Who Dad?!

When It Starts to Make No Sense

I am not a slob. Not really. But maybe more neat than clean. Back in my heyday though, I was a lot less organized, especially with anything on paper, and everything around me seemed much more chaotic. Nowadays, I'm just neurotic. It's a curse, but an efficient and a productive one.

That's the gift of retirement: discovering the underlying patterns of old behaviors. See, one must stop being structurally busy to allow a glimpse into the gears still grinding, perhaps then guess at their true function.

Many new retirees exclaim, "How did I ever find the time for everything when still working?!"

It's another mystery. Of course, schedules helped. So did the constant motion.

In fairness, back then we ate out more, had others do repairs, landscaping, maybe even had household help with chores, errands, and children.

Now that we're at home more, tending our own gardens, we notice everything that needs attention, and so our lists keep growing.

A different kind of fullness has replaced the former busyness. Maybe it's more satisfying, maybe not, but for me at least it is more revealing. What really are my priorities? What am I still putting off or avoiding altogether?

Once upon a time, retirement was a time of blessings that many looked forward to for longer travels and the joy of grandchildren. Hard to imagine much of that future anymore.

Understanding

In a dream, I sat long and still

in a landscape watching green grow around me.

An unimaginable patience when awake.

Ever feel rushed when you were not?

Like a bad habit without redeeming pleasure . . .

plaguing what could have been

a peaceful moment.

I can be like that.

As if some wires were crossed

at the switchboard of decisions.

Perhaps it is because I want to offer

something needed elsewhere?

But what?

Of all I thought I understood,

what is left?

I remember a counselor who said,

"Understanding is the booby prize of life."

What might finally understanding even that mean?

Talking to a friend fearful about his son's future,

I see my neighbor carrying his newborn son

on a morning walk.

I am struck by the contrast,

want to whisper words of cherishing

even sleepless nights,

the soft need to be somewhere

learning to hold and be held

with and by love.

This morning's cloud cover prompted a change in my weekly rhythm. Normally, I would walk nine, but got on my bike instead. I pedaled beyond my normal capacity.

At some point, I realized I was close enough to the community where I used to live to stop and pick up any stray mail. I'd usually go at odd times to avoid contact. I have no responsibilities there anymore, but it's hard for me to not notice what has or hasn't been done on the seven plus acres I tended to for 30 years. I suppose I also avoid those living there as a way of keeping a boundary I had difficulty enforcing when living and working there.

I took in the recent storm damage and the clean-up still in progress. And, I thought some more about its future. Will a community here, in some form, survive? Perhaps to alleviate my hippie's guilt in wanting to sell, I've kidded that it should become some kind of Hippie Hospice. Who knows, maybe it will?

Then, I was spotted by a small canine pal who gave away my presence. Oh well, some pleasant conversation followed with a few who were out and about, including some teen-agers. I found myself talking to them about my son and another group of kids who grew up together in this sometimes enchanting place.

All in all, It was more interaction than I expected or had experienced there in a long time, but, it was okay. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was for me. It allowed me to see that I was free of the pattern. There were no more exposed threads of mine to be pulled on by others, unraveling the life I've been fashioning for myself elsewhere.

In fact, I even heard appreciation for what I had given to the community. As others stepped into positions that I once held, they came to understand my previous contributions. As a result, I could see clearly what I only sensed then: I needed to get out of the way so others could grow into making their own unique additions.

When the conversation ended, I got my mail. There was one handwritten note mixed in with mostly junk mail.

I can almost feel you.

I can close my eyes,

walk down paths with you,

paths never walked before.

Is this a declaration of love?

Yes, if you'd like. No, if you don't.

Love doesn't seem to be the point for me with you.

At times, it does indeed beckon like a lush garden maze

seen only from the corners of my eyes,

but it's neither a new nor a secret garden.

Its maze only promises the passage of time,

perhaps enjoyable, perhaps not.

No, it's some other pool where I've come to refresh myself.

In the desert it hardly matters to the thirsty traveler

how the oasis came to be.

He is simply thankful for its presence,

as I am for yours.

WTF!? Was this a love letter to me? It was unsigned. It must have been meant for someone else. But, my good feelings were quickly muddled by it. I stuffed it in my pocket and got on my bike.

I took a longer way home, trying to revel in some freedom of movement. Earlier, I had felt as if a border had disappeared and friendly territory had expanded, but the letter changed that. I now felt uneasy, as if I might be a target for someone unknown.

While crossing a large vacant lot, I came across a guy in a motorized wheelchair. He asked for some help. I immediately felt suspicious, but his first request was easy. He only wanted a big backpack on his legs to be strung on the handles behind him. No problem. Glad to help.

The second was more problematic because he wanted to know how to get somewhere that was on the other side of the Rillito riverbed, and there was no direct route. I accompanied him to the bike path to make sure he'd be able to get help again if his battery died before he arrived at his distant destination.

Along the way, he found reason to tell me how he had recently almost killed himself. I resisted offering more than I could, but the hairs on my neck were sticking up.

Eventually, we bumped fists and wished each other well at goodbye. I carried some concern about him on my way home, but was also feeling anxious. I reminded myself of the conversation I was in earlier. We are each called to do something, but doing more than one should hurts oneself while cheating others from being able to do their share. Yeah, I was justifying, but in that moment I just wanted to be left alone.