Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll: Too Young to Die (4/1/2022)

I am starting to wonder if I am getting obsessed by getting old. Or maybe I am getting obsessed by changing. Who knows? In my latest post I lament about getting older and more sentimental and I even quote one of the blogs I wrote entitled “The old man and the woods” which is purely autobiographic. I write how “Old age is not for sissies” and about mortality. I am sure that I can probably find more when I start combing through my posts.

Am I really obsessed by it or just more aware of it? I really don’t know. For one, I know that I am getting slower. When I walk what I consider a decent pace, I get passed by folks and I rarely pass people. Yes, my knees are not in the best of shape, but that is probably also age related. I am faster than my brother-in-law who is a year older than I am, but he had a hip replacement. I am faster than my 95 year old father-in-law, surprise. We always joke that it is essential that you only need to be faster than the grim reaper, well I have this feeling our top speeds are slowly getting closer.

The other reason probably is that there isn’t a day that I am not reminded about retiring. We either talk about it at home (most of the time it is the topic de-jour), or someone asks me about it (when are you retiring, or aren’t you retired yet?) or tells me about their retirement. It is tough to think you are at the end of your career and feel you are slowly being sidelined, put on a dead-end track. While they tell you that they still value your contribution when you volunteer, they seem to pass you over when it comes to career choices.

Getting old comes with something else, something my wife pointed out, to my chagrin. She told me the other day that in addition to getting old: “You are no debonair!” Man that bugged the hell out of me! Not that desperately want to be super suave and well-groomed, but inside I sometimes feel like I am somewhat sophisticated, just a little bit. Can old men still be suave without looking creepy?

In the old days, I needed to be well dressed, groomed and wear formal clothes and a tie to work. This is not required working for the state; I have put in my dues, and the worst thing that could happen is that they could fire me for not following the dress-code, early retirement at 68!

Actually, my preference right now would be to retire and buy a piece of land of 10 to 20 acres. I would love to restore it to its pre-historic or pre-settlement condition. However, I would like to have an acre of two somewhere on that property to have a homestead. Of course there would be walking trails and the homestead would need to be as sustainable as possible, hopefully off the grid. I would not look like a debonair but more like a (old) rugged (unshaven) woodsman. I could even be a nudist on that property (weather permitting). I would still like to be able to care for my bonsai, have my wine cellar and a good beer collection.

A man can dream can’t he? But for one, the funds are lacking. What will come from all this? I have no idea, all I know is that I am getting a haircut tomorrow to look a little more civilized (debonair like?).

By the way, today’s writing kind of reminds me of the tune by Jethro Tull: Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die. Part of the Lyrics go like this:

The old Rocker wore his hair too long,

wore his trouser cuffs too tight.

Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.

Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---

the transport caf' prophet of doom.

Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams

in his post-war-babe gloom.

….

So the old Rocker gets out his bike

to make a ton before he takes his leave.

Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner

just like it used to be.

And as he flies --- tears in his eyes ---

his wind-whipped words echo the final take

and he hits the trunk road doing around 120

with no room left to brake.

And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.

No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.

Don’t worry, I am far from being depressed. I love life and still have fun. But a man can think sometimes: “am I too old to rock ‘n’ roll?” Nah! I am definitely too young to die!

Walking along the abandoned road in the woods behind our home. I do not need to be worried about being passed by other walkers.  Not many folks use these trails and here I am "forest bathing." These are my meditative walk with Jasper, my hound; taking up the sights, sounds and smells of nature that sustain me.  

The old man and the woods (12/27/2018)

It was early in the morning, the old man and his dog decided to go out for a walk in the forest that was located behind his home. The air was crisp this particular morning in December. The soil was moist. Actually, it was very wet. It had been a very wet year, and all the rains this autumn had not helped. Sections of the trails were flooded and when you got off the trails, you could never see what was hiding under the dense layer of fallen leaves and pine needles. Not that this is all bad, this part of the world is known for its “bottom land forest” and these woods are definitely part of that ecosystem. The old man’s home should have never been built where it was, in a wetland ecosystem, but it was built before there were any laws that prevented or at least regulated that.

Jake the dog was easily bored and when he noticed that the old man took his regular trail, the old man’s canine companion hesitated. Like some other times he just stood there in protest ready to turn around and go home. While it is a requirement in these woods to leash dogs, the old man hardly ever leashes his. Jake does not stray far from his side, and the only real mischief he gets into is eating deer pellets or what the old man coins “doggie probiotics.” So, there is no way for the old man to force the dog to join him.

There are; however, two remedies to entice Jake in joining the old man on his walk in the woods. That is bribing the dog with cookies or going off the trail and bush whacking. So, off the trail it was this time. However, the return trip always involves the trail anyway. While simply walking down the trail is often meditative, having done it so many times, bush whacking is always fun. There may be a rotten out stump hidden under the leaves and then all the sudden he would sink ankle or even sometimes shin deep into the ground. Having the groundwater only an inch or two under the surface would mean shoes full of muddy water. In addition, the woods are littered with fallen trees and branches. Sections of the woods have a dense stand of low bush blueberry, the only plant that the deer in these woods do not seem to browse. While this does not slow down the old man, Jake has trouble with the blueberry plants the branches are touch and they hit him in the snout and eyes, and the old man tries to avoid the densest stands as much as possible. However, the lowbush blueberries grow in the driest parts of the woods, which is nice on these wet days. 

Nature is still very active in the woods observes the old guy. While most of the deciduous trees appear dormant, the pines may still have some activity during the warmest parts of the day. A close observation of one of his favorite beech trees in the woods the old man stood still to examine the bark. There he observed insects that where hiding in the crevasses of the bark. At first look they appeared to be dormant lightning bugs that had bedded down for the winter. Birds abound in these woods and little warblers appear to have an eyesight in a wavelength that allows them to pick out bugs like this from the crevasses in the bark from quite a distance away. Obviously, the birds had not discovered these guys yet. Maybe they’ll survive till spring.

A little further in the woods, the man discovered group of yellow coral mushrooms poking out through the leaf litter. A wet log was covered by tiny small paper-thin mushrooms and a little further down the trail he discovered a tree trunk that had the white hairy mass hanging from it. Hen-in-the-woods, an edible mushroom; but let it be. 

Coral Mushroom sticking its head out from in between the leaf litter.

These little (papery-thin) guys were growing on a rotting log

These hen-in-the-woods were growing on a dead trunk of a maple tree.
The trunk closest the camera was still alive.

It was an exhilarating morning, walking off the trail, just anywhere where there was no standing water. But now it was time to find the regular trail and return. For the man it was time to hit a familiar path and enter a somewhat meditative state and for Jake to linger behind once he noticed this was the road back home which was worse than taking a familiar path. It was a time to absorb what he had seen and experienced that morning, to be in the moment, and not to have his thoughts clouded by what was going on it the world around him. Clouded by the pressure that these types of lands will be under in other states thanks to the policy of this insane government of ours.  Or clouded by the thread of having to postpone retirement and an even  longer working career because of a bizarre stock market.

Thanks heaven these thoughts were interrupted by some other shit, or better by what appeared to be coyote scat (or shit) on the trail. It could be fox scat as well, but it was the size of what a dog would deposit.  The poop were full of hair; whatever deposited the turds there must have swallowed the poor animal skin and all. The last interesting find in these woods before returning home after a satisfactory walk.

Still not sure who laid that heap of scat.  It appeared to consist of mostly hair, so it was a predator (a fox or a coyote?). 

Nothing better for Jake than to explore one of the ephemeral ponds out in the woods.  While Jake is not a hunter he enjoys the shallow ponds and just drink some of the water and smell the banks.  He does not like to go too deep.  Being a male dog, his wee-wee is his depth gauge.

Musings on getting old (10/30/2021)

One thing I am starting to realize more and more is that the saying: “Old age is not for the faint of heart” or maybe the way Betty Davis put it: “Old age ain’t for sissies” is real. So here I was checking out at the pharmacy after buying medicine for our 15-year-old dog Jake, who is still on his last legs, when I got the call that my 94-years-old father-in-law had fallen for the umpteenth time and was on his way to the emergency room. This was all after complaining a day earlier on our daily walk that my back, hip and knees hurt and that I am getting slower.

Oh well, who am I to complain. My wife comes back from the emergency room with the story that the doctor there tells my father-in-law, that since he is close to the end he might as well enjoy what is left instead of trying to prolong it as much as possible with drugs that have side effects that make life miserable. The nurse tells him he looks great, and when he says: “hell no” she tells him: “you don’t get to see what I get to see here in the emergency room.” My wife and I came to the conclusion that when you suffer you become selfish, and you have it worse than everyone else in this world; and yes, so do I.

I have written a few posts about getting old or getting older. But never about one of my major complaints with age: peeing! When I was young, we had peeing contests, who could pee the furthest. Now, especially in the morning, you wake up and lay in bed and boy you have to go and it comes slowly and not much. But at least it takes the pressure off the bladder, and then after walking around for five or ten minutes, all the sudden it hits again, and finally there is release or is it relief? I wonder what it will be like 10 or maybe 20 years from now.

My symbol of being able to pee a good distance!

But hopefully I will keep my mind, if not for me, at least for my wife. I think it would be the hardest for a spouse to watch their husband or wife lose their mind to Alzheimer or some other form of dementia. My father-in-law went through that, and it devastated him. It was his second wife, and they were married only seven years or so. She was obviously not my wife’s mother. In other words, while it was terrible watching her and my father-in-law go through it, it would have been worse if it was your own mother, and you would have known her all your life instead of only about ten years. I hope I never do this to my wife and daughter.

Wow, I better quit. The past post was about politics in our county, this one is introspective. What a difference a few days make. But it is important to think about: quality of life, enjoy it while you still can, enjoy others. Especially when you are young; however, even this old guy or my 94-year-old father-in-law can and should fight depression and enjoy life to the fullest. We only have one life to live and after that? Who knows.

Advice anyone? (10/12/2023)

How would I have reacted as a 55-year-old if I, as my current 70-year-old self, was able to return and tell that 55-year-old self what to do, how to live his life, or what not to do? Or how would I react right now when my 85-year-old self returned with all that advice, if I even make it to 85? An interesting question, isn’t it? I based this question on a YouTube video I saw, in other words, I am not that original, but it got me thinking.

We recently came home from our trip across the country. As I wrote <here>, we followed part of the Lewis and Clark Trail going west, but had to cut the voyage short, and dropped south to the Los Angeles area after we got to the continental divide <here>. At the divide we came upon (one of) the source(s) of the Missouri river. When they reached the divide, the Lewis and Clark expedition spent some time in this general area, meeting the Shoshone Indians, figuring out the trail further west, and negotiating for horses. Lewis celebrated his birthday during that stay, and he wrote the following “self-assessment” in his diary:

"This day I completed my thirty first year, I reflect that I had as yet done but little, very little indeed, to further the happiness of the human race, or to advance the information of the succeeding generation. I viewed with regret the many hours I have spent in indolence, and now sorely feel the want of that information which those hours would have given me had they been judiciously expended. (Spelling corrected by me)

I dash from me the gloomy thought and resolved in future, to redouble my exertion and at least endeavor to promote those two primary objects of human existence, by them the aid of that portion of talents which nature and fortune have bestowed on me …"

The man who led the expedition to open the west had self-doubt and did not think he had achieved anything to further the happiness of humanity. Lewis discovered and described a large number of new plant and animal species. He described the medicinal use of these plants by the Indian population he came across. He studied the various tribes they encountered. In fact, he greatly advanced the information for succeeding generations.

A few years after their return, Lewis reportedly committed suicide. Some say he was murdered, but the interpretation of events has been questioned. Regardless of Lewis’ untimely death, if his older self or we were able to go back now and tell him what a hero he would be considered, or how revered he now is by humanity, what would have happened? Would his depression have lifted, or would he have quit and gone home, would he have lived to a rip old age? We will never know, will we? But I had that thought on top of the divide: if he only knew.

Wow, this is a post with a lot of question marks, I feel like I haven’t found that key in a lot of my posts. But this question got me thinking. What would I like to tell my 55-year-old self that I know now but did not know then? Or conversely what would I like to know about me in the future 15 years from now? (when I told my wife what I was pondering her immediate answer was: “eat more vegetables.”)

My posts go back only 10 years, so I have no reference here. This blog started out as a photo diary anyway, and I have never kept a diary to find out where my head was at the time. I was most likely unemployed sometime in 2008. They had closed the office where I was working; thank goodness I had a few consulting jobs and the conditions of my lay-off were good. In addition, I was drawing social security during the weeks I had no consulting income. It was tight, but we weren’t hurting.

It was around this time fifteen years ago that I was getting excited about a job with the state that I applied for and was about to be interviewed for. We all know now that this was the job that I was going to get for the next 14 years until my retirement. Is there anything that I would have told myself to dissuade me from taking the job? Hell no, there have been very few moments that I hated the job or regretted taking it. I love to teach and that’s what the job turned in to. Eat more vegetables? I lost around 20 lbs. since then and I have been able to keep them off. Yes, I would love to lose an additional 20. The only thing I can come up with is: “follow your bliss.”

What would I want to learn from my 85-year-old self? I am not sure, I currently love life and I just hope that I can hold on to it for another 20 years or so, of course in good health. On a positive note, my financial advisor estimated the other day that I will live to the ripe old age of 92! Guess, I need to eat more vegetables and salads. This post isn’t a “rest of my life resolutions.” As I mentioned in that post, I hate resolutions. But this was something I was pondering after that YouTube video where the maker asked exactly that question: “what advice would I give my 10-year younger self about van life?”

Lemhi pass, the continental divide and the border between Montana and Idaho.

The supposed source of the Missouri River in Lemhi pass

The valley where Lewis camped and celebrated his birthday

Does the natural world communicate with us? (1/10/2026)

I have started to read a book by Robert Macfarlane entitled “Is a River Alive.” In the introduction he writes that his 9-year-old son asked him the title and premis of the book, and when he told him, his son said: “well, that is going to be a short book, of course it is.” Reading this I wondered whether nature or the natural environment is talking to us. I am a pantheist and would like to argue that even rocks, stones, and clouds are alive and communicate with us, even though they do not have DNA.

This idea reminds me of a post I wrote some time ago entitled: “Does the world love us.” These are interesting questions. I know that I love the world. I take a walk with my dogs in the woods behind our home almost every morning. I wrote about this in 2018 (The Old Man and the Woods), where I describe taking a walk with our previous dog Jake. To think I called myself old more than 7 years ago. I had just re-read Hemingway’s book “The Old Man and the Sea,” and felt inspired by it. I just used the title to spin off the title of my post.

I try to live in the moment whenever I am out in nature. I always look around, take it all in and try to learn. For example, I love large beech trees; I like their elephant skin like bark, and I love their root spread. During the past years I have tried to make an inventory of the large beech trees in the woods behind our home. I do this by getting off the trails and bushwacking. To date I have found 17 bigger trees. I have no idea how old they are, but I always wonder if they were planted by folks that lived back there before it was converted to park land, and unlike the pines, oaks and maples these beeches were never harvested.

One of the beeches I found the other day

I am in LOVE, whenever I am in nature. Even in times like the other morning when we ran into Blondie, the blond coyote and our two dogs go absolutely insane. But as the song goes “Love hurts,” and I often find it more entertaining that aggravating, even if their howls and barks are deafening and they are trying to pull your arm off (yes, we always walk them on the leash). Those coyotes are getting bolder. Early in the morning, around 2 am on January 1 and 3 they were in our neighborhood, just a few houses over. Their howling and japing woke our dogs, and our dogs woke us. It was crazy.

But back to our woods. Before the invasion of the English settlers, the woods behind our home were the home of the Kiskiack tribe, a group that was part of the Powhatan Confederacy. Kiskiack means wide land or broad place in their native language, and it also seems to be the name of the town they lived in, near the current Yorktown. From what I can determine, the woods must have been cleared in spots for agriculture using slash and burn. Corn was their main crop. The area was also used as hunting grounds.

The Brits eventually cleared large tracks for the cultivation of tobacco. Our woods were part of something that was called the Edgehill Plantation, although there was no actual plantation house. The area was straddled by two roads: Warwick to York and Hampton to York (later on Warwick was incorporated into the town of Newport News). During those times, our region was a very active participant in the Revolution and later the Civil War. I wrote a tongue in cheek post about it once <here>.

I do not exactly know what happened after the civil war. It was around the 1930s when our immediate area was taken over by the National Park Service and most likely the Newport News water works. Recently, we examined the tree rings of a large pine that had fallen across our trail, and someone cut the trunk to allow passage. Dating it by counting the tree rings showed us that it was approximately 80 years old. It appears that the tree probably germinated around the 1940s and was allowed to grow without much interference. This again dates to a time just after the annexation of the area by the Park Service. The tree was one of the bigger ones and is located in an area with some of the largest trees in the woods behind our home.

There is so much to explore and think about when I walk through nature, listening to nature talking to me and to each other.

The beeches so far

A good haul today, we found 3

Guilt? (5/1/2019)

I was listening to a program where they interviewed a lady (doctor/psychiatrist) who had written a book about her experience after accidentally killing someone. It was part of a car accident; she was 22, and was cleared by the police. A 6 year-old boy ran out from behind a set of mailboxes along a country road and she hit him. However, she never received any support or counselling, was devastated for more than a half year, could hardly move out of her apartment and attend classes . Even after that it stayed with her for life. Now at the age of 45 she had written a book about it and gives counselling to folks to whom this has happened as well.

The story brought me back to my own experience, something that is never really far removed from my mind, and will always stay with me.

It was 1978. It was the second day in Uganda and the medical superintendent of the leprosy hospital, where we I was going to work as the manager of a 2500 acre dairy farm, thought it was time to introduce us to the powers in Kumi, the town near where our center was located.  One of the persons on our list was the police commissioner.

At the time, Uganda was under the rule of a brutal dictator (Idi Amin) who had instilled fear and whipped up the masses to a frenzy. It was strange, there was a police state (or an army state), but at the same time there was a form of anarchy in the land and he had allowed people to pass justice like this by themselves, without proper hearings and trials (you could only hope that village councils or elders were impartial when it cam to passing judgement, if you could get that far). You could not trust anyone, not your neighbor and maybe not even you relatives. They could rat you out and before you knew it you could end up in a cardboard box in a banana plantation. We always joked about the crocodiles in the Nile that they were very well fed, because that's where a lot of the bodies of the assassinated folks ended up. On the other hand being in the village (or in the rural part of the country) was great. People were nice and extremely hospitable; however, as you could understand everyone was very guarded. You did not end up in those cardboard boxes in one piece, playing hide-and-seek, and lets not talk about what you looked like when you ended up as alligator bait.

Soon after our arrival at the police station, a riot broke out; a group of what I would estimate to be at least 100 people was running towards the building chasing a man. The man entered the building and the mob stayed outside; we noticed the man had torn clothes, was sweating, and had a noose around his neck.  He was standing very close to my wife, as in the hope that the proximity to her would give him some protection. When she moved, he would move with her, like her shadow.

The commissioner eventually explained that the man was accused to have stolen a banana on the market. Idi Amin had proclaimed that anyone caught stealing; however small an item, must be executed on the spot and that was exactly what the mob was trying to do. He had escaped the mob that was trying to kill him and made it to the station in the hope that the police would save him, and send to jail.

So how did this tie in with the program I heard over the radio?

While not completely correct, in Uganda it was the first time I somewhat came in contact with being a privileged person. As a 24 and 25 year old white guy I was treated as an important person, while the local folks were treated like dirt. We were sitting on stage next to the minister, the governor, the police chief, the director of the bank, the bishop, all the dignitaries when they came to visit. I was called the Swahili word "Mzee" which can be loosely translated to "wise old man." How is that for a 24 year old guy. When visiting a local village we were the center of attention, we were given gifts, it was ridiculous, a chicken, even a goat. People were poor and still we received gifts.

Well, a few days after our visit to the police station, I was the only European (or manager) at the hospital and got a call to come immediately. The medical superintendent, the anesthesiologist (who was the fixer, but that's another story) and the accountant had gone to Kampala on business. In the middle of our campus were a group of local folks from one of the surrounding villages. These villagers that were holding what looked like a 16-year-old boy.  The boy had a rope around his waist and a pig tied to the other end. Long story short, they accused the boy of stealing the pig and asked me what to do with him and pass judgement. Remembering my experience and the police station a few days earlier, I told them that I would take him to the police. However, after extensive negotiations, I was told that the boy wanted to be tried by his elders. I did everything I could to convince him that he was better off going to the police, but to no avail. My discussion with the crowd and the boy through a translator (both language and cultural translation) took close to an hour. Finally, being new in the country (I was there for about a week) and only 24 years old, I felt I had little authority and eventually gave up.

A few hours later, I was told the boy was dead.  He was stoned, just outside the gate of the hospital.  It seemed that he had been escorted off the property of the leprosy center and that was it! My assistant farm manager Mr. Opuno (I was the farm manager) and I drove to the place where people told us the body was located. The pig that was still attached to his body and actually had started to nibble on the boy's body. We had to untie the pig and after discussing the issue with Opuno we decided to inform the police what had happened. Later that evening the parents of the boy came and removed the body.

It is an amazing horrifying experience to see and touch a dead body at the young age of 24, especially when it is someone that young and someone you had tried to protect. I can only imagine what folks go through when their children die or get murdered.

To this day, I feel somewhat guilty for this boy’s death, or that I could have avoided it. I did not want to rock the cultural boat at the time, I was only there for one week.  My inexperience, my age and probably lack of persistence lead to his premature death. I think about this event frequently, if not daily.

Autumns of the past, present and future (10/27/2022)

I somehow enjoy autumn, fall or whatever you call it. I prefer the British word autumn over the harsher word fall that they use is this country. I understand a lot the leaves must fall, and that juxtaposition is not lost on me; but still, the word autumn sounds so nice.

As a kid I never experienced anything like autumn, or at least I don’t remember it, growing up in the tropics. I know that as a two-year-old I must have spent a change of seasons in Antwerp, Belgium, where we lived for a year. I remember seeing pictures of me in the snow, but I do know that we were back in the tropics before fall arrived the next year because my brother was born in early December. You were not allowed to fly when heavily pregnant back then (air pressure changes would make the baby pop out in the 1950s), and from what I know, we arrived back on our tropical island around August or September. Actually, my brother was born on December 5th which is Sinter Klaas (Saint Nicolas’ birthday) for us Dutch folks and that was a bitter disappointment to me. I had asked the good old wise guy for a sister, and he had delivered a brother to the hospital, or at least that was what my father told me. That is still the first memory I have; I was three and a half years old.

Our vacations, a few months back to the Netherlands every four years, never coincided with autumn; I think. Although I do remember briefly going to first grade in Terbregge, a suburb of Rotterdam, during our first vacation. This must have been in September, so I guess, theoretically it was fall in Holland. My luck, I came down with mononucleosis or kissing disease, a six-year-old kissing? Obviously, it was a vacation to forget! Moreover, I remember running home after school, to my grandmother’s home, where we were staying that vacation, and pooping in my pants; I had to go so badly. Yup, forget that vacation.

After that though, I do not remember any autumn visits to the Netherlands until I moved there after my 16th birthday. I lived with my aunt and four cousins that first autumn and I remember that she rented a cabin on or near the Veluwe in the center of the Netherlands. De Veluwe is a natural area that has a sandier soil and consist of woods and heather. Part of it is a National Park or a nature preserve. I remember walking through the woods often alone, (my cousins were not outdoorsy) during that week looking over fields of blooming heather. It was foggy at times and for the first time I heard the call of the coocoo. It was absolutely magical and amazing for a lonely, 16-year-old introvert who had just arrived from the tropics where it was always summer and was now temporarily living with five females (women and girls).

Autumn, a time of death, recycling, eventual rebirth, Halloween, the rutting (breeding) of deer, bucks will shed their horns (a.k.a. racks) to build back larger and better, even our elections, you get the idea (hopefully not the death of democracy as we know it). Farmers are harvesting, the grapes are coming into the wineries (ah, Beaujolai), the first beers are being brewed from the fresh grains (what I knew as Bock Bier in Holland, although it was usually released after the New Year). It is a mystical time and a time of hope, rebirth around the corner.

Walking through the woods behind our home I notice that the colors are more intense, partially because of the lower sun angle, and partially because of the changing leave colors. I don’t think we have seen the sun in three or four days now. It has been a bit dreary, but that makes it even more fall-like with temperatures in the low 60s (around 15 degrees C). In my days in the Netherlands this was the time for foggy days.

The seasons, the diurnal fluxes (day and night) and even the differences in day length between summer and winter are fascinating to me. This is what triggers autumn. Some of these triggers will probably never change, while seasons may change over or maybe even within generations, partially as a result of climate change. Sitting here writing this, I come to remember my college plant physiology courses where I learned about the mechanism of day length or better night length on hormones and plant response (read leaf color and plant senescence/dormancy for the winter). For example, maples start changing color when the days and nights have the same length (September 21), while oaks generally do it around the first frost.

But enough science speak. It just made me wonder how organisms or plants would or are adapting on other planets in other solar systems where there is a different gravity, season length, day or night length, year length, light intensity, wavelength of the light being emitted by their sun or suns, composition of their atmosphere, and soil types. I expect that those organisms have evolved there over a long time and should be adapted. They should probably thrive. In our case, because of human manipulation of our environment, the changes might be going too fast for some of the organisms to adapt, which may lead to mass extinction. Punctuated evolution anyone? Who knows?

Read up on that, I might write about that one of these days a bit more. Right now, I am just enjoying autumn; however, you know me, my mind cannot help wandering and wondering a bit. It is autumn, time for death and rebirth!

Nothing better than an early morning autumn walk in the woods with the dogs.  As most of you know, this is my passion, experiencing the sights, sounds and smell of the woods behind our home.

This picture was taken mid-afternoon, during a lunch walk.  I just enjoyed how the two trunks (the young and the old) mirrored each other.  As a bonsai guy, this is what we are after when we try to create movement in our trunks, or trees in general.  As I mentioned I am always, studying and wondering.  I also let my mind wander. 

I am older than I have ever been (04/21/2024)

I am 70 years old, going on 71, the oldest I have ever been, at least when you do not believe in reincarnation. Otherwise in a previous life I could have been a turtle, elephant or some other creature that outlives humans. That is of course also assuming that these animals did not meet an untimely death as the result of poachers or worse some millionaire schmuck who killed me on safari.

Crap, I am not getting any younger, just older and older, but as the cliché goes, “it beats the alternative.” A lot of elderly like me joke about it, like “hey, I woke up this morning, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” or “I checked the obituaries this morning and I wasn't in it.” But seriously, I am at the point that the obituaries of celebrities are my favorite part in the newspaper. I want to see how old they were when they died and what the cause was of their demise.

Our church has what are called fellowship circles, where a group of six to eight folks get together and exchange their feeling over a specific topic. It is meant to be personal and a way of getting to know each other a bit better and create friendships. Since it is a Unitarian Church, the character of God is never brought up; we don’t pray or talk about religion, maybe with the exception of bashing it. Believers in God, Christ, Allah, Buddha, humanists and even atheists are all welcome in the Unitarian Church.

My circle is held in the afternoon and as a logical result it consists of retired folks, everyone is in their late sixties and seventies. The topic of the day this past week was spring and reawakening of nature after the winter torpor. Maybe not surprising, but when my wife asked me when I got home how the meeting was, my answer was that we discussed old age, mortality, and our anxiety about getting older. It was somewhat amazing how we got there, but it seems that I am not the only one struggling with the impending decline. Now here they say that human bonds, friendships and fellowship are the prerequisite to living longer. I hope that talking about death contributes to aging gracefully and gives us a few more extra quality years.

This week we also met a neighbor of ours at a party at one of our local breweries. We had not seen her in some time, and she let us know why. Her husband, a retired NASA scientist was diagnosed of coming down with Alzheimer. He is in his mid-70s and they have been at neurologists trying to find a way of slowing down the decline. Another (male) friend was there and he told me he has osteoporosis. He is 75 years-old, very skinny and a retired NASA scientist. I read somewhere that the 70-ies are supposed to be the “go-go” years, the 80-ies the “slow-go” years, while at your 90th birthday you enter the “no-go” decade. I better get going, I've got nine more years of fun ahead of me.

This old man and his wife!

Getting old sucks! (12/7/2023)

Getting old sucks! It really does! The past weeks have been menacing, period. Here I thought that retirement was easy street but forget it. I feel more stressed now than when I was working. Let me explain.

For one, multitasking is getting more difficult to do. Then there is making decisions, it seems that all the decisions I have made lately are rash decisions that come back to bite me in the behind; in other words, I seem to make the wrong ones or maybe costly ones. I feel more stressed out, compared to when I was working, and of late more anxious. Having read that anxiety may be an early warning sign of a pending heart attack does not help., it heightens the anxious feeling. Having joints that hurt more and more is another of my symptoms of getting old. Finally, there are the peeing issues at night when my full bladder wakes me up or first thing in the morning. It seems that I need to take the dogs for a walk (after coffee, the newspaper and breakfast) before the dam breaks. I can come up with a few more reasons why getting old sucks, we’ll find out by the end of this post (if I don’t croak from that heart attack first).

The details please! Except for the urinating issue, I have been detailed enough on that subject in the previous paragraph.

What happened in the past few weeks? It is mostly a combination of things. The news on things like the war in Israel; the state of our climate; the rating that our current president is getting even though he and his government are doing good work; we can go on. Reading the obituaries of famous people like Sandra Day O’Connor, Mel Brooks, or even Kissinger doesn’t help. These all contribute to my state-of-mind. Guess I am feeling my mortality. On top of that everything seems to go wrong in our home.

I mentioned that we had work done on our crawl space. We needed to get this done after we discovered that our toilet leaked all over our floor when we flushed. We had known that this would most likely happen since the builders of our home had made a huge structural mistake (in 1970). As part of this work, we had the entire powder room taken out and decided that we were going to put it back together by ourselves. This was going to be our first item of business when we returned from our trip in October. Deciding what materials to use and how to install everything took us some time, but I decided to work on it maybe an hour or two each day. Then we were able to borrow a wood splitter from friends to finally split the huge amount of wood that had been in our back yard since March. In other words, another week or so of no bathroom work. I think there is a saying about hell being paved over with good intentions.

In the meantime, we decided to throw a dinner party for friends and finally to make good on an item we sold at our church auction, a pizza dinner for four. We need to heat our pizza stone to 500 degrees (F) to successfully bake pizza in our stove. Lo and behold, here we notice that the glass in the interior of our stove had burst. Quick order a new glass so that this (YouTube) do-it-your-self guy can replace it. Once I got what I thought was the correct glass, we had problems. First the door did not come off the way YouTube told me it should. I found a work around, but then the glass did not fit, and we cannot find a replacement. Time to buy a new stove and postpone the party until the stove was delivered.

We decided that we wanted an induction stove to replace our gas stove. We had read that gas stoves fume off gases that are bad for the lungs, especially lungs of asthmatics. Well Donna is asthmatic and after some research we decided to check out LG. We found a nice one on sale at Lowes, or so we thought. After some good research we went for it; however, these rookie non-gas/glass top cooks bought an electric stove instead of an induction stove. We found that out after the installers had put it in and we briefly turned it on. We asked the installers to wait for us to figure it out, but they took off with our old stove, never to be seen again. Here we had a new stove we did not want. The weekend before we had bought some new steel pots and gave away some of our favorite aluminum pots and pans; aluminum does not work on induction. We spent almost the entire rest of the day wanting to return our new stove and looking for a replacement. Naturally we had already canceled the pizza dinner. We were now envisioning having to postpone the new date that we had agreed on since we expected to have to wait for the next stove.

It gets worse and worse, don’t worry. For a new stove to fit, I had to widen the opening in the countertop by maybe a half inch. I bought a diamond blade for my circular saw and went to work. I installed a guide for my saw, but halfway through it slipped and now my cut wasn’t even. Panic and disgust not only from me but also from the wife (“look what you have done to the resale value of our home” … honestly, I thought we were going to live here for at least another 10 years and by then the new owners would want a new countertop). We can and will fix that with spacers in between the top and the new stove. However, another week of powder room fix up lost. We finally received our induction stove, and we are happy for now.

For months I had planned a trip to the Winter Silhouette (bonsai) Show in Kannapolis, NC. Should I stay or should I go? I had booked a campsite in the Salisbury area. By Friday noon I got the assurance that it was OK for me to go on my solo trip even though Lowes was picking up the stove that we did not use as a return. I had a great time at the show on Saturday and around 5 pm I went to look for my spot.

Next issue. The camping was closed, gated up and what looked like, no way to get in. I had told them in my reservation that I would be late, especially since the website said that the office would close at 5. What to do, but to find a motel room. Finally, after checking in and dinner during a call with my wife she encouraged me to check my voice mail (about the stove removal). I had turned my phone off during the show. Well, there was also a message from the camping giving me the secret number to one of the padlocks on the gate (the gold one). Damn or better fuck, here I wasted another chunk of money on something I did not have to. I had my eyes on a bonsai that was for sale at the show, but it cost as much as my room and that Thai dinner I had (I was planning to make macaroni and cheese from a pack that night).

I went camping the next night and it was nice and relaxing. It brought down the anxiety level, but I just cannot look back at these days wanting to complain about old age. I know this is a long post, but as my wife tells me, I need to take time to relax and take it the way it comes (and express myself … sorry Madona).

Our busted stove

Enlarging the slide-in opening

Relaxed after a night of camping, ready to take on the world again

Best if show bonsai (American hornbeam)

Another favorite, a bald cypress

A New Car! (06/03/2021)

Sitting at the car dealer waiting for a few things to be done to the new vehicle we bought feeling again that we probably have been had and paid too much. Why does one always have that feeling, when buying a car or buying a home, you feel like you just paid too much?

We needed to buy a different vehicle. The one we replaced was a 2001 Honda CRV, one of those with the tire on the back and a picnic table in the trunk. The tire in the back actually had a wren nesting in it and I am sorry but the brood went once a week for a day to the office and grocery shopping at times. It makes you wonder if the eggs were still viable when we discovered them. That CRV had 270,000 or so miles on it. The other car we own is a Honda Accord from 2007 with 330,000 miles on it. So you can see, we do not have a terribly reliable vehicle for extended road trips. On top of that, the newspaper reported on the skyrocketing car rental prices, so that did not seem to be an option either.

And here it happened. My 94 year-old father-in-law was at the dentist to have a tooth extracted and when he got back into his car, yes he still drives, he started bleeding profusely. He is not very ambulatory and called the dentist on his phone. The dentist came running out to the car and fixed him up, not before my father-in-law had blood all over himself. As a result, he did not feel well enough to drive and my wife needed to go out to get him in her 20 year-old CRV. On the way home her car broke down, a hose broke. It was a rare 90-degree (30+ degree Celsius) spring day. Here my father-in-law gets out of the car in the parking lot of a grocery store covered in blood with my wife standing next to her. The only thing missing is a big butcher knife or a hatched.

I realize that buying a new car is foolish. You lose value the minute you drive it off the lot and that is it. We understand that. However, we tend to maintain our cars and keep them for a long time. Since our return to the U.S. from our overseas assignments we have owned a Honda Civic 4WD wagon, which one stayed with us for 15 years; a Toyota Pickup with we had for 25 years, and the two vehicles about which I have been writing above, 20 and 14 years, respectively. We tend to drive until they fall apart. At least we know who drives them and takes care of them. I am not sure if that is a good thing or not, but we think so.

We have been talking about going more environmentally friendly, and I told my wife that my next car would be a Tesla. The compromise was a CRV hybrid. I am happy to say that the first tank of gas is about half-way done and the gas millage is 38 miles to the gallon or more than 16 kilometers per liter. Not bad at all. We really wanted something that used less gas, but my wife was still weary of all electric. However, the time will come that we will make that switch.

The new and the old; left to right.  Of course with the old and the young in the middle.

So here I am sitting at the dealer having a roof rack installed, and having a little buyer’s remorse or should I call it just wondering if we have been had; paid too much. I am still not sure why car sales folks do this to you, but darn that feeling. However, I am sure that 10 or 15 years from now we will not remember this, maybe only when looking back at this blog post. I am sure we will have fun with this vehicle while being a little protective of the environment.

George Washington's shovel (4/4/2014)

I live on the edge of the Yorktown Battlefield section of the Colonial National Historic Park, and often when I walk the woods and see a big tree, I wonder if George Washington peed against that specific tree.  I sometimes think the same thing when I take a leak in the woods behind my house (just like every guy does at various occasions).  This is absolutely ridiculous, I know, since none of the trees in these woods date as far back as George, or the battle of Yorktown.  But it is still fun to fantasize about this.  The other day while digging in the vegetable garden I found a really old leather shoe (at least 20 or so years old), and we immediately coined it “George Washington’s shoe.” 

The woods here are full of redoubts, or what I would almost call trenches, and every so now and then I think you can see someone trying to looks for artifacts.  Not long ago there was a gentleman with a copy of an old map looking for an old encampment.  This is highly illegal but it does happen.

During my walk this morning I saw this somewhat familiar piece of a shovel laying near the trail.  We have seen it before, but it was foggy and it just caught my eye.  Again the thought came up that this must have been George Washington’s shovel.

A belated entry into 2020, but here I go (2/5/2020)

The guilt feelings are creeping up, I have not posted in almost two months. Why is that? Well, a minor case of depression has set in. In addition to it being a brand spanking new year, and relatively little daylight, we have currently been looking at a year started with record high temperatures. I put a positive spin on the temperatures, by telling folks on my Facebook page that it was wonderful that “Summer fell on the weekend this month.” But in fact, it is darn scary to have temperatures in the mid-70s or around 25 degrees Celsius in the middle of January and again this week, while Facebook was reminding us of the 10 inches of snow, we had two years ago. That is global warming for you. Or should we call it climate change? Still, a whole section of society does not seem to give a damn about what is happening to the earth.

At least the weather allowed me to work on the back deck a bit and on repotting a bonsai of mine. In addition, a friend of ours redid her yard and removed several azaleas and donated two to my bonsai selection. I really had to hack at the roots of these 25-year-old plants and now it is hoping they survive. 

This all somehow kept my mind away from the major issue at hand. Two days after the new year we got the message that my trusty old dog Jake was diagnosed with inoperable cancer of either the liver of pancreas. I have written a lot about my walks with my dogs, in particular Jake, in the woods behind my home. That news really hurt. We are now in doggy hospice, waiting for the inevitable. Yes, we adopted a new dog, Jasper, on November 17, and I am sure he will eventually fill the gap that Jake will leave, but this guy is special.

A photo of Jake take on February 1 this year.  He still looks in decent shape, although a month ago the vet said he had days of weeks to live.  I'll miss the old guy.

Jasper our new dog has made himself at home.  Being a hound he has to sleep in a pack and always need to be close to Jake.  I want to bet that he'll miss Jake as well.

Jake was adopted 11 years ago. We had gone to the Newport News SPCA to look at the border collie, but that dog was too crazy, jumped on kitchen counters and seemed like a piece of work. Then we saw Jake, cowering in his cage in a corner and somehow, we fell in love. In the beginning he was a runner, and we had to keep him under control, on the leash and we fenced in a small section of our yard. He has gotten much mellower and if he can help it and is not being pushed out of the way by Jasper, every morning he will site next to me for a back and head rub. 

Oh well, folks that is the issue with being an animal lover. Most animals have a shorter lifespan than us and it is something we are confronted with a number of times during our life. At least three times in my life did the dog we owned disappear and never returned. Our first one was old, and I suspect she walked off to die alone somewhere in the bush of Curacao, the island I grew up on. The second was a runner, and we never knew what happened to her. So was the third, Moses, and my parents found him dead, obviously hit by a car somewhere in the Netherlands where we lived at the time. All other dog we had to deal with mortality one way or another. 

The relationship between humans and their pets is a beautiful thing. I guess it is because the pets show something like unconditional love; a thing that does not happen much in human relationships. Pets become completely integrated into the household and act like they own the place. I was amazed last night when my wife told me about a colleague of hers whose son sent their young family pet to a trainer for two weeks to get obedience training. The trainer seems to do this with electroshocking and now the, in our eyes, poor young dog just shakes when being called or told to sit, in anticipation of getting a shock if he is not obeying. I cannot imagine taking all the spontaneity, love, and trust out of an animal like that.

In his book “The Empathic Civilization,” Jeremy Rifkin discusses how babies are born with unconditional love and empathy but somehow somewhere we lose it. A new form of empathic humans needs to evolve he argues for the human race and civilization to survive. I did not get a chance to finish the book completely, and I will, once I retire. One thing is for sure, we desperately need more empathy and compassion in this world. We seemed to have lost it judging from the callousness of our current politicians willing to stick children in cages and look the other way just to save their political skin. 

Having said all this, judging from the first month of the new year, 2020 is not going to be much more empathetic. To the contrary, it is showing to be worse, politically, humanity wise and even the climate is showing signs that it will have no mercy.

Exhausted and exasperated (5/22/2025)

I feel empty and exhausted. Crazy, considering I sleep well, exercise (walk and bike), have hobbies (I work on at least three or four of my bonsai trees almost daily), do a lot of reading lately, you name it. I have my fair share of friends (or should I call them acquaintances). In other words, I have a full life as a retired dude. Am I depressed? Am I getting old and this is part of slowing down? My diet? I do not know.

Maybe I need more adventures. A few weeks ago, we had a great visit to James River State Park, and that was a welcome diversion. Then we experienced the election of a new pope. He is 69 years old and three years younger than I am. Leo (his newly chosen name) is embarking on a completely new adventure. I guess that in July I will embark on a new adventure as a grandfather and as chairperson (president) of our Unitarian Universalist church board. I have already been made aware of all the potential difficulties I might be getting involved with at church. Grandfathering will hopefully be easier.

I guess it is the incessant news about tRump and his antics that exhausts me the most. There seems to be something else every day ranging from “screw the poor and help the rich" to lining his own pocket with a donated airplane.

One of the books that I am currently reading (I am reading four at the same time) deals with the old Greek and Roman stoic philosophy. Very much like Buddhism, it tells me not to worry about the past (it is over), not about the future (not much we can do about, it is coming whether you like it or not), and don't worry about what is happening right now (it will be a thing of the past in an eye-blink). Remember the idea about never crossing the same creek twice? It is different every time, different water molecules. What is left? Enjoy the moment. The Buddhist say, “live in the moment.” I wish I was able to take that attitude, but it is difficult in today’s sociopolitical climate.

This is probably why it feels so good to have new and different adventures to look forward to. While apprehensive, I am excited about what’s to come. I am thinking about flying west to visit my new (first) grandson. In addition, I have been planning a trip circumnavigating Lake Michigan. We have never visited Wisconsin, and I would love to visit Holland, Michigan. We’ll see if it comes to fruition.

I think it is very important to have new adventures in life and not to stagnate. In many of my posts I write about never stopping to learn (one example is here and here). But I get 543 posts when I enter the word learn in my blog search bar. I think it crucial to keep learning and develop your critical thinking skills.

I read somewhere that the reason why time seems to go faster when you grow older is that you do not experience anything new that needs to be processed by the brain. Young folks, on the other hand, need to process all the new experiences and therefore the time seems to go much slower. What am I trying to explain here? New experiences at an older age slow down the perceptual time. In other words, I am looking forward to all these new adventures (new experiences) and growing old slower.

So many folks in this and a lot of other countries have given up on experiencing new things, on learning. They act like sheep, being herded by a dog or even a shepherd (read authoritarian leasers like tRump). It appears that they have lost their ability to think on their own, although they still think that they are thinking on their own. They are just following what the demagogues, the gas lighters or dictators tell them.

I don’t care if you are liberal, conservative, have a different sexual orientation, black, white or purple, we all need to keep learning, experience new things, think and question what we read, see or hear on the television or get from social media. Reading, learning and bonsai is how I am trying to fight my exhaustion.

One of my trees that I have been working on (a water birch)

On Ken Burns and Hemingway (4/24/2021)

I watched Ken Burns’ special on Ernest Hemingway. I found it interesting. But boy, being a member of Unitarian community; however, it was a different story. Unitarians are notoriously more liberated, forward thinking, more liberal thinking, feminist folks; and a lot of them saw the documentary as an acknowledgement of a man who was a drinker, womanizer, into bull fighting, and racist. In other words, he was an example of anything that was wrong with a man. However, from what I saw he was a reflection of the time he was living in.

I do not want to defend Hemingway. In fact, I have only read one of his books, his “Old Man and the Sea” which I really enjoyed. I need to read more. I found Mr. Burns' documentary eye opening. A man with his struggles. A man who was in a way tormented by his parents, a thing I can understand. Mine were not the easiest ones. Hemingway was someone who was disciplined or maybe tried to be disciplined, in his writing but had to let loose when he did not write, usually in the afternoon, evenings or when he had writer’s block of some kind.

I did not watch it thinking what a misogynistic guy Hemingway must have been, falling in love with all these younger women that he ran in to. Hell, I think I could as well, if I were someone rich, famous, and decent looking, because I think those are some the prerequisites of being attractive as an older male to younger women. But as an older male, I know, there are some young women who just walk past me to whom I feel an instant attraction. I know it is their odor. Not perfume or cologne, but as I explain to myself: the smell of a woman, of fertility, of ovulation, receptiveness. I wonder if that was the thing that handcuffed Hemingway. I just miss the swagger he must have had, the fame.

No, the documentary grabbed my attention because of a number of other things. As I mentioned before, the rise and the fall of a person. How this outwardly manly man had a feminine, maybe even subordinate side in his relationship with his wife. The development of a writer was spellbinding to me; maybe because I still aspire to become one, hence this blog. But here again, I am likely over the hill and missed the boat; no “Old man and a boat or the sea” for me, I guess. However, I was also fascinated by the places Hemingway visited and lived. This was partially because our lives, my younger one and his, overlapped at times and in certain places.

Let’s start at my beginning. Some of you may know that I was born in Eastern Congo. I have written about it a time or two. You all can search the keyword list, there are two mentions (three with this one). In her book “How Dare the Sun Rise” Sandra Uwiringiyimana describes growing up not far from where I was born, but then takes it on a very intense ride as refuge (I briefly mention it here). When I was one and a half years old, my parents and I traveled back to Holland. We did this by taking the ferry across Lake Tanzania, into Tanzania, and the train to Dodoma, and (I think) on to Arusha. From either Dodoma or Arusha, we had to take a taxi to Nairobi to catch an airplane to the Netherlands. My mother always loved to tell me that when we arrived after dark in Nairobi, no hotel was willing to take us in, and no we did not need to sleep in a stable, but we ended up sleeping that night at the YMCA on army cods. The reason was we drove that day, afternoon and evening through an area that was in the hands or infested by the Mau Mau. The Mau Mau were the freedom fighters against the British colonial rule, and at the time they were known to be as one of the most ruthless group of guerillas known to mankind. No one understood how we had come through the area in one piece, especially at night! We (my parents) were basically suspected of being Mau Mau sympathizers. Now from Ken Burns I learned that at the time of our crossing (1954/55) there was a famous American author in the area: Ernest Hemingway! He actually married a local young tribal woman, while was wife was ill and convalescing in Nairobi.

I was born in Kalemie (previously Albertville) in the Congo.  Dodoma the place we took the train to is on the far right on the map.  

After a brief period in Holland and Belgium, we moved to the Caribbean, where I spent my youth. I lived there 13 years. We did some deep-sea fishing, boating, sailing. I even visited Cuba, probably after Hemingway left. It was in 1959, a few months after Castro had taken over. I visited the far eastern coast, and we went up the tallest mountain of Cuba and we visited Havana. Being only 6 years old, I still remember being cold on top of the mountain (9000+ feet) and that Havana looked almost deserted and eerily empty.

But Mr. Burns’ stories about Havana, the sea, Kenya where I returned in the late 1970s, the tropics in general and the stories about Hemingway were fascinating and brought me back to the stories of my youth. Together with stories of Hemingway’s tormented life, I therefore had no problem looking past the not-so nice parts of his character and forgiving him for his flaws or enjoying the series.