Discovering Strength

As we age, we are told that we lose muscle strength and bone mass and that oxygen does not move as efficiently through our bodies as it did when we were teenagers. That information may discourage some people from trying to get "back in shape," but it's been my experience that you only lose it when you don't use it.

Since my father died of a heart attack when he was only 48, and since I seem to have inherited a family tendency to manufacture "bad cholesterol" in my blood stream, I've made it a habit to exercise three or four days a week for a number of years. Wish I could say that all that exercise has caused me to lose weight, but it has not. One consolation is that perhaps I would look worse if I did not exercise, and that perhaps heavier, denser muscle has replaced some of the fat. Yeah, sure. But it is a fact that I feel better, anyhow.

Last summer when Bob's back failed him and he required major surgery, I had to do all of the yard and garden work. He could not do anything physical. Although still recuperating, he is still not supposed to lift anything more than about 25 pounds. So I'm still toting dog food and softener salt bags, mowing the lawn, etc. Because I knew he wouldn't be able to do anything at all last summer, I deferred doing major landscaping at our new house.  In 2011, I opted for only a small vegetable garden and mowing the grass I'd started the previous year, and watering two apple and two spruce trees, also planted in 2010.

But this house, situated on an old hay field and next to a plowed field, looks awfully barren with no trees. Also, since it has a walk-out basement, the soil erodes along the steep hillside slopes on the north and south walls. I'd talked to a landscaper two years ago, and was quoted a price of $1,500. Since that was too spendy, the only alternative was to dig in terraces ourselves. I remembered terracing slopes myself, after we had a new basement with a walkout entrance put underneath the old farmhouse. But that was 30 years ago. I was a lot younger then. Would this aging body be up to it?

One reality to physical labor as we age, is that we can't work for hours, but need to divide things into small steps. Age also brings wisdom, and it is possible to figure out labor-saving steps and tactics. 

My friend Judy offered to help me last fall, but I thought, wisely as it turned out, that the soil would be softer and easier to dig in the spring. 

On an early April Saturday, Judy and I took spades to the north slope of the house. It took the two of us two hours to dig slots into which we laid old railroad ties which had been discarded by Burlington Northern maintenance crews along the tracks. Since the crews cut the ties into chunks as they remove them, they were in half-lengths. Since they've been piled down at the farm for a long time, until Dan, Beth and I hauled them up here two years ago, they are also somewhat rotted out, making them lighter to lift. It worked..We had no problem hand-carrying them from a pile in front of the machine shed to the hillside.

After a water break, Judy persuaded me to plant something in the terraces right away, to prevent further erosion. The only thing I could think of, close at hand, were several clumps of hosta I'd planted two years ago in a too-sunny location. So I spaded up five clumps, cut them into 22 pieces and we transplanted them into the terraces. That took another hour.

Bob brought us a six-pack of beer, which we consumed, along with additional water, before dousing ourselves in the shower. I took three aspirin before falling into bed that night, since I did not want sore muscles keeping me awake. I was amazed the next day that, although a little stiff, there was no pain. The regular workout routine at the gym had served me well.

Total cost for our landscaping project: one six-pack of beer. Everything else was recycled stuff and hand labor.

The next landscaping project was planting 60-some trees. The most affordable place to buy trees is the annual bulk, bare-root tree distribution through our Soil and Water Conservation District. I ordered 10 maple, 10 Black Hills spruce, 25 chokecherry and 25 wild plum. (Sold a few leftover trees to a neighbor.) Spent Arbor Day weekend digging in those trees--half on Friday, the other half Sunday evening--by hand with a wheelbarrow and shovel. The hardest part was probably hauling water to "settle them in" after I was worn out from planting. (Mother Nature sent bountiful rain for the next week, which was much appreciated.) Most of the trees are now leafing out.

Again, by splitting a daunting task into segments, it was hard work, but manageable. Total cost: $110 for the SWCD trees, less $10 from the neighbor for the ones he bought.

Since two women in their 60s had dug in terraces on the north side of the house, I figured I could do the south slope, which is shorter, myself. I was right. Got most of that done this past Friday morning. It used up the six remaining chunks of railroad ties. Since I lacked another "hand" for lifting the ties, managed to balance them on a wheelbarrow and roll them into place.Total cost: $0. (Just drank ice water, not beer.) Since these terraces will go under our deck, I plan to cover them with leftover landscape plastic, overlayed with wood chips or landscape rock.

Yes, we move a little slower and take more frequent breaks--but older people can still get tough jobs done. If we don't use it, we'll lose it.

Stepping Aside

Attended a gathering this evening at the home of a friend who recently decided to run for the Legislature. A former co-worker, I had helped her with an attempt 20 years ago--when she lost by only 41 votes. She made two other failed attempts at public office, in between advocating for small cities at the state capitol. She is an expert on city government issues.

Now that she's of retirement age, she's decided to try again. With years of advocacy under her belt, she would not be a "newbie" to the Legislative process. Only challenge: winning in a district that is ultra-conservative. Being a devout Catholic, she is pro-life, but she also cares about "unplanned" babies after they are born. She also cares about the future of public schools and public health. That makes her a :"liberal" in the eyes of many of our neighbors.

For the past 16 years, it's been me running for office. Gotta admit that, even after winning four of my five campaigns, I was hoping to sit this one out. The campaign trail is brutal, and there is little appreciation these days for seeking or achieving public service. The populist trend is to hate the "government." And God knows, the salary pales in comparison to what it costs to put together a campaign and run for office.

But I find the idea of stepping aside and cheering on someone from the sidelines strangely appealing. I won't just be helping this Legislative wannabee, but a couple of other people who are seeking county positions.
One interesting thing is that these people are all of "retirement" age. Yet they are willing to either continue on in public service or begin service after many folks our age have migrated to Arizona golf courses.

In 2012, I am stepping aside in several ways. Three months ago, I decided to not seek re-appointment to my seat on the county housing authority, and at the end of the year, my term as chair of the regional library board will be over, although I hope to continue as a board trustee. I've scaled back my responsibilities on the community festival committee. There have been inquiries into a few other appointments or opportunities, but nothing has panned out so far. My only "new" leadership challenge is serving as an elder at my church--in the past, I've been a deaconess, but it's been several years since I've been on the Church Council.

Thanks to Social Security and Pension payments, we don't have to worry about paying the electric bill, so there is not a pressing need to earn a pile of money at this time. I still have plenty of energy and have been enjoying volunteering as a driver for the Council on Aging--more support service.

The one part of public service I always disliked was promoting myself at election time. So this year it feels better to be on the sidelines, promoting others.

Arbor Day

The only affordable way to landscape our two-year-old house, which was built on our old hay field, was to take part in the annual bare-root tree distribution at the county fairgrounds, sponsored by the soil and water conservation district. I ordered maples, Black Hills spruce, chokecherry and plums.

I can't remember the exact date of Arbor Day, but it's in late April. I picked up the plants Friday (April 27,) planted half of them that same day. It rained on Saturday, but I was able to plant the other half yesterday evening (the 29th). By hand, with a garden fork and round-nosed spade, wheelbarrow, garden hose and bucket. Whew.

The human body is an amazing thing. Imagine driving a car or riding a bicycle that is nearly 65 years old. Not possible without replacing a lot of parts. Yet beyond a few tune-ups, I haven't had to replace much of anything yet.

The part of the body most amazing to me is the foot. So frail in appearance compared to the the rest, it is perfectly engineered to faithfully support the rest of the body, in ever-increasing girth, with relatively few complaints. And some people don't believe in a creative Higher Power.

Bob is not as blessed as I. Last summer his back was rebuilt during a nine-hour surgery: titanium rods, pins, fusing and bone implants. He's also had a shoulder rebuilt and a gall bladder removed. Besides the removal of my appendix and the addition of two cardiac stents, my body is still ticking with its original parts.  Because Bob is still recovering from his "rebuild" job, the task of landscaping this new house fell to me.

Three weeks ago, my girlfriend Judy (also in her sixties) came out and we dug in landscape timbers (AKA discarded & recycled railroad ties) on the north side of the house, where soil was washing out along the exposed wall of our walkout basement. We also transplanted 22 hosta plants in the new terraces created by the timbers. It took the two of us three hours.

My "Arbor Day" feat took 2 1/2 hours of solo work on both days.  Half-way through each day's project, I found myself seeking methods that would save steps so I could spread out my energy. After two or three hours, I literally could do no more; was limping, moaning and not able to think straight. The body was sore. But it was nothing a couple of aspirin and a couple of beers couldn't fix. By the next morning, I was fine--albeit a little stiff. Made me grateful that I've been faithfully visiting a health club three days a week for the past six or seven years.
 This morning I rose at first light and watered the newly-planted trees, fixed oatmeal with walnuts and strawberries, and brought them, along with coffee and tea, into the bedroom on a tray, where Bob was just beginning to wake up (yes, I know I spoil him, but he's older than me and worth it.) I'm hoping that tomorrow's predicted rain arrives, in generous amounts, because dragging that hose and bucket around the yard is making me think about other labor-saving ideas--like borrowing a water tank on a trailer.

The body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. We need to take care of it.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

As part of the largest generation in U.S. history, I came of age with the Beach Boys, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones. During the "Summer of Love" (1967), I was living on the West Bank of the University of Minnesota, in an old house on 17th Avenue South, with my roommate Annie and a bunch of other people, one of whom would become my husband mid-way through that same summer. I was attending summer school at the University of Minnesota and working part-time at my father's architectural office in the Wesley Temple Building downtown.

One summer afternoon, our friend Chris Hammelly came into the living room, where several of us were sitting around on a cast-off dark green sofa and armchair. A slab of wood was suspended from a ceiling light fixture by four ropes, serving as a swinging coffee table. On the table were the typical college student's centerpiece of a Chianti bottle with a candle stuck in its neck, and a scattering of miscellaneous clutter. My guitar case and Bob's washtub bass were somewhere in the room.  Chris had a copy of the Beatles newest album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The album cover, with the Fab Four in neon-colored marching band uniforms, backdropped by an eclectic array of political and cultural celebrities, living and dead, impressed us. But to say that the music blew us away is an understatement. From the first chords, it was more than a pop culture hit; it was a fantasy world that surrounded us, included us, became us--but, more importantly WAS us. This group of British musicians had created something that resonated with our generation, with who we were, what we believed. The only other musician who had hit the same emotional identification with me had been my fellow native Minnesotan, Bob Dylan. He was a poet set to music.The Beatles were, in this Sgt. Pepper incarnation, an Experience.

From Lovely Rita to She's Leaving Home, to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, to A Day in the Life, the album was a declaration of British youth that resonated to us across the Atlantic. But the most surprising tune, set in the midst of fantasy and special effects, was a peppy, cheesy tune about the mundane, older years of a typical staid, British married couple, "Will you still need me, Will you still feed me, When I'm 64?"
Bob and I had known each other for a few short months and were about to say our vows at a Presbyterian chapel downtown. This song, like no other on the album, spoke to us, somewhat prophetically, of our future.

Forty-five years later, we are still together, both of us, like that fictional British couple, in our mid-60s. Life hasn't been easy, but it's been good. On our respective 64th birthdays, now past, I sang that song to Bob.

Perhaps in Great Britian, age 64 is a milestone, but in the U.S.A., the year of official transition to elderhood is usually 65, when we qualify for Medicare. It's the age when the powers that be have decided that all citizens, regardless of merit or pre-existing condition, are now entitled to guaranteed, subsidized medical care. In March, like most of my high school graduating class is doing during the year 2012, I made my last premium payment on medical insurance and signed up for Medicare. In my case, it's a Medicare Advantage Plan.

To mark this year of transition to Elderhood, I have decided to start a blog. In it I plan to journal to the next phase of my life. So far, it's been a rather active "retirement. " Time will tell what God has in store for me.