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The CyberSenior Review Volume 3 Number 1
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* THE
* CYBERSENIOR
* REVIEW
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VOLUME 3 NUMBER 1 JANUARY 1996 ===================================================
The CyberSenior Review is a project of the Internet
Elders List, an active world-wide Internet Mailing
List for seniors. The Review is written, edited and
published by members of the Elders for interested
netizens worldwide. Contributions from non-Elders
are welcome. Please query one of the editors first.
Contents copyrighted 1996 by the Internet Elders
List and by the authors. All rights reserved by the
authors. Quoting is permitted with attribution.
The editorial board of The CyberSenior Review:
Elaine Dabbs edabbs@extro.ucc.su.oz.au
Pat Davidson patd@chatback.demon.co.uk
James Hursey jwhursey@cd.columbus.oh.us
=================================================================
CONTENTS, Volume 3, Number 1, January 1996
EDITORIAL by Elaine Dabbs
SAILING THROUGH THE YEARS by Fred Miller
Fred takes us with him as he sails through Long Island Sound,
the coast of Maine, and through his life with boats.
ISRAEL 1995 by Art Rifkin
We learn of the culture, history and politics of Israel as we
journey with Art and his family to their ancient homeland.
RETIREMENT: THE GREATEST CHALLENGE? by Jim Hursey
Jim compares his coming retirement to the other important
demarcations in life.
====================================================================
EDITORIAL
by Elaine Dabbs
It's the beginning of our third year of operation and our
_CyberSenior Review_ continues to grow in the breadth of requests
we receive for copies and in the standard of articles contributed.
This is also the beginning of a New Year, a time to review our lives,
to make plans for a renewal of our "spirit" but not to forget the
relationships we have forged in past years.
Just how do we all go about reaffirming our cybersenior
friendships, how do we express genuine concern for each other
and share our hopes and dreams for the future? A poem could be
sent. Those magical words "I care for you" could come from
high above the earth as a satellite picks up a lone signal from
somewhere on earth and delivers it to our doorstep.
Then again, you could stop awhile and read our new edition of _The
CyberSenior Review_ where Fred makes us want to take up sailing
in our senior years. My family sailed on Sydney Harbour for
many years and, as Fred points out, the captain is certainly
supreme commander and woe betide the crew who disobey! I've
spent many times in the shark-infested waters round Sydney
holding our little boat into the wind while my husband, from
the safety of being IN the boat, comforted me with the words
"no one has ever been taken by a shark when hanging on to a
sailing boat!"
For those who are planning retirement, read Jim Hursey's
account of his feelings on his forthcoming leave of the so-
called "work force." It will be interesting to hear what you
all think. Jim notes that we may approach this time with fear
or with joy at the freedom gained to be master of your days.
Perhaps Jim would like to take time in his retirement to visit
Israel -- but first of all, those with like mind, read Art's
account of the culture, history and politics of this fascinating
country and enjoy a first-hand account of his ancient homeland.
We'd be very happy to receive further contributions from the
many articulate Elders we have among us from around the world.
What about submitting an article for one of our Reviews -- if
you have an unusual interest for example, please share it with
us.
Now we go into 1996, Pat, JimH and I wish you all not only a
Happy New Year, but plenty of moments of joy and fun, plenty of
health and plenty of peace. Let us learn how to live every
moment in our life well -- is this not the greatest knowledge we
can find in our lives.
====================================================================
SAILING THROUGH THE YEARS
by Fred Miller
Early in the 1960's, my wife and I returned from three and one half
years in Europe with the two children with whom we had embarked plus a
newcomer, born in Switzerland. As pleasant as the experience was of
having a child born in a foreign country, she was not rewarded with dual
citizenship, but that is another story.
We settled in Larchmont, NY, the town in which I had grown up, which is on
Long Island Sound and in those days was famous for sailing. Many successful
America Cup skippers hailed from there and although neither of us had been
sailors as children, we decided to buy a boat. Our rationale was that golf,
a favorite pastime heretofore, was too lengthy and selfish a game and we
should center on something we could participate in as a family.
So without giving it a great deal of thought or research, we wandered
over to a local boatyard, looked around and saw a Rhodes 19 which
seemed to be about the right size and price for what we had in mind.
It turned out to be a lucky decision as there was a very active fleet
sailing and racing locally and the boat itself was quite sound and able.
Naturally, we needed a name and when a friend suggested "Thou Swell"
we instantly adopted it. Got to know the tune well as we listened to
others sailing by whistling the melody as our paths converged.
At this time we looked upon Long Island Sound as sort of a big lake.
You could see the other side and when the weather was clear the towers
of Manhattan loomed up from the horizon. It was deceptively easy to
spot watertowers and smokestacks and the rocks and shoals were few and
far between once out of the harbor. I suppose we had a compass but we
didn't pay a lot of heed to it on our afternoon jaunts. We had a
little three horsepower outboard we could stick on the stern if we got
becalmed and with the hundreds of boats out milling around every
weekend someone was alway available to tow a disabled boat back home.
What did we know? Practically everyone there was a commuter.
Gradually we became aware of the racing scene. The Long Island Yacht
Racing Association was big stuff indeed. Saturday and Sunday afternoons
hundreds of boats from about twelve different classes jockeyed for
position and went across the starting line about five minutes apart with
appropriate cannon signals from the Committee Boat. The august crew of
the committee were properly attired in navy blazers, white trousers,
and yachting caps -- true men of distinction. We had to try this out!
Little did we realize how seriously these racing sailors regarded
their sport. It was a competitive, give no quarter, strictly by the
rulebook endeavor. The captain was supreme commander and his crew
generally expected to obey every order with alacrity and no dissenting
comments. Inasmuch as many of these boats were manned by husbands and
wives, I'm afraid it took a severe toll on many a marriage. After a
few hair raising experiences of being in the way, not understanding
the necessity of following the racing procedure and the finer points
of the rules, we went through a couple of seasons of "round the buoys"
racing.
Starting a race was always an intense experience as everyone jockeyed
for the starting line demanding room at the mark and shouting at the
neighboring boats. The races themselves could be anything from
scurrying around at top speed to sitting in a flat calm until the time
limit had expired, and after a while we began to look for additional
adventures.
We upgraded to a 27' Pearson Commander which had the minimum equipment
for cruising. That is, our new boat, "Sarasea" named for my wife, had
bunks, a head (marine toilet), a minimal water tank and portable
stove. This was enough to enable us to start to explore the entire Long
Island Sound area and we began to learn the mysteries of reading
charts, using the compass and depthfinder to plot our courses, and
identifying the various navigational marks which are fortunately
plentiful in US waters. We also towed a small dinghy astern which
enabled us to get ashore and the children to visit and make friends
with others of their age aboard the vast cruising fleet of our
area.
I must say that we had really found something of endless fascination
which even the children enjoyed most of the time. From the shore one
has rather limited access to the waterfront. In suburban areas private
homes occupy the best locations, and more rural sections generally have a
minimum of roads leading to the waterfront. But we could anchor right
in front of a magnificent home in a secluded harbor and be quite
certain that we were thought to add to the scenic interest. There was
fishing, swimming, exploring marine environment and rendezvous-ing with
friends at prearranged spots; it never seemed to be boring. Every trip
was an adventure.
It's a well known feature of sailing that one increases the boat size
through the years and then starts on the downward path. In our case,
the next boat was a Columbia 34 which could sleep seven. We felt,
however, the age and size of our two youngest would enable them to
squeeze in so we named this boat "Puffed Huit". In point of fact, it
was rare all _huit_ were aboard as by now the older girls were beginning
to doubt the comforts of the spartan cruising life and the children had
many other interests as they matured, so we frequently had friends for
shipmates.
By this time we were ranging as far as the coast of Maine. Since there
are some 3500 islands in Maine, plus many extensive navigable rivers,
one can spend a lifetime and not see the half of it. Of course the
weather is a large factor there as well, since dense fogs are quite
frequent throughout the summer season. At the present time, only 14
of those islands have year round inhabitants. There is, however, a large
population of "summer people" who scatter themselves among them. Many
families have been coming to the same place for generations even though
they are "from away." It's a long way by water to get to Maine and we
found it expedient to keep the boat on a mooring right in the cruising
grounds. One year it was Casco Bay and we could drive just north of
Portland to get to our boat. Another year we found room tied up to a
small raft in Camden Harbor and yet another time the boat spent most
of the season in Rockland Harbor.
Well, the larger boat is now a memory, and as indicated I now find
myself on a downward ladder boatwise. My late wife and I "swallowed the
anchor" for a few years, but my present wife, Lesley, who taught us to
sail originally, has purchased a 23' Quickstep which she is readying
for next season. This, too, has minimal cruising facilities but we'll
be outfitted with the latest navigational equipment, GPS which will
connect us to satellites, as well as a radio, compass, depthfinder
and, oh yes, mustn't forget the laptop computer so we can keep in
touch with our cyberfriends around the world!
During the many voyages we made up and down the coast through the years I
was always surprised at the minimal amount of sea life we observed while
sailing. Oh, it is there alright, but generally going about its business
under the surface. Sometimes the birds alert you when the terns or gulls
cluster excitedly over the waves, dipping down and scooping morsels in
their beaks which are the result of bluefish creating mayhem on a luckless
shoal of porgies or mackerel. Perhaps you might see a sudden skittering of
the surface as these same fish frantically try to avoid the sharp teeth of
the insatiable blues. Generally, however, all seems as placid as the
weather permits.
There are exceptions. Once, as we sailed all night across Boston Harbor
from Gloucester toward the opening of the Cape Cod Canal leading towards
Buzzards Bay, we neared the entrance and there was a definite commotion
observable on the surface and we soon sailed into what seemed to be
thousands of small sandsharks. These are bottom feeding fish, also known as
dogfish, normally about a foot and one half to two feet long but looking
like the deadliest of predators. Supposedly these are the fish used in
"fish and chips" in England but here they are still considered trash fish
and ignored. What they were doing on the surface in such quantity I have
never discovered!
Another vivid memory is that of heading for the Larchmont harbor as the sun
was setting on a glorious summer day. Gradually we were approached by
porpoises in groups of twos and threes beautifully arcing above the water
and reentering smoothly. Soon we were surrounded by the migrating animals
and as more came toward us we could see the ones behind us continuing
their journey. It seemed to last for at least fifteen minutes and they
passed as if in a dream in numbers I had never imagined.
I've read a lot of sailing books about old men and the sea, how Francis
Chichester, for example, sailed Gypsy Moth around the Horn when he was in
his seventies and battling terminal cancer. That's not something I identify
with. I'm not trying to prove myself against the elements or tempt my fate
at this stage of my life. The best part of the sail is coming into a quiet
harbor at the end of the day, finding a safe anchorage and relaxing with a
drink in the cockpit before going ashore.
As Water Rat says to Mole in Grahame's _The Wind in the Willows_, "There is
nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing
about in boats."
====================================================================
ISRAEL 1995
by Art Rifkin
We knew our grandson, Amos, would be thirteen in July of this year, and we
had heard from his parents that he was not interested in getting a formal
Bar Mitzvah, as his older brother Moses had three years ago. What he
proposed to his parents, which they later ratified, was a trip to Israel,
so that he could plant a tree. This, he felt, would discharge his
obligations as a secular Jewish man and also permit him to examine his
roots in this ancient and troubled land.
We, along with Diann's mother and father, were asked to participate, and
we all thought this a good solution to Amos' rite of passage. Diann and our
son Ned made the living and travelling arrangements in Israel, which denied
us the planning activity which I find such a fascinating part of our
travels.
We were soon headed from Denver to Atlanta to join up with my son and his
family on a flight to Paris, and then on to Tel Aviv. I don't remember the
number of time zones crossed, but it's about nine, and I figured out that
we would be in transit for close to 24 hours. It was not an easy trip. The
most exciting part for the two young men was when we flew over the Alps.
The next evening we arrived in Tel Aviv, in time to attend a wedding that
Diann's mother's family were having, and it just seemed the right thing to
do. So we did, as weary as we all were. But we were in bed early that
night, for we were due up early in the morning to meet with our guide, Uri.
Language was not a problem. There are many English-speaking Israelis,
especially in Tel Aviv, and Uri is a Sabra (native-born Israeli), who
speaks English, Hebrew, German, and rather good Arabic. The overall plan,
worked out between Uri and Diann via fax, was to head for Jerusalem,
spending the first day touring museums there in the new part of the
city, then spending the second day planting trees and observing the
ceremony for Amos, then reviewing other important spots outside of the Old
City, with a third day devoted only to the Old City. After that we were
going to head for the West bank city of Jericho and make our way North
along the Jordan River to spend the night in Tiberias, which would be our
jumping off place for exploration of the Golan Heights right up to the
Syrian border and the regions North of Lake Kinneret, or the Sea of
Galilee, if you prefer. This is not only the source of the Jordan River,
but is the source of all of the water used in the state of Israel.
We would then work our way West, go to the Lebanese border and back
to the Mediterranean, head South to visit the city of Akko, and its market
and port, finally ending up in Tel Aviv before we all planed back to the
States.
We had one free day, when Uri was off, and we used that to take a bus tour
to the Dead Sea area, and to the fortress of Masada. The destruction of
Masada and the heroism of the Jews besieged there by the Romans took place
in the same war that ended in the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.
So we all piled into Uri's van, and started to climb the mountainous
approach to Jerusalem while Uri expounded on the ancient and recent
history of the area. We stopped at a strategic fort, first built by the
British to command the approach, and were able to observe a Roman fort,
not far away, built for the same reason. For whatever advantage, the Roman
fort held higher ground, but did not have the strategic view of the
surrounding countryside.
This fort, used as a jail as well by the British during Mandate times, was
now a Museum to the Israeli Armored Forces, and as a matter of fact there
were bitter battles fought with tanks and infantry here in the War of
Liberation in 1948. At the end of that War, Jordan and Israel occupied
Jerusalem jointly, though all of the Jewish holy places in Jerusalem were
occupied by Jordan. Israel gained full control of Jerusalem as well as the
West Bank in the 1967 War. The Golan Heights were taken from Syria at that
same time. And the Jewish holy places, like the Western Wall of Herod's
Temple (destroyed by the Romans in 66AD) as well as the Jewish Quarter of
the Old City (occupied by Jews from Roman times until the joint
occupation in '48) were placed under Israeli administration. At that time
Israel inherited what was to become it's Palestinian Arab problem, which
is being addressed in the peace accords today.
Too much history, perhaps, but it's fascinating to me. Aside from the
reason that we were there, to discharge some obligations that this young
Jewish boy had assumed in order to enter manhood, I, like many Israelis,
find the history of the area, well, fascinating. Especially when we
toured the Old City and understood how the Temple that Herod built became
a holy place to Muslims after it was destroyed. There are at least three
mosques in that area, including the Dome of the Rock, supposedly the site
where Abraham was about to sacrifice his son. That Moslems and Jews have
some common roots is clearly seen in Hebron, where both religions share
the tombs of Abraham and Sarah, both considering it a sacred place. But
Hebron is a dangerous place for Israelis today, especially since the
terrors of the Intifada as well as the murder of worshipping Moslems at
that very tomb by an Israeli "fanatic" recently. The difficulties between
these two groups seem to get worse, even as their representatives
negotiate peaceful restoration of Arab lands to the Palestinians.
Nevertheless, the favorite subject of Israelis is Archaeology, and the
digs continue in many parts of the country. At Beit Shean we saw a recent
(within the past five years) excavation of a Roman city, that has been
remarkably preserved and even more remarkably reconstructed. And, waiting
in the wings, hovering over this Roman city, is a huge tell, the excavation
of which has just begun.
In Old Jerusalem, we saw the excavations that exposed the Southern wall of
the ancient second temple, with its subterranean entrances to the Temple.
Also in Old Jerusalem, we saw the Roman streets that have been exposed in
the Jewish quarter, and the even deeper digs which exposed construction
from Hasmonean times, six to seven hundred years before the Common Era.
Of course, as Jews, we have a special affinity for this place, perhaps odd
for secular people, but the tribal pulls and instincts are there. Thus it is
not enough simply to describe this place or that. More important are the
feeling and emotions generated by being in another culture.
Israel is an exciting place, filled with people from all over the world
who exhibit an amazing vitality and love for this homeland. Most of the
population are immigrants, and of course the country's origin in modern
times was a result of the European Holocaust. Though that event and the
times that led to it are still in the minds of living people, survivors of
the world that Hitler strove to dominate, that generation is dying off. In
the near future there will only be the descendants, not the survivors
themselves. The history of that peculiar aggression and prejudice is
enshrined in a monument to the Holocaust called Yad Vashem. It is an
overwhelming experience to go through that museum and relive my youth. It
is very different, I am told, from the American Museum of the Holocaust
in Washington, D.C. In the Washington museum, great efforts have been made
to help the observer feel and live the experiences of the damned. The
Israeli museum is more of a monument to the people who suffered. Both are
understandable ways of creating a way of experiencing man's inhumanity to
his fellow man. It's clear that Israelis, for the most part did not need
to be instructed. To a great extent, that can be said for many Jews who
lived through those times, but were lucky enough to have been spared
Hitler's tortures. On the other hand, the museum in Washington assumes that
the observer has not had such an experience and helps to recreate it.
For me, the experience of visiting a Kibbutz on the Golan Heights was most
moving. Israel is truly a land that was developed by farmers, and the
farms indicate a prosperity that is not seen evenly throughout the
country. They are wonderfully cared for and have the most modern
equipment. Conserving water through the use of Xeroscopy is evident
throughout, not only at the farms, but in the public places in the
villages where flowers are grown. It's exciting to see and to meet the
people who are responsible for all of this.
At the same time, we were in an area that is in dispute, one that the
present government seems willing to trade away to Syria for peace. For the
heights were captured from the Syrians in 1957. I'm not sure if the
territory was annexed from Syria or not, but it is in negotiations, and
the present occupiers of these farms are very unhappy about the
possibility of the loss of their homes. From the heights it was easy to
see how vulnerable the farms around Kinneret as well as the city of
Tiberias was to those who held the high ground.
It seems to me that the political situation in Israel is very dangerous.
Uri told us that he had voted for Rabin in the election that swept him in,
but that he was against him now, because he felt that the peace accords
with the PLO were very dangerous for Israel. But the problem, he says, is
even worse than that: the electorate of Israel is so split over the idea
of returning territory to both Syria and to the PLO for their
administration, it might result in an Israeli civil war! We saw evidence of
a territory where the PLO does have police jurisdiction, and that's in
the city of Jericho. Actually we did not feel threatened as tourists
there, but we had a very unpleasant experience with some young Arab
sheepherders outside of an old, but still used, monastery in Wadi Kelt, in
the hills west of Jericho. Jericho now flies the PLO flag, and that's had
its effect upon the young and impatient Arabs who are tired of Israeli
dominance. We had the experience of being threatened and spat upon because
we did not wish to give these young men some of the things we carried,
like field glasses.
But according to Uri, Israeli attitudes to Arabs, even Israeli Arabs, are
not good. He took us through an Arab town in Israel, and it is clear that
this is a ghetto. He told us that Arab citizens are not allowed to serve
in the Army, that generally they are not trusted. When I asked Uri about
the attempt, if any, to integrate them into the main stream of Israeli
life, he said that was not possible, nor did he have any sympathy for such
ideas. Now I consider Uri a fairly liberal person, but he was adamant
about Arabs. Strangely, the Druse and the Bedouins do serve in the Israeli
Army, simply because they are not Arabs. Of course it must be recognized
that this was one man's opinion, but at the same time the newspapers
reflect the events of the times, and while Israelis may differ about how
to deal with the problems of peace, there seems to be very little
difference in their regard for Arabs. At least that's how it seems to me.
This was our second trip to Israel -- the last took place about 20 years
ago. What we remember is still true: the wild beauty of the desertland
made fertile by Israeli pioneers; the amazing geography of desert,
mountains, wadis, lakes, and the Mediterranean; the ancient cities of
Jerusalem, Caesaria, Tiberias, Jericho and Haifa, where there are still
archaeological surprises to be found, new revelations of the biblical
periods. And we observed an involved, caring, and vital population striving
to live in a hostile environment and making it.
And, not incidentally, we had a wonderful time with our family, for we've
never made a trip like this before.
====================================================================
RETIREMENT: LIFE'S GREATEST CHALLENGE?
by Jim Hursey
As these words are written, in November of 1995, I am just a few weeks from
retiring after some 35 years working at the same job.
One wonders if such longevity on a job, while not uncommon now, will become
increasingly rare for future generations, as people change jobs as easily
as we used to change shirts, as companies downsize and merge jobs away, as
the economy and technology change so rapidly that very few jobs even exist
for 35 years.
Then, too, retirement itself, that is the end of a regular salary and the
beginning of a regular pension, may also become less important as personal
savings plans, rather than company pension plans, become the norm and
retirement becomes not so much a matter of reaching a certain age as one of
reaching a certain degree of solvency, or, the unhappy converse, reaching a
certain degree of joblessness.
For these reasons, our generation may be the last to view retirement as the
abrupt, frightening, final end to a long, uninterrupted lifetime of work on
the same job, the last to face the shock of suddenly having no real reason
to get up in the morning after doing so every day, without interruption
save only the occasional week's vacation, for an entire adult lifetime.
Certainly many of my generation approach retirement with fear and
trepidation, with apprehension and foreboding. And although I have been
thinking about aging and retirement and making my own plans for some time
and believe I probably have as firm a grasp on what it all means as anyone,
I must include myself among this number. To be bluntly honest, I'm scared.
What will happen? Is this the beginning of the end or the end of the
beginning?
It occurs to me that this coming retirement, this event that separates the
formal adult years, the parenting years, the working years, from the rest
of life, from the so-called declining years, from what has also been
variously called the other half of life, the third age, the golden years
and even, occasionally, less euphemistically, old age, this event may very
well be the single most pivotal event that we face in life.
At any rate it seems so to me after these sixty-five not uneventful years.
Compare retirement to other momentous events of life: graduations from high
school and college; induction into the military; first marriage, divorce,
second marriage; the birth of children; their own milestones of school,
college, marriage, children. Truly, to me, none of these seem as epochal as
what this now looming event is likely to be.
Let's look at some of these other important events. What about starting
first grade? No doubt a defining moment in any person's life, a time of
weaning, one's first halting steps into the world. An important time for
both parent and child. But, unfortunately, while no doubt an important
event, it was an awfully long time ago and, frankly, I don't remember a
thing about it. And few five-year-olds keep a journal of their kindergarten
year.
Graduation from college and change from student to worker? In my case,
after the first graduation, I continued in Graduate School not from
ambition but for lack of anything better to do, but eventually decided that
I just did not want to go to school anymore. As John Irving called it,
"Gradual School" is where you gradually get tired of going to school. Thus
even this was not such a drastic change. Working part-time during most of
my school years, the shift from student to worker was a painless transition
that, now, I hardly remember.
How about marriage, in my case two? Yes, certainly, as individual events
they were important, but I don't think they changed my life much either.
These days marriage seems little more than a civil event and an excuse for
a nice party, not a drastic change in lifestyle.
The birth of one's children, especially the first one, which in my case
were two, must certainly be ranked very high among those events after which
one can truly say that life is never again the same. But yet, as glorious
as this event is, as consequential as it is to our way of life, there is
something so inevitable about it, something so deeply ingrained in our
being as reproducing species, that the changes brought by the baby are not
changes at all, but simply a continuation.
There was another moment though, that may, in my case anyway, be the single
event that, up till now, defined my personality and my life. At the age of
nine my family broke up and I was sent to live in an orphanage. A terrible
and terrifying time for a nine-year old, the scars of which have no doubt
dogged me my entire life. It was one of those few events about which you
can undeniably say that life was never the same after. But still, that
frightened nine-year-old boy was hardly introspectively analyzing the
significance of what was happening, more likely he was trying to block it
out forever. Thus the event that looms just ahead may seem more epochal in
my own conscious.
If entering the orphanage was a primal demarcation then what of leaving it?
Upon graduation from high school, still only seventeen, I was, you might
say, kicked out into the world. Again certainly a big change, but not as
bad as it sounds. The Home did, after all, teach me a valuable trade, and,
as a ward of the state, I was entitled to have all tuition fees waived at
the state university. Not so bad. I slid into college life, then in and out
of the miltary and back into college and, as noted, into the workforce, in
perfectly natural and painless progression.
And so, indeed, it seems that the event now looming, retirement from a
lifetime of work, may very well be THE pivotal demarcation of a person's
life. Work is what defines us. Our work is our identity as adult human
beings. Without it, who are we?
While I approach the event with some trepidation, I know that I am not
without resources and can, in another sense, look forward to being, for the
first time in my life, free to pursue all of those things that, at one time
or another during my working years, my parenting years, I often yearned
for, but, with a family to feed and clothe, or, truth to tell, just lacking
the nerve or ambition to abandon a comfortable and secure job for pursuits
of dubious return, never attempted.
Such things as, of course, writing. Get out the two unpublished novels I
wrote long ago and see if they can be re-written into something readable,
or, better yet, start a new one. Return to writing poetry, which effort has
been spotty during my working years. Or take up a musical instrument once
again, which I have not seriously played since high school. Return to the
Russian or French languages I studied in college, or start a new language.
Travel. Get out into the deep woods and re-discover nature, or go with
Elderhostel to the corners of the world and discover disparate cultures.
Volunteer. Run for the school board. The possibilities seem endless.
Retirement will give me the freedom for these other pursuits. And good
health, good doctors, and a certain amount of luck allows one the
expectation that there will be many more years during which to pursue them.
"_Retirement_," Ernest Hemingway said, "is the ugliest word in the
language," a sentiment echoed by bandleader Count Basie, who, when asked
about retirement, said, "Retire? Why? So I can sit in my living room and
die?" These artists had their art. Indeed, when he felt that he could no
longer write, Hemingway took his own life rather than simply retire to a
life of not writing.
And yet those of us who are not so fortunate to be artists working at our
art, who must labor at a regular salaried job for our entire lives,
retirement is mostly not a choice. The time comes, the age comes, and even
though there may not be compulsory retirement, even though we can still do
the job, it is still more-or-less expected when you reach the magic age of
65.
So out I go, out into the world, much as I did at age six, or, leaving the
Home at age seventeen, or, after college, at age twenty-something. All were
steps out into a whole new and unknown world. But this one is the most
different of all: A world without work where ambition means nothing, where
there are no bosses, no daily commutes, no fear for one's daily bread; a
world without structure where the only requirements are those one makes for
oneself.
Yes, I admit to being scared. But, as with those other of life's
challenges, it is the very unknown, that little touch of fear that makes
it exciting, that makes it perhaps the greatest challenge of all.
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end cybersenior.3.1
