About Time

RECENTLY MY AMAZING-MISSUS AND I SAW ABOUT TIME, a new film by Richard Curtis. We're big fans of his films. Judging by the fact that we were two of about six people in the theatre, not enough people saw it. I hope you were one of them.

If not, raise your right hand and repeat after me: "I promise I will rent and watch About Time as soon as it's available."
[Note to all the "Pops" out there: the DVD release date of About Time is February 4, 2014. It could be a smart thing to get it and watch it with your significant other(s).]

I am fascinated by time. It's mysterious and precious. It is the basic rhythm of our lives and we need rhythm. Let that little ticker in the center of your chest stop and see what I mean. Check out my post on the autumnal equinox (it's better than it sounds). 

Time is weird. We talk about "saving" time, but we know we can't. Try stuffing a few hours in a piggy bank and you'll find out those hours aren't there when you go back to get them. You can't even get back the time you spent pondering how fast the time goes.

Each year for the past three we've taken our oldest grand-girl, Karlee, to see The Nutcracker. I was looking at the photos I took of her next to the nutcracker at age four and this year at five. I commented that before long she would be able to look him in the eye. And then I thought, "NO! Slow this all down."

Karlee at 3,4 & 5.

We have a friend named Traci. She is originally from Keyes, Oklahoma. Traci is one of those people that when you spend time with them you feel like a better person and that the world is a better place. She has a sort of eternal youthfulness. I think I've figured out why. 

If you're in Keyes, Oklahoma, Traci's hometown, you can jump in the car (or more likely, the pickup), drive an hour, then check your watch. You will find it is the same time as when you left. Really. It's like the hour didn't pass. Maybe Traci did that--a lot.

Saturday, December 21st is the Winter Solstice. If you live, as I do, in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the shortest day of the year. Well, that's not exactly right. It will have 24 hours just like all of our other days. It's just that more of those 24 will  be dark than any other day of the year. So if you're a bat or vampire, this is your day.

What makes something timeless--not affected by the passage of time or changes in fashion?

To me, many stories are timeless like To Kill A Mockingbird. But I don't know why. Songs like: Bridge Over Troubled Waters, Amazing Grace, and Silent Night are timeless; but why?

I don't need to be timeless, but I do want to make the most of the time. I once told my muse, Kathleen, that one of the words and realities I hate most is squander. Squandering is as ugly as it sounds.

I wouldn't mind living long, but when it comes to death, I agree with Woody Allen: "I'm not afraid of dying, I just don't want to be there when it happens."

A couple of years ago, I had a surgical procedure. I guess it was sort of elective--it's not like I had a heart attack or anything. During the surgery, they stopped my heart. I don't know for how long, but it seems to me that I shouldn't have to count that time. Right?

It's kind of like Traci from Keyes. By now, you no doubt have figured that puzzle out. If not, Keyes is out toward the end of the Oklahoma Panhandle. If you drive west from Keyes for about 50 miles you go from the Central Time Zone to the Mountain Time Zone where it is an hour earlier.

From here you can be in New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, or Kansas in less than an hour.

Maybe it's just that in places like Keyes, Oklahoma, time moves more slowly. Traci is the only person I know from Keyes, but if folks out there are anything like her, they laugh more, they live in the moment a little more, they don't squander time or friendships.

So Saturday at sunset maybe we'll raise a glass to the Winter Solstice. Do it early though: night is coming fast--literally and proverbially. So let's make a toast to timelessness. And whatever you do, slow down and savor, don't squander.

To Be Jung Again

Imminence changes everything.

I have a friend, Kathleen, who has been a muse to me. (I promised her in return to be a mentor to her.) For those not familiar with these archetypes, a muse would be a creative inspiration, and a mentor, a wise, old, opinionated geezer. Let's be clear: Kathleen didn't ask me to be her mentor. I offered the service in exchange for her being a muse. She didn't offer that either, it just happened.

Oh, and by archetype, I mean that in the sense of "a constantly recurring symbol or motif in literature, painting or mythology. This usage of the term draws from both comparative anthropology and Jungian archetypal theory." (from Wikipedia)

Kathleen is with child. She is openly telling about this new experience, on her blog: andkathleen.com. As I read her posts lately, I can tell the imminence of it all is becoming very real to her.

Kathleen with child. Her shirt reads, "It's In The Bag."

I have been the male participant in this waiting-for-imminence twice as a parent and twice as a grandparent (and now once as self-appointed mentor). It's wonderful, powerful stuff. Such anticipation mixed with awe and angst.

And while I have no desire at all to be a parent again (due solely to old age and a bit of been there, done that), I do think I could use a bit of imminence about something besides retirement and death. I'm pretty sure all of us guys in our second-coming-of-age could use some imminence.

Why? Because without it I'm getting all wishy-washy, or in the vernacular of those who use such idioms: wishy-warshy. Tonight we will go out to dinner somewhere with a friend. The routine is always the same and the decision of where we will go to eat will be mine. The reasons for this are silly but it boils down to this: they know if I make the call then I won't piss and moan about the service, the food, the crowd, the jerk at the next table who won't get off his phone, yada, yada.

As I've posted already here, I really want an Airstream® Travel Trailer. But because I can't get a sense of imminence about it, I'm stuck in a quagmire of indecision. My Amazing Missus occasionally, lovingly suggests that I "either poop or get off the pot." That doesn't help. Maybe what I need is for someone to say, "You have until March 1, 2014, to decide or you forever forfeit the privilege of being an Airstreamer--your dream of traveling with that sleek silver icon in your rear-view mirror is dashed forever. The only RVing you'll ever get to do is in a pop-up camper parked next to a million dollar road bus with 13 slide outs."

Remember a few words back, when I mentioned Jungian archetypal theory? I am fascinated by Karl Jung and his personality theory. I would like to go in to detail about it and how it explains my contained, imaginative, open-ended, emergent, INFP personality that can't make a decision, but I'm out of space here. (Someone told me not to make a blog post more than 500 words long, "People will bail on you.") So, more on Jung later.

I'm imminently interested in your thoughts though.

By the way, since I have room for a few more words, do you remember that the Crane brothers were divided on their psych-theory loyalties? Frasier was a Freudian and Niles a Jungian. Remember when he hosted Frasier's radio show and he explained this to the audience and then said, "So there will be no blaming mother today." I miss them.

Be A Mentor Or Add A Swimsuit Issue

Polyhumnia, the Muse of sacred poetry, 

Let's be clear: I am not pretending to understand women much less feminism. Heck, I don't even claim to understand myself. So don't read into this more than is there.

This blog is in its infancy. I hope it grows up to be something worthwhile. Even though it's early, I'm afraid I may be seeing a fear confirmed. I was afraid that my target audience, 50 to 60-something men, might not be, to a large extent, blog readers. So I either need to add a swimsuit edition or quit calling it a blog, or quit worrying about whether anyone in particular reads it. Because in reality, at least for now, it's largely a therapeutic experiment for me.

Why do I assume About-POPS is not being read by its target? At this point we've been fortunate to have an encouraging number of subscribers and followers (I use that word in the virtual world sense and not in the sense that anyone truly sees me as their Leader), but most of these are not past-mid-age, and in fact most are not even men (in the literal sense; not as if I'm calling them pansies or something).

Let me give you an example. This is from an email subscription we received:

"I'm not a 50-60 year old male, but I'm a lady in my twenties that appreciates the wisdom you pass along!" -- Brooke

You need to know this, I know this girl and she is an amazing young lady, and for her to say to me essentially that she anticipates some wisdom here is humbling and encouraging because I know that Brooke is a discerning soul. She knows wisdom when she sees it. So, to you Brooke, I will do my best.

I hope all of that doesn't sound pretentious or even worse, somehow superior.

I have a friend named Kathleen. Kathleen can be very challenging and I mean that in a very good way. I remember one of the early meetings I had with her. We left the coffee house, she walked to her older VW® and I to my newer Volvo®. She commented on my car and said that would love to have something newer but guessed that she would drive her VW until it died. I told her that I planned to drive my Volvo until I died. I meant that to be more of a statement of the longevity of Volvos than a prophecy of my own demise. Kathleen laughed at my morbidity.

I should tell you that Kathleen is a wonderfully creative person, who has made me better; more courageous in many ways. Once in a discussion she asked me what I was afraid of. I told her that I was afraid I had squandered opportunities and maybe resources. I told her how I consider even the word squander to be one of the ugliest words in our language and that I so hoped I would not squander my days now.

Once I suggested to Kathleen that I could be a mentor to her and she could be a muse to me. (You need to understand that all of this is healthy. Don't try to read something weird in to it.) As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought, "Who do you think your are to offer to be a mentor to anyone."

But I hope in some way I can be -- to Brooke, to Kathleen, to my family… And I hope that doesn't come across as condescending. I'm willing to earn the opportunity.

I think I have found the qualifier in Jane Eyre's words to Mr. Rochester:

“I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience.” Jane Eyre

My interpretation of that: squanderers don't get to be mentors.

By the way, if you would like to meet Kathleen, you can see her blog here: http://andkathleen.com