2011 December | Michael H. Samuelson

Dec 20

THE CHRONOLOGICALLY SUPERIOR: Part III – Membership Criteria

Position Statement:

Wisdom is the sum of the reflective and reflexive understandings that settle deep in one’s soul after a long journey — a life adventure peppered with laughter, tears, fear, foolishness, joy, doubt, amazement and wonder. Pay attention to those who have traveled before you. Ask questions and listen with your whole being. Like echoes in a canyon, the lessons will continue whispering their meaning.

NOTE

What follows is Part III of a five-part essay on health and wellness for seniors.

The beauty of this club, The Chronologically Superior Club, is that membership is open to all and it’s never too late to qualify.

Are you, or is someone close to you, CS qualified? Review the following criteria:

Always takes time to look for the good in others
Does not judge
Perpetually intellectually curious
Has learned to let go of both guilt and blame
Accepts that the “Golden Years” are sprinkled with some lead shavings
Actively advances personal health
Has a positive life-perspective that grows stronger even as the body grows weaker
Comfortably says, “I don’t know”
Would rather laugh & giggle with children than whine & complain with adults
Gives with grace and accepts with humility
Knows that “Respect Your Elders” does not give anyone a license to be rude
Nurtures joyful memories and looks forward to new adventures
Committed to lifelong learning
Knows that pleasure is more than the absence of pain
Sees more with fading sight…hears more with fading hearing
Embraces healthy ageing but fights growing old

CHECK BACK…THIS LIST WILL GROW

IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTED CRITERIA, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

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My Mother, Mary: A Personal CS story…

After giving a speech to local civic leaders at Brooklyn College in September, 1997, I was approached by a woman from the audience, a distinguished looking woman from the Caribbean. She sensed, she said, that I was a very spiritual person. She wondered: what was the physical source of my spiritual nature? With an intuitive tilt of her head and the questioning furrow in her brow, she leaned forward and asked, “Was it you mother?”

The quick answer was, and is, “Yes.”

In the face of many challenges, my mother always saw beyond hardship and focused on the promise and beauty of life. Uprooted at age 50 from a town where she had lived all her life, she endured my father’s alcoholism, his decade of disability, his cancer, his death; the sad life and early death of her daughter; her own lingering battle with emphysema.

Some people would see her life as difficult, filled with disappointment and worry. Others would feel sorry for her and wonder how she got through the days. Some would pray for her as they counted their own blessings. They would view the cards she was dealt, shake their heads, and thank God they did not have to suffer those years.

Fortunately, the life they saw was not the life she lived.

Yes, of course she felt pain and heartache; but for every dark moment, she lived a thousand love-filled hours. For every misfortune, she saw a hundred reasons to rejoice in the treasures of life. For every physical pain, she found countless moments of bliss. For every fear she experienced today, she knew the promise of tomorrow.

Toward the end of her life, she needed the full-time attention of a nursing home. I remember visiting her one cold, rainy day in March 1995, a few months after she had settled in. I came into her room and saw her: lying on her side, shriveled from osteoporosis; still, a lovely, eighty-three-year-old lady. Recently awakened from her nap, but not having yet retrieved her teeth from the bedstand, she smiled at me and said, “My cup runneth over. I am the luckiest person alive. I have good people to take care of me, a nice place to live, and friends and family who love me.” And she meant every word. Broken and bleeding paper-thin skin, multiple fractures from too many years of medication, emphysema, living in a nursing home—and she believed she was the luckiest person on earth! This was the way she lived.

My brothers and I called her every day, usually in the evening, to see how she was feeling. One day I called about midmorning. She wanted to know why I was calling. I reminded her that I spoke with her just about every day. She said, yes, but why now? I explained that I would be away during the early evening hours and wanted to make sure I spoke with her today. She seemed couriously concerned that I had called when I did. She said she was tired and wanted to rest; would I please call her tomorrow? As always, we said, “I love you,” then goodbye.

That was our last goodbye.

That evening, my mother’s cousin called me to say that my mother had died peacefully around 7 PM—about the time I usually called. My heart was broken. I told my wife and our three children, and we held each other and cried. Later that night, I took off all of my clothes, sat in a hot tub of water, and howled at the moon till I could only whimper like a lost pup.

Three young women, attendants from the nursing home, came to the funeral—something they usually did not do. They wanted to tell me what happened after I last spoke with my mother. They said she took a nap, and when she awoke and saw all three of them in the room, she told them she was going to die later that day. They had never heard her speak like this; my mother was a very “up” kind of person. They all said, “Mary, you’re fine, you’re not going to die.” She said she was but it was okay. Earlier that day, she told him, she had seen my father, 19 years deceased; my sister, 21 years past; and her mother, 28 years gone. They came to her, held out their hands, and said it was time to go.

The young women said my mother was at peace as she told them this.

We should all live such a life, and die such a death.

Who are the CS folks in your life? What lessons are they teaching you? What lessons will you pass on to the the next generation?

Coming Up…

Part IV: Caution – Your Workforce and Consumer Base Are Ageing

Part V: Summary – So What?

Dec 18

THE CHRONOLOGICALLY SUPERIOR: Part II – I’m Not Old…I’m CS!

Position Statement:

Wisdom is the sum of the reflective and reflexive understandings that settle deep in one’s soul after a long journey — a life adventure peppered with laughter, tears, fear, foolishness, joy, doubt, amazement and wonder. Pay attention to those who have traveled before you. Ask questions and listen with your whole being. Like echoes in a canyon, the lessons will continue whispering their meaning.

NOTE

What follows is Part II of a five-part essay on health and wellness for seniors.

“I enjoy talking with the Chronologically Superior, for they have gone before us, as it were, on a road that we too may have to tread, and it seems to me that we should find out from them what it is like and whether it is rough and difficult or broad and easy.”

– Socrates, in Plato, “The Republic”

Yeah, yeah. Okay, you got me. Plato’s Republic quotes Socrates as saying, “…really old men” and not, “…the Chronologically Superior,” but, hey, I’m trying to make a point here…

______________

Here are a few of the age-related factoids that show up on the internet:

George Bernard Shaw completed “Heartbreak House” at the age of 60.
J. R. R. Tolkien was 62 when he published the 1^st volume of “Lord of the Rings.”
Benjamin Franklin, at the age of 70, helped draft the Declaration of Independence.
Cornelius Vanderbilt began buying railroads after he turned 70.
John Glenn, at the age of 77, became the oldest person (CS) to fly in outer space.
Jessica Tandy and George Burns were both 80 years old when they won Oscars.
Coco Chanel was the CEO of a design firm at the age of 85.
Mother Theresa, at the age of 87, was attending to the needs of the poorest of the poor.
Grandma Moses, at 88, was named “Young Woman of the Year” by “Mademoiselle” magazine.
Picasso was still producing drawings and engravings at 90.

Of course, advanced age brings physical and intellectual challenges—as does each of Shakespeare’s seven ages—but there are also “Members Only” joys and opportunities reserved for those with a CS attitude.

“Swept by the current of the four powerful rivers,

Tied by strong bonds of karma, so hard to undo.

Caught in the iron net of self-grasping,

Completely enveloped by the darkness of ignorance.”

– Lama Tsongkhapa

What’s it all about Alfie?

It’s all about “The Dash,” that’s what. Death is Not a Curable Disease.

Okay, one more time, here’s the deal: you’re going to die. We all are. As I’ve said before, I’m sorry if that comes as a shock; and more sorry if you know this but prefer to consider it at a later time. That notion…that we can deny, ignore or defer the reality of death is dangerous, futile, wasted opportunity and the height of hubris. Once conceived, all of us reading these pages will ride the four raging rivers of birth, ageing, illness and death. Awareness, acceptance, compassion for our fellow travelers and the ability to let go of attachments—to let it be, to go with the flow—will determine our level of suffering.

Here’s the really sad part. Many people, when they are healthy and vibrant and not in the personal throes of giving care to a loved one, accept the concept of death — a finite existence — only as an intellectual construct. Yes, sure, someday, someday, sure, but not now. Someday.

Fact: Most of us will not die in our sleep after a wonderful fun-filled day of (fill in the blank). For most of us there will be a period of illness before we die and, if you are fortunate enough to watch today’s children and their children grow, there will be the accompanying infirmities that come with time. To quote the Bard from As You Like It,

“…The sixth age shifts  into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side;  his youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide  for his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,  turning again toward childish treble, pipes  and whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history,  is second childishness and mere oblivion;  sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

— Jacques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)

So much for being delicate. Oh, and to be more intrusive, I’m going to shake you out of your slumber so that you can be fully awake before you die. Yes, that’s right, most of us are sleeping or shuffling along in that overcrowd village of Someday. Oh, please, you know the place, SOMEDAY. The place where, somehow, our once-upon-a-time-soaring-spirits, filled with determination, passion, and world-changing guts have landed, tail-tucked and whimpering for fear of … what? Oh, yeah, fear of not meeting someone else’s expectations of where we should be or what we should be doing.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can focus on the real issue, morbidity. Or, perhaps a better way of looking at it, the quality of the dash (-) that separates the date of your birth from the date of your death. The date of your birth is fixed and beyond your control. You are here, so open your eyes to all of it, the good, the bad and the truly ugly. The other date, your death, is inevitable and is simply a matter for the stonemason.

As they did about so many things, Joseph Campbell and Viktor Frankel spoke eloquently and passionately about the art of living — the dash. When asked, “What is the meaning of life?” Campbell would say, “There is no meaning of life. We bring the meaning to life.” He agreed with Frankel’s philosophy that sustained well-being (success, happiness) ensues from the honorable and enjoyable pursuit of meaningful goals.

Beyond the physical, the anxiety of ageing often spews from a gunnysack of wouldas, couldas and shouldas—a life of regrets. To those who have danced until their feet throb with joy, the quiet of old age is paradise. As Carl Jung once said, “An old man who cannot bear farewell to life appears as feeble and sickly as a young man who is unable to embrace it.”

“Eternity is that dimension of here and now that all thinking in temporal terms cuts off. And if you don’t get it here, you won’t get it anywhere.”

– Joseph Campbell

Coming Up…

Part III: CS “Members Only” – Qualifications

Part IV: Caution – Your Workforce and Consumer Base Are Ageing

Part V: Summary – So What?

Dec 14

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THE CHRONOLOGICALLY SUPERIOR: Part I – A Conversation with My Father…

Position Statement:

Wisdom is the sum of the reflective and reflexive understandings that settle deep in one’s soul after a long journey — a life adventure peppered with laughter, tears, fear, foolishness, joy, doubt, amazement and wonder. Pay attention to those who have traveled before you. Ask questions and listen with your whole being. Like echoes in a canyon, the lessons will continue whispering their meaning.

NOTE

What follows is Part I of a five-part essay on health and wellness for seniors.

“You hold in your hand the precious gift of all—the gift of life. You can nuture and grow it, or you can crumble it and throw it away. Either way, it’s yours.”

– O.E. Samuelson, 1909-1977, Age, 68

April 1962

I’m sitting in the school nurse’s office at Tappan Junior High school in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Why? Because I’m too worried to remain in class. I need to talk with someone. The nurse is kind; she makes me feel safe. “It will be okay, Michael,” she says.

My father, Orville Samuelson, is at the University of Michigan Hospital having a cancerous lung removed. A heavy smoker all of his life, my dad, at 53, is only beginning to suffer the consequences of poor lifestyle choices. I’m 15 and just beginning to follow his example.

As a result of zillions of puffs on Winston cigarettes and a lifetime of alcohol abuse, my dad’s next 15 years were filled with pain, frustration, a prescription drug induced haze, and a zillion more puffs on Winston cigarettes. Oh, he has bursts of creativity (he is the original Mr. fix it) and fleeting moments of pleasure, but after that spring day, the fire fades from his spirit as the energy drains from his body.

Over the years, additional surgeries pull us back to the University of Michigan Hospital, including a series of horrific amputations for peripheral artery disease. The years of smoking have broken down the vessels needed to bring blood to his toes and feet. It eventually results in gangrene, leading to the removal of a toe, a foot, one leg, and finally the other leg. He stops drinking but keep smoking. He has one more burst of energy and creativity: he rigs his old Buick Electra 225 to operate with hand controls. This illusion of freedom is a dream that briefly puts the sparkle back in his eyes. Unfortunately, he has time for only a couple of test runs before he dies at the University of Michigan Hospital at the age of 68. Invasive melanoma has been diagnosed in his stumps, and his heart can no longer take the assaults.

I remember him as a decent man who loved his family, worked hard, and did his best. He certainly drank and smoked to excess but over that same 15 years so did I.

My father was not a philosophical man, nor, true to his Swedish heritage, did he show much affection or emotion. But shortly before he died, he beckoned me close to his bedside and spoke words I’ll never forget. He took my hand, looked at me with hollow, steel gray eyes, and said, with both sadness and parental urgency:

”In your hand you hold most precious gift of all–the gift of life. You can nurture and grow it, or you can crumble it and throw it away. Either way, it’s yours.”

This was both advice and confession. I was 30 years old, and throughout my entire life, that was the only direct guidance I ever got from my dad. But, it was powerful, and—for the most part—it’s held over the past 33+ years.

________________________________________________________________________

So Many Questions Never Asked…Most Not Even Considered. Thirty-three years. That’s a lot of time. If I (we) had a “Do-Over” what would I ask him? What would I want to know? What did I need to know? What would he tell me? …

“I’m thinking about starting a business on my own. What do you think?”
“Another baby on the way. Whoa. What do I do now?”
“Any tips for not going crazy being away from home, living out of a suitcase?”
“How do I fix this broken window pane?”
“What was my grandfather like?” “Were you and him close?” “How about your mom?”
“In this picture, who is the funny-looking guy with the handle bar mustache?
“What was it like to live through the Great Depression?”
“Did you know about the concentration camps?”
“What did you do in Montana with the DPW CCC?”
“What went through your head when you were told you had lung cancer?”
“How did you get booze during Prohibition?”
“Yours was a time of segregation and open racism. How did you feel about that?”
“What can you tell me about our heritage?”
“What was your biggest regret?” “Your greatest joy?” What were your darkest fears?”
“Did you believe in God?” “Why?”
“What did you do when you were afraid that you couldn’t make the house payment?”
“Another baby. Two boys and a girl. Wow. How did you do it?”
“Dad, if you had a Life Do-Over what would you do over?”
“We think Hillary is starting menopause. Any advice!?!”
“How did you keep it together when my sister, your daughter, died?”

Of course, the above just scratches the surface. There are hundreds of things I wish we had talked about. Some profound, most very basic. The Walton’s kind of stuff. The point is that I never had (took) the opportunity to ask those questions. I never sat on a bench with my dad and started a sentence with, “What do you think about…,” “Can I ask you a personal question…,” “Please, help me figure out…,” “I’m quite upset and concerned about…,” “You’re going to think this is nuts, but, I have an idea…what do you think?”

Major Cliché Warning: Life is too short. And, too unpredictable. Sometime this week find mom or dad or Bill down the street or Mary in the next cubicle or that nice old (CI) neighbor and ask a couple questions. They don’t have to be “Meaning of Life” questions, just questions about the road they’ve traveled…and the one that stretches out in front of you.

“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home dad?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then…”

– Harry Chapin, “Cat’s in the Cradle”

Coming Up…

Part II: I’m Not Old…I’m Chronologically Superior!

Part III: CS Members Only – Qualifications

Part IV: Caution – Your Workforce and Consumer Base Are Ageing

Part V: Summary – So What?

Dec 13

Be Aware of and Beware of THE CHRONOLOGICALLY SUPERIOR!

Position Statement:

Wisdom is the sum of the reflective and reflexive understandings that settle deep in one’s soul after a long journey — a life adventure peppered with laughter, tears, fear, foolishness, joy, doubt, amazement and wonder. Pay attention to those who have traveled before you. Ask questions and listen with your whole being. Like echoes in a canyon, the lessons will continue whispering their meaning.

NOTE

What follows is a five-part essay on health and wellness for seniors.

Once Upon a Time…

If you have followed my writings, you know that I enjoy extreme mountain adventures. High altitude treks in remote settings. If this were the 1950s, my Samsonite would flash decals from the mountain regions of Nepal, Tanzania, Alaska and Peru.

Because I’ve lived at or near sea level my whole life, training for mountains takes a lot of time and a lot of discipline. I’m talking about legs. Lots and lots of stairs, leg-lifts, leg-curls, bike time and long walks in the woods with a weighted backpack.

In addition to flat terrain, I also live where it snows, a lot. This means that I am often forced indoors during the winter months. And, this is where my story begins.

___________

Ann Arbor, Michigan, Bally Fitness Center, December, 2000

I’m pedaling furiously on a Lifecycle when a young instructor approaches.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says, “We have a new piece of equipment that I think you’d really enjoy.”

Looking up, I say, “Oh, hi. Thanks. What is it?”

“A recumbent bike.” she tells me.

I think I know where she’s going with this.

“I really like the Lifecycle, but thanks, anyway.”

She hesitates for a moment and then—nicely and respectfully—says, “Sir, we have found that [uncomfortable pause] for, for, for people like you, this is a better piece of equipment.”

Well, now I do know where she is going with this but she just isn’t sure how to tell this old man to cool it with all the time he’s spending on this bicycle. I smile back, appreciating the consideration and concern, and tell her, “Yes, well, thanks again, but I really do like the Lifecycle.”

She is younger than our daughter and intensely dedicated to her profession. I can see that she isn’t going to give up. She steps back for a moment, pauses to find the right words, nods her head obviously pleased with herself and approaches, once again.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Sir, we have found that…for the chronologically superior…the recumbent bicycle really is a better choice.”

I smile, pleasantly shake my head, and look up one more time, “You mean I’m old, and my prostate could use a break?”

“Yes, sir!” she beams. “That’s it, exactly.”

That is also the precise moment I forever became Chronologically Superior. I liked the way it sounded. I still do. And, by the way, I now own a recumbent bicycle.

Coming Up…

Part I: A Conversation with My Father

Part II: I’m Not Old…I’m Chronologically Superior!

Part III: CS Members Only – Qualifications

Part IV: Caution – Your Workforce and Consumer Base Are Ageing

Part V: Summary – So What?

Dec 10

A Yanqui in Havana – A Peek Behind the Cuban Healthcare System

In 2009 I traveled to Havana with a small team from the University of Rhode Island. Our task (pleasure) was to look as closely as we could at the wellness and prevention aspects of the Cuban healthcare system. Below there is a link to the full article I wrote when we returned. If interested, simply click the link and the article is yours…no need to leave your email address.

Michael

Samuelson Article – A Yanqui in Havana

www.samuelsonwellness.com

Dec 6