Month: September 2019

I could not wait to go with Dad to a driving range where he would teach me how to hit a golf ball.  It seemed like such a grown-up thing to do. When you are 8, you have entered that period of I-can’t-wait-until stage of life.

One spring afternoon, not long before our planned visit to the range, I decided that I should find out what is was like to hold a golf club. I found Dad’s bag in the garage and took out one of the iron clubs; the wood-shafted ones looked too long for me.  How cool it felt to hold an actual golf club in my hands.

Our house in Seattle backed up to an alley, and there was a sizeable expanse of lawn between the alley and our house. It occurred to me that I should take a few swings with the club so I went into the yard to give it a try. I began taking the club back, swinging it forward, just like I imagined I would be learning how to do at the range. The clubhead felt heavy in my 8-year-old hands but I imagined that the weight would help me hit the ball far.

Had I stopped there, I would have enjoyed a private fantasy that would have prepped me for that big day with Dad. However, something made me think that putting a ball down in the grass and taking a swing would be even better. I got a ball from the bag, went back to the yard, put the ball in the grass, and swung.

First-time golfers often miss the ball the first few attempts they make to strike it.  I did not. The ball hit the window on the basement door and made a neat golf-ball-size hole in it.

The best I could do when Dad asked me about the hole in the window was “I didn’t mean it.”

Judy’s brother, David, went with us on our 2019 trip to New Zealand.  David is an accomplished scientist, known internationally in entomological circles, who has even named species. The February 2002 National Geographic cover features a photograph he took of a scarab beetle, and a feature story inside is about one of his collecting trips to Honduras searching for new species. He has the curiosity of a true scientist and superb observation skills. Through sight, hearing, and smell, he dissects his surroundings to reveal the wonders of nature wherever he is.

Early in the trip, David got interested in the gizzard stones left in the earth when Maori tribesmen killed and butchered moa. Moa flourished in New Zealand before human contact. They were large birds, some species ranging in height up to 11 feet. The Maori used multiple parts of the moa, for food, tools, clothing, etc., but did not develop any system for controlling how many they killed. As a result, the moa are long extinct.

Gizzard stones are traces of moa, pebbles ingested by the birds to facilitate digesting food. Several species of birds exhibit that behavior today. Moa looked for pebbles of an appropriate size—perhaps even a particular kind—and, if researchers are right, sometimes traveled some distance to find appropriate stones. Over time, the acid and the churning action in the moa’s gizzard smoothed the stones, sometimes even shining them up a bit.

When the Maori butchered a moa, the gizzard and its stones were likely left with other viscera of little interest to the Maori. Over time, these clusters would be covered by dirt and vegetation. Occasionally, a collection is gizzard stones is uncovered, often when a road is cut through, leaving layers visible in the embankment, or some similar disturbance of the land. The cluster contains pebbles unlike any other in the vicinity, giving researchers confidence that a cache of gizzard stones is genuine.

David found a cache of gizzard stones, a highlight of his trip.  I found a moment of reflection.

The Maori did not mean to cause the extinction of all species of moa. They saw the birds as a source for things they needed and used. They developed the means to get what they wanted, and all that is left now are collections of smooth, out-of-place pebbles, surely an unintended consequence.

I didn’t mean to break the window but, of course, as an 8-year-old, I was attracted by the chance to pretend I was something I was not, a grown-up boy.  I did not think through the consequences any more than did the Maori.

Our quotidian lives are filled with actions and decisions we must make, often with little time and less information than we might like. Sometimes, things turn out in unintended ways.

Sometimes “didn’t mean to” doesn’t matter, like the broken window.  Sometimes, effects are more profound, like killing off an entire species.  There are many things in our lives, our country, and our world about which we might want to take the time to think through consequences and estimate possible outcomes.  When we do not, we risk having only gizzard stones to remind us of our folly.

Daniel E. White

September 30, 2019

A friend, widowed some years back, wrote me in response to an earlier About Aging in which I noted the space that empties when a loved one dies.  She told me about her recent doings, giving me a palpable sense of what her life has become since her husband died. It got me to thinking about renewal, the process by which we People of a Certain Age cope with loss and refashion our lives to continue on.

In the movie, The Visitor, Walter is a university professor whose wife has died. We first see him as a pinched pretender, inflexible toward others, always claiming to be busy with research for his latest book, harried by the burden of teaching his one class per semester, the same one he has taught for years.

The circumstances of the movie place Walter in the company of two illegal immigrants in New York City, a couple.  The man is from Syria, the woman from West Africa. The man came to the U.S. with his family many years ago. She came more recently.  Both are productive members of society.

The man plays the drums. Walter is attracted to the beat, and the man tutors Walter who begins to lose himself in drumming.  The man invites Walter to an outside jam session of drummers in Washington Square. On the way home, they are confronted by subway police who take the man into custody for an erroneously-perceived misdemeanor.

Quickly, the man’s illegal status is discovered, and he is scheduled for deportation. Helping the man becomes Walter’s obsession; he feels responsible because the man got arrested doing Walter a kindness.

Rent the movie from Netflix to see the rest of the story. The important outcome is that Walter discovers a new purpose for living.

Renewal, as described by John Gardner in his book by that title, is not revision. Renewal does not erase the past. Rather, renewal is about a new cycle of life. It is not unique to any age or stage of life.  Renewal is, one hopes, an on-going process, a characteristic of a life well-lived.

Mom’s life provided a vivid example of renewal.  She, too, experienced the loss of her husband, after 56 years of marriage.  Her story of renewal began with her work for her church as a Stephen Minister. These lay people receive training and then offer themselves to others in need.

For Mom, her “others” were also widows, coming to grips with their empty spaces.  The minister’s widow became a minster herself.

Then followed another renewal.  This one was a double. Chad, her friend from junior high school days 70 years before, contacted her. Chad’s wife of 56 years had died a month after Dad, creating another empty space.

That contact began a ten-year relationship, nine years as a married couple. Both Chad and Mom thrived in their time together, breathing new vitality into each other’s lives.

Renewal came for another good friend in the form of a kolea (golden plover for my mainland friends) that flew into her imagination and rekindled spark in her life.  To tell stories of Hawaiian history through tales about the kolea has lifted her to places she did not expect to be.

In the musical, “Les Miz,” a young man laments “empty chairs at empty tables” as he mourns the loss of friends who died in acts of revolution.  What those of us familiar with the story know is that, though those tables and chairs might have emptied, the young man’s life was about to change significantly.

Death is not the only reason spaces empty.  You People of a Certain Age who are retired, like Judy and me, know that the transition from active employment and integral roles in our respective enterprises to a time unencumbered by anything other than what you might think to do in a day creates empty spaces. If your work included periodic affirmations and accolades directed at you for your endeavors, adjusting to the absence of such affirmation can take some time.

Judy and I never had children of our own. But I can imagine that the “empty nest” our parenting friends have experienced can feel a lot like empty space.

Fortunately, renewal is an equal opportunity unbounded by time. Walter found his in a surprising way and after a significant period of emptiness.  It was more than a year after Dad died before Mom began her journey to renewal through her Stephen Ministry work.  It took a while for the kolea to find my friend.

Those with newly emptied spaces might not yet be ready to embrace renewal.

There is no right time or way to renewal.  Nor is there any limit to the space available to us in our lives. Empty spaces do not necessarily need to be filled because new spaces emerge. Replacements are not required: new purpose arises. On-going relationships persist and new ones form.  All we need do is to be open to the possibilities.

Daniel E. White

September 16, 2019

On January 6, 1941, President Franklin Roosevelt presented his State of the Union Address to Congress.  War was raging in Europe but official U.S. policy was against American involvement “over there.”

The President talked about security, the economy, his legislative agenda; the usual stuff of State of the Union Addresses. One memorable line—“As men do not live by bread alone, they do not fight by armaments alone”—advanced his belief that holding the right values and governing according to the will of the people were powerful tools to motivate opposition to tyranny, as important as armies.

The most memorable section of the speech, however, has been celebrated in most books about U.S. history and used as advertisement about the values at the core of America (even meriting a Norman Rockwell painting!). Roosevelt committed himself to the goal of ensuring basic freedoms worldwide.

People of a Certain Age, your U.S. History course likely included reference to the Four Freedoms speech.  Can any of us name all four without checking Google? Perhaps you, like me, have heard FDR’s distinctive voice and unique emphases as he laid out his vision, which he believed was America’s, too.

Roosevelt was on safe ground with Americans of all political persuasions with his first two freedoms: “Freedom of speech and expression—everywhere in the world.” And, “Freedom to worship God in his own way everywhere in the world.” After all, he merely took parts of the Bill of Rights and wished that all humankind could enjoy those freedoms.

The fourth freedom he listed qualifies as a pie-in-the-sky wish that flies in the face of the history of human beings.  But it is a nice wish. FDR wanted “freedom from fear which, translated into world terms, means a worldwide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor anywhere in the world.”

Today, there are already too many nations possessing nuclear weapons. Several more aspire to have them, believing that, with a nuke comes respect. Ironically, the relative decline of declared wars between nations since World War Two might be the fruit of widespread nuclear armament among nations not currently disposed to use them, yet not willing to give them up.

FDR was not alone in wishing for arms reduction. Some reductions have occurred through treaties, to be sure.  But, a lot of hearts and minds around the world would need to change before the world got to the state envisioned by Roosevelt.

The third freedom is within reach, given certain conditions and the will of people to achieve it. Roosevelt called for “freedom from want, which translated into the world means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants everywhere in the world.”

The conditions? First, that we find agreement among nations about what constitutes a “healthy peacetime life.” Second, that nations pursue public policies that advance the possibility of every inhabitant everywhere in the world having such a life.

Neither condition will be easy to fulfill.

Steven Pinker, in his book, Enlightenment Now, got us thinking, during our lanai reading time, about the idea of “enough.” Pinker argues, in brief, that public opinion surveys reveal that people are willing to put up with economic inequality as long as they feel that the economic system is fair and that they can secure enough for themselves and their families

We were startled by that finding. Then we wondered, what is “enough?” Surely people who have enough can pursue a “healthy peacetime life.” But can we agree on what is “enough?”

What kinds of public policies would advance the cause of securing for every person in the world a “healthy peacetime life?” Would that line of inquiry lead one beyond the noise of tariffs, redistribution of assets and direct payments to people to explore what might be done so that every person in the world has the opportunity to pursue the benefits of a world in which, as Pinker points out, the collective wealth in the world is continuously expanding?

“Enough” is complicated. Is “enough” merely secure housing, food, jobs, access to education, transportation and a little money left over each month to be able to go to the movies now and then? Does “enough” now have to include computing capacity at home to access online resources? Or a phone that stores information, takes great photos and, on occasional take phone calls?

Does access to education mean free post-secondary work? Does a secure job mean guaranteed lifetime employment? Does “enough” mean eating the same fruit all year long, seasons notwithstanding?

One can easily move from the simple to the complex trying to define “enough.” Most steps along the way cost money that would have to come from somewhere.

Some time ago, in my work with Ed.D. students at the University of Hawaii, I suggested that just society would include for all people equal access to the opportunities available in that society.  In this way, individuals have a stake in achieving enough, and society has the obligation to ensure equal access to the opportunities.

Freedom from want—having enough—is doable if we can figure out what is enough.

Daniel E. White

September 2, 2019