Bible Study and Poetry Reading

I am feeling sad and lonely. And very bored. Last Wednesday I finally got a group of people to join me in Bible study. I was thrilled. Then on Friday I invited several people to join me to read poetry. Sad to say, nobody showed up, but take heart. On Saturday afternoon, quite by chance I met Alberta in the library and we did read some poetry and talked about it and some of the authors we like. These events should give me some encouragement But today I still feel that vacant spot in my future. 

I don't want activity. I want purpose. I want something to extend beyond the moment when we meet. It's not that I miss reading the Bible. I do that alone. I comment on it and research it and examine it's truths alone. Poetry reading is sort of like Bible reading. There are truths contained here that take meditation and reflection and exploration. Sharing it with someone else is valuable and it blesses me. Hearing someone else's view or interpretation is important, too.

I think this is a very boring subject to most people. It doesn't have any explosions, and nobody gets dismembered. There are no touchdowns or home runs. We all keep our clothes on.

Bible study and poetry reading touch the heart of  faith and the beginning of emotional connection to others. Both activities embrace the world of ideas. Nursery rhymes were some of the first poetry we learned, and they stay with us all our lives. Poetry carries the passion of the young lovers and the lament of the bereaved. 

I want to continue to share this message: Study your Bible and read poetry. Both will bless your life. 

Getting Older, Living Longer

I finally got someone to agree to read poetry with me and she didn't show up. Oh, well, I can read poetry alone. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. Poetry, like art, can be enjoyed alone. The communication is between the author and the reader, or in the case of art, between the artist and the viewer. 

When I read Robert Frost's poetry, it's my soul crying out to him or the universe or the snow storm that resonates in my mind. I don't really need other people. It is nice to share the experience with others, but the poem is just as meaningful when I read it alone.

The research studies teach us that isolation is detrimental. We will live longer is we have more human contacts. When I was studying to become a psychologist, one professor informed us that human contacts are correlated to longevity. He said that even if you don't like the person, you do need to maintain the relationship. More relationships mean a longer life. I keep remembering the old joke about living longer: Maybe you don't live longer; it just seems like it.

After living at the home for a little over five months, I have decided that I'm willing to take the risk. I don't really want meaningless connections. I would enjoy some relationships with more people if there is something to experience together or we can discuss ideas and events that bless us, but just joint boredom doesn't meet the criteria for friendship, support, or even casual acquaintance. I'll keep reading poetry and seeking someone to share it with. There are other things I'd do with others. Watch TV as long as there is enough silence to hear what the actors are saying. I'll even attend the watercolor class as long as I'm not really expected to be an artist. Human contact that is meaningless doesn't excite or inspire me. I don't think I'd go to the trouble of extending my life if that's all there is to it.

See also Alone in the Universe

Let's Go to the Art Exhibit

Sometimes there is a break in the clouds and the laughter pours in like the morning sun to fill your day with new light and a moment of hilarity. Today the residents of "the home" had the opportunity to visit the art museum and go to Dairy Queen. I went. We rode on our bus which is pretty convenient unless you need a wheel chair or walker, but, even then, it's mostly possible. There are people who are more concerned about the walker than the safety and convenience of either themselves or others. 

Several of the people who participated are members of the watercolor class that Renee teaches. She is an excellent artist and I enjoy her flamboyant and gregarious personality. 

Most of the people who undertook the journey were able to walk around and enjoy the display. They listened to the description of various techniques and expressed admiration for some of the pictures. Some people did not ride the bus but came in private cars. Judy and Ram came alone and Sarah, the Enrichment Director, came and brought James. Sarah knew she would have to return to "the home" for Social Hour which began at 4 pm so she had to get back in time to prepare for that. When it was time to return one of the bus riders, Jim, joined Sarah, the ED and James, but he did not inform Remee who had arranged the tour.  She became very distraught going back to the restrooms in the museum to check to make sure he wasn't there. Then she went to the library next door and did not find him there.

At that point she decided we would seek him at Dairy Queen and hope he was not lost forever. 

One of the other riders said, "You would think he would be more considerate than that."
Another said "I don't know him. Is he really like that?"

Jim is the head of the Resident Council and most certainly is not inconsiderate or irresponsible, but he does ordinarily drive his own car. He is not used to reporting to a keeper. In his defense, he said that their were people sitting near the door who saw him leave with Sarah, but they denied any knowledge of his whereabouts.

All was well. At the Dairy Queen Sarah, Jim. and James were resting comfortably in a booth eating ice cream. Renee challenged Jim immediately and prescribed 30 minutes of standing in the corner for breaking protocol.

Renee was overheard vowing never to arrange, supervise, or even suggest an activity again. 

I had fun. Remember school outings. There was always some disruptive kid who got lost, or sick. He or she was scolded and reprimanded, but the rest of us enjoyed the whole thing immensely.  

Is It Really a Phone?

I have become disillusioned with my lovely new phone. It has many functions and will do many tasks, but I don't know how to operate it and all this technology is wasted on me. When I want to make a call the keyboard is hidden. There are rows of icons to choose from, but none of them relates to making a call. I just want to call the bank and check on my balance and make an appointment with the dentist. My 11 year old granddaughter looks at me with pity. She tries not to be insulting, but it's not hard to feel out-dated and inept under her watchful eye. 

The phone did come with instructions, such as they were. They were printed in two or three languages in very small type with a photo of the phone detailing the function of the buttons displayed. 
If I can find the English version of the instructions and the magnifying glass, I might figure some of it out.

Oh, I can play a game on it, but it runs the battery down in about five minutes. Sometimes newer and better just means I can't do it. Getting better as I get older may take a long time. 

A New Year to Explore!

Sometimes we get obsessed by sadness and nostalgia of time passing. We sing "Auld Lang Syne" and count our regrets and failures, but we also have an opportunity to explore a new year with new opportunities and new obstacles, new acquaintances and new heights to climb.

This year I'll face some new challenges in "the home." I'll remember the "way things used to be," and create an identity that includes the way things are going to be. This is called "growing up." Here at "the home" most of us don't want to grow up. Most of us want things to be the way they were. We have memories that contain our ideal life. Growing up means we will never repeat that life--it's a great memory and we can claim the things we learned to help us through this new stage, but the time that has passed has taken the former life with it. Growing up is the only option. 

That's not quite true. We can hold to the past, and become bitter, and stagnant, but we lose the ability to achieve and accomplish and experience joy.

The Best is Yet to Come

Somebody said to me, "I'm getting better as I get older." Hallelujah! I'm in good company. I believe that. I want to make it a new battle cry. Commercials and nationwide advertising looks at the older generation as past the prime of life and less than modern or current. Style and fashion certainly dismisses older as worse, old hat, decrepit, and senile. Most of us don't do the Charleston anymore, heck even the young people don't do the Charleston. My generation did the Jitterbug, and that is now retired to the archives too. I don't even know what the new get-down dance is, line dancing, maybe. All this is for the young, agile, and athletic. The body does limit the physical activity, and much as I proclaim my mental activity to be still vibrant and insightful, my body is yielding to old age.

I walk slower and get tired quicker than I used to. I find slow walking gives me a chance to view the vegetation and watch the birds. I hear people say all the time, "Stop and smell the roses." Going slower means I can reflect on things with greater attention. I kinda like it.