cost, from nursing homes to independent living set-ups with no medical help, to continuing care retirement communities. Whatever the choice, the decision is complex and emotionally charged.

Hal and I had been on the waiting list for a faith-based continuing care retirement community for years, thinking that sometime in our mid-70s or early 80s we’d make the move. When we received notice that we were at the top of the list, it surprised us. We were still too young, or so we thought. Hal had just turned 73 and I was a very young 72. It wasn’t time. Or was it?

Economic circumstances and a change in our working life (retirement), plus the fact that some of our peers had moved in and claimed to love it, all enticed us. The Community was willing to hold the apartment we were interested in for a month. We would then have two months to downsize our stuff, make repairs to our condo, sell it, and make the move. Too fast, plus too young, made the decision hard, to say the least.

We asked our kids their advice and they were both positive. We prayed a lot, of course. And we finally agreed to change planets. To enter a new phase of life. Having no clear word from the Lord, it seemed a logical move to make. But up to the last packing box, we weren’t absolutely sure this was the right thing to do. Interplanetary flight is scary.

(To be continued)

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

Entering the forest

One of my favorite Japanese poems reads,

 I have always known
That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
     
(Narihira, 9th century)

 That poem has come back to me at different points in my life, events such as marriage, the birth of my children, the deaths of my parents, and other major transitions.

Old age is not exactly a point in time but more a gradual path into a forest. It is a condition we’ve all suspected we’d face someday, although as a young adult, I found it hard to apply the concept of “old” to myself.

But here I am. Or am I?

For the last couple of years my husband Hal and I have frequently asked ourselves the following question:

Are We Old Yet?

he asked me and I couldn’t answer him.
Old? Is there a line in time
called “old” where one day
you’re not there
and the next you cross over
and you’re in?

It’s all strange territory.
“The Golden Years,” it’s called,
second childhood, maturity,
the third stage of life, retirement,
or the Spanish version, jubilee.
The experts (who are here, there
and everywhere) tell us
there are three stages:
young old age, middle old age
and old old age.
I guess that’s helpful.

So where are we?

Something inside tells me
that when we stop asking silly questions
we will have arrived.
But without the questions
how will we know where we are?

In the meantime, as long as
our legs hold us upright
and our eyes and ears
are somewhat operational,
we’ll just keep on walking,
looking around, listening
and asking questions.
Are we old yet?



I’ve entitled this blog site, Life in an Old Growth Forest: Reflections on Aging. I love trees and forests. The aging process feels in many ways like entering a forest. The further in we hike, the darker it seems to become. But light sifts through the leaves, and the ground is rich in plant and animal life. Even the fallen trees nourish the soil.

A few years ago, Hal and I made a major life transition and moved into a retirement community. Although resistant at first, we’ve found this forest full of life and hidden surprises. The leaves move in the breeze (some more slowly than others), and the trees are constantly talking to each other.

One of my purposes in initiating this blog is to explore the realities of aging, the highs as well as the voids, and learn to face it with courage and humor.

A little about myself: I am a poet, a wife/mother/grandmother, a friend, an amateur theologian, a career missionary, a recorded Quaker minister, and a follower of Jesus. Writing is both the most joyful and the most agonizing work I do. Sometimes it’s pure play. Sometimes it’s prayer.

At 76 years old, writing this blog is part of my strategy for finding a good path through the forest. I’d love to have you join me.