There comes a time . . .

Dear Ones:

Lewis Carroll wrote, “‘There comes a time,’ the Walrus said, ‘to speak of many things . . . ’” and this is one of those times for your father.

It was on Father’s Day this year that the culmination of many things suddenly made me realize a major passage in my life had taken place. It suddenly dawned on me that I was then as now, almost exactly the age my father was when he died. That was thirty-five years ago and I was younger than any of you are now, just forty-five.

I have frequently made comparisons of where I was in life to my father at the same age, but now, for the first time in my life, I’m on totally new and unexplored ground. Also, I have come to several realizations– realities that I should have known were coming, but didn’t want to contemplate. Doc triggered one of those moments about eight years ago when I went to see him about pain and stiffness in my knees. “You’re wearin’ out!” was his comment and the significance of his words took some time to sink in. Since then I have come to know that applies not only to my body, but also to other less obvious pieces of who I am like my mind and my memory.

Yesterday I read an article in Newsweek about Alzheimer victims and their caretakers. What a devastating thing that can be to the lives of both the victim, who probably suffers the least, and the caretakers who can suffer great emotional if not physical damage. Each new time I can’t remember a name or pin down a date I wonder if it’s starting to happen to me. So far so good, but I am having increasing difficulty remembering things that were always easy for me to remember just a few years ago. This and balance problems (I’m not as steady on my feet as I always used to be) are just two of the early indicators of possible dementia. Now don’t get worried, Doc says I’m still far above average in both of those areas than most men my age.

During those four years of caring for Barb as she slowly deteriorated, I learned a lot about myself that I really like. In spite of the problems, we had a really good time together with many laughs and some tears. Losing her was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced, but that is the price one often pays for loving. In spite of that, here I am again– hopeful, loving and dreaming. Still, those four years left a huge hole in my life and a backlog of problems to solve and stuff to get rid of.

Another related realization has hit me a number of times when I would come across a piece of memorabilia, or just an object with a memory attached (There are many of those). How many of these only hold significance to me– I can no longer share them with Barb or Mom or Dad, or even with your mother. Photos, clothes, dishes, books, all these things and many more mean nothing to anyone but me. To most people they are just things– inanimate objects– like a stone without attached memories. I have a small white stone I picked up on the beach in Florida in 1955 while walking with your mother. To everyone but me it is just a small white stone, but to me it is a way to hold on to the memory of a special moment. So much of this place is filled with those memories and so many of those can no longer be shared with the ones who made them. It can be a sad realization, but it is reality. Those four little words come to mind– the ones that can make you happy when you’re sad and sad when you’re happy, “This too shall pass.” Believe me, there are those times when I think it would be better for me if I just walked away and never came back. It has changed so much it is definitely not the place of my memories– new houses, new activities, new situations and new faces. That, of course, is just life.

In my memory are many stories told me by Pop, Mom and Granddad. These are little family vignettes told to me repeatedly as I grew up. Some are now remembered only by my sister and me. These memories are fading and before long will be gone. I only wish I had the time to put those words on paper, but who would really be interested in reading them? Bobby once interviewed our mother with a tape recorder as she repeated many of these kinds of things about her family– brothers and sister– aunts and uncles– people I hardly knew and can barely remember who are now long gone. I would love to put that interview into words to be printed, but probably will not get around to it.

Independence: I often wonder how long I will have it. The current changes going on in and about this place are all about independence. This has been my only real home for quite a few years now even without ownership, which is and has been a real thorn in my side. The idea that I really don’t have a home– that I am dependent on someone else for a place to live– the truth of the matter, bothers me a great deal. Most of my future, my independence, what I am able to do, where I am able to go, my personal freedom, my legacy, depends on the success of my writing (a very nebulous and chancy thing). Yes, even I hope to leave a legacy of some value in addition to you kids who are and will remain my most precious and important legacy. Writing is an extremely difficult way to make any kind of a living. Without the financial support of my sister and brother-in-law I would not have been able to do even that which I have done– not much. Hopefully my book “A Convenient Solution” will change that, but even though it is about the current hottest topic to write about, the chances for success are quite slim. When it comes out I will have to expend a great deal of effort in promotional activities. Once more, it will all be up to me. No one is going to do it for me. Any hope I have for real independence depends on my success in this effort.

Writing is about all I have left that I can do and who knows how long that will last. I have far more to say than I have time left in which to say it. It remains my contact with the world– with other human beings. It is both personal and impersonal. I know my blogs upset some in our family, but the opinions and expressions of some in our family are, to me, very short sighted and strongly opinionated. Among other things I have been called a fanatic of the religious right which is so far from factual as to be ridiculous. It is to me the ranting and demonstration of a totally closed mind. Those who profess to be so open minded seem only to be open minded about that which agrees with their agenda or position. I have never granted myself that luxury. They seem to me to be willing and contributing sheep playing follow the follower. If you ever want to know your father’s thoughts and feelings about politics, people and sheep, read Eric Hoffer or even John Stoessel. I have decided that logic plays no part in the politics of most people. Those with strong and to me, irrational beliefs and feelings are much the same as religious fundamentalists. “Don’t bother me with the facts, my minds made up.”

The rebuilding of the Viking is more important and has more value to me for my independence and sense of self worth than as a boat. There is so much of whom I am and my life that centers around boats and that boat in particular– so many memories of happy times with you kids on the lake. Its value in that respect and in the very fact that I am able to rebuild it is a tremendous spiritual uplift for me. Sure, it’s just a thing– one more piece of “stuff” to take care of, but it represents my freedom and independence as well as my ability to build, to create something of value. To one who has essentially been broke and dependent on others for many years it is a really big thing. Particularly in the light of all the “stuff” I have and am still disposing of, each piece with a memory attached, usually of a loved one or enjoyed experience with a loved one.

There is a cricket cage in the garage. A simple screened box made of wood with a can open at both ends to enable access to crickets and prevent them from escaping. It is at least sixty years old. I saw that box yesterday and it immediately brought back memories of fishing with Pop and Harold and of hunting for crickets on the farm and around the old cottage. Those were happy times enjoyed with dear ones now long gone. How can I part with such a treasure trove of memories? In the garage are other things: the Lionel train set I received on Christmas when I was five, a box of records from Johnson-Stipher, a tube of dental office plans, each of these holds a huge store of memories, mostly happy memories. Reality is that they are really important only to me and that the time required to dig them up and delve into those memories just isn’t available. In the house are slides dating back to college days and photos back to high school. Without interpretation by me or those who were there they are just old photos. I have at least five hundred photos Barb took on her trip to the Holy Land, but I can no longer ask her about them so they are just photos of unknown places. She was always going to go through them and label them but never got around to it.

These are but a few of the “things” stored here about that will have to be disposed of. There is my “stuff” and Barb’s “stuff” and Mom’s “stuff” and Pop’s “stuff” and even some of your “stuff” here. There are literally thousands of birthday and Father’s Day and Christmas cards and letters and photos– it’s an attic where lifetimes of memories are buried. It will not disappear without pain. Nevertheless, it will all go! I am committed to that. I only hope I don’t discard something you or someone else might treasure. But when you think about it, that will eventually happen anyway.

There is another thing quite different in my time and family from my parents’ time and family. My parents were able to spend a great deal of time with their grandchildren. During summers here at the lake there was almost always one or more, usually a whole bunch, within a few minutes walk from their home. You remember that I know. With the changing times and great distances of our family spread out all over and because your Mom and I split up, I have had only brief times with all of my grandchildren. I really regret those missed relationships, but that too is just life. Those few, brief times have been and always will be treasures to me. I can recall numerous visits and interchanges, all far too short. I feel I don’t know my grandchildren nearly as much as I would have liked to. I had a wonderful, close relationship with my granddad when I was a boy. Some of those treasured memories are in the story, “A Fishing Trip with Granddad” in my book, “Words from the Lakeside” which incidently will be published later this year.

So– “On with the show!” Hopefully, much of the “stuff” will be gone by the time you are here in August. Now, to get back to it . . .

Oh yes . . . I’m sure there will be more later. Your father seldom runs out of words.