Saying goodbye to Gunvor

My husband's aunt Gunvor died recently at the age of ninety-six. A long life, mostly a good one except for the past five years or so where she struggled with health problems--not being able to really walk and toward the end, poor blood circulation that led to the loss of toes. Through it all, she rarely complained, which I found admirable, because I doubt that would be me. I often said to her that she was a role model for how to age gracefully. She lived in a nursing home for the past seven years, and that by itself would test anyone's patience, even though they took good care of her. The family visited her often, so she was not left alone. And a family friend, Odd, who had lived next door to her when she still had her apartment on the river, was often there as well. 

I met her and her husband Åke in the early 1990s when I first moved to Norway. Both of them welcomed me into the family with open arms. We had many pleasant and memorable Christmas celebrations at their house in Fredrikstad until Åke's death in 1998, and then at our place in Oslo from then on. Odd often drove Gunvor to Oslo the day before Christmas Eve, we all had lunch together, and then Gunvor stayed with us until the day after Christmas. It was always nice to sit in the kitchen and talk about everything while we cooked on Christmas Eve. Gunvor helped with food preparation where she could. 

I also remember when my husband and I moved to San Francisco in 1993 in connection with his postdoc at the University of San Francisco. Gunvor and Åke visited us in October 1993 for three weeks, and together we explored San Francisco and the surrounding area. There was a particularly memorable trip to Napa Valley where we visited several wineries and tasted different wines. A wonderful trip. And then we visited Muir Woods with the gigantic old redwood trees, and also Alcatraz prison. And when Halloween came around, I remember that Gunvor was completely captivated by all the pumpkins in connection with Halloween festivities.

In 1999, I defended my doctoral thesis, and after the defense there was a dinner for almost forty people in one of the dining rooms at the local hospital. I was so stressed because we had to set the tables and set everything up ourselves. Gunvor and Åke helped set the tables and place flowers on the tables. They just saw that I needed help and they helped me without asking, and voila, everything was arranged.

I will always remember how hospitable and kind both of them were to me when I first came to Norway. They are forever in my heart. And I will always remember the good conversations I had with Gunvor about life and family and children (they never had any). I will miss her.

Glimpses into eternity

Sometimes when I'm looking out of my kitchen window on a particularly nice sunny day (like today), I get the feeling that I'm on the verge of understanding what life is all about. The meaning of life. I've been reflecting on that lately. It's hard to understand what the meaning of life is, really. And yet, sometimes I get 'glimpses' into another way of looking at life that disappear almost as quickly as they appear. What I do know is that there is an incredible peace associated with those 'glimpses'. Perhaps they are glimpses into eternity. All I know is that in those moments, it all makes sense to me, there is incredible peace, and what is clear is that the meaning of life has little or nothing to do with the nonsense that goes on in the world. It has mostly to do with nature that exists in parallel to the world we know and inhabit. It's hard to imagine that this planet we live on is the only one in the universe that supports life (as we know it). And yet, it seems that way. Many cosmologists think this is the case; who am I to argue with them? If that is the case, we humans are unique in the universe. We are special. But that does not mean that we can live with impunity as we proceed with our lives on this planet. The animals, birds and fish and all other life are also special. We know from the Old Testament that we were charged with taking care of the animals, birds and fish, that we have dominion over them. Dominion implies that we rule over them, however, I choose to interpret dominion as akin to the role of a shepherd. Our role is to guide and protect those over which we have dominion.  

Whenever I feel that I'm losing my bearings or my way, a brief time spent outdoors in the peace of a garden, park or forest sets me back on the right path. The right path may be different for each person. For me, it's about having a kind, orderly view of life, living life in concert with the natural world. A simple view, really, where each creature has its part to play, where each life matters. Where one does not go out of one's way to hurt or injure others. A view of life where the path is not jarred by the world's human nonsense and misery-- violence, aggression, entropy, disorder, inhumanity, cruelty. Of course I know that the world of nature can be brutal; the larger animals, birds, and fish prey on the smaller. There is cruelty in the natural world too. But because these creatures lack a conscience, they are simply living out their lives as they were created to do. They cannot feel guilt because their goal is survival. They do not kill for the sake of killing. They need to eat to survive, and as long as no one is providing food for them, they must obtain food on their own. With some few exceptions, they kill to eat. Brutal yes, but necessary. That is not the case for us. We kill with impunity in many cases--violent conflicts and wars come to mind. We lie, steal, argue and attack others and the natural world deliberately and with impunity. It's sad. It makes me wonder if any of these people have ever really reflected on the meaning of life in the context of the natural world. Do they reflect on the meaning of life, their own lives, at all? Do the politicians whose unkind, aggressive, and nasty policies and behavior ever think about the meaning of life? I wonder. I know that some do. However, in the current political climate, I'm not so sure. 

I wonder what would happen if we trusted more in God's ability to provide for us. I don't think we do that very often. It's often said that God helps those who help themselves, and while that's true, I think letting go and letting God is also a good way to live. It gives us a peace that we otherwise seem to have lost. What if we trusted God's plan more? Perhaps if we did, we'd get more glimpses into eternity, into another way of life that provides a peace unlike any other. Perhaps that would give us the strength to live correctly in the world. And perhaps there would be an end to the utter greed that is destroying us. 

Decluttering at the start of the new year

I've been doing a fair amount of sorting and decluttering since the new year started. Honestly, when you're dealing with a severe head cold and can't really spend time outdoors, there's plenty to do indoors in that respect. As in, cleaning up and getting rid of things that are no longer needed or simply taking up space. I call what I do paring down. Other people call it downsizing. Whatever you call it, it's a good thing. We all have more than we need, we all have too much. The tyranny of things. And really, what is the point of having things that sit unused in closets and hutches, gathering dust? There are plenty of people who don't have what we have, and if they can use what we give away, perfect. I usually donate most items to the local school flea markets that find place twice a year. Last year I donated at least eight bags of kitchen and house items. When you count the numbers of wine and water carafes that I've accumulated through the years, you'll understand that there's no way on God's green earth that I can use them all. So I've decided that I'm going to save those few items that I received as gifts many years ago, and give away the things to which I have no sentimental attachment. Things I may have bought on impulse that I used a few times and then put into a closet. I don't like to think of myself as an impulse shopper, but I guess I went through a period when I was. In any case, I no longer buy on impulse. And it has nothing to do with the cost of things, because at this point in my life, I can afford to buy what I want. But I want less now. Ah, the irony. 

I saw this online the other day, and read quickly through it. It may help those of you who are looking for ways to declutter. I already do many of them. 

We all know people like this 😊

Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis

Avery Corman's The Old Neighborhood

I can unequivocally recommend The Old Neighborhood by Avery Corman, published in 1980. It's one of those books that comes as close to perfect as an author can get. I imagine that when Corman wrote it, he finished it and understood that he had written a little masterpiece. Because it really is a little gem, for reasons that are almost too complex to put into words. The feelings the book engenders are those feelings that make one desperate to hang onto those aspects of life that one doesn't understand are truly important in the making of ourselves until we are much older. When we are young we are often so desperate to get away from the town and/or home where we grew up, for reasons that make sense--we need to let go of our childhood in order to become functioning adults--but at the same time we don't understand until much later how much those times formed us and even how much we miss them. 

I lived in the Bronx from 1980 until 1985, in and around the area where Corman's protagonist, Steven Robbins, grew up and eventually left. So I understand why many people did not want to stay there, even though the neighborhoods north of 200th street and the Grand Concourse were safe for the most part. I enjoyed my time there, but I would never have wanted to settle there permanently. By the time I lived there, much of the lower Bronx looked like a war zone, with decrepit and destroyed buildings and debris everywhere. It was not like that in the 1940s. But still, most young people growing up there in the 1940s and 50s wanted to leave the old neighborhood in their quest to become successful. That meant moving to Manhattan. Steven Robbins leaves his humble beginnings behind after being offered an ad-job in California. He becomes a successful advertising man, marrying a beautiful woman--Beverly--along the way, and raising two daughters with her. They live first in California, where she grew up, and then move to New York when he is offered an ad-job he can't refuse. Beverly is no slouch, and she eventually finds her niche in terms of using her art education. They both become successful after a time, but they end up growing apart as a result. It is Beverly who wants out of the marriage; Steven is perfectly willing to put the effort in to save it. But they're at different places in their lives when they divorce; after a summer apart at Beverly's request, she tells Steven that she wants only more success, whereas Steven, who has not been happy with his success in quite a long time, doesn't really know what he wants to do with his life. He just knows two things--that he doesn't want to work in advertising anymore, and that he doesn't want to lose Beverly, but he does.  

Corman writes matter-of-factly and succinctly for the most part, but there are parts that tug at your heartstrings, especially when he describes Steven's relationship with Sam the Bookie and his experiences playing basketball with the locals. Steven finds the happiness he's looking for when he returns to live in the Bronx area where he grew up after he and Beverly divorce. It draws him out of his lethargy and depression. He rediscovers himself and what matters to him. But eventually the people around him there change, die, or move on, and he faces another emotional life upheaval. He ends up moving to Manhattan and opening a collectibles/antiques store called The Old Neighborhood, where one can find items from a distant past. You can go home again or you can carry home within you, Corman says, and you can be happy. But you cannot hang onto the past anymore than you can hang onto a dead relationship or outmoded ideas. Life has a way of changing you, pushing you onward, and that is where the melancholy seeps in. Because we do change and move on, even if we sometimes think we have remained the same person no matter what. We haven't. Perhaps our values remain the same, because they were formed by the upbringing we had. But we are not the same. Even if we return to where we grew up, we cannot recapture what was. That would be the wrong reason for returning. But we can appreciate it for what it meant and means to us, for what it tells us about ourselves and why it makes us happy, we can savor the memories and relationships, and then let it go like we must let go of all things eventually. Life is about stepping out into the unknown, about taking risks, about trying and failing and trying again. Sometimes we get it right, and sometimes we don't. Corman understands that, and he has written a lovely story about a man who found himself and what mattered to him at mid-life.  Well-worth reading. 

Missing linear TV

It's strange, I never thought I'd say it, but I miss linear TV--good old regular TV--where the programs shown follow a predetermined program schedule like in the old days. For example, The X-Files was shown on Fridays of each week during the 1990s on the Fox channel if I remember correctly, so you definitely had something to look forward to each week. We own a smart TV and have subscriptions to several streaming channels, among them Netflix and MAX. But lately, I'm just plain tired of being able to watch television movies or series whenever I'd like, in whatever order I'd like. It's not so much the streaming aspect that bothers me as the overwhelming content and mediocre quality of most of it. Trying to find something to watch has become a chore. Satiation--there's too much of everything leading to that overfilled feeling--too many crime series, all with the same motifs and modus operandi. Rogue policeman or -woman stumbles onto a bizarre case, usually involving a serial killer who ends up targeting said policeman. Or there are kidnapped and missing children, pedophile rings, slave rings involving the capture and abuse of women, etc. All presented in a commonplace way, as though this kind of criminal activity goes on all the time. It doesn't. I've had enough of it. I don't want to watch this as entertainment, because it's simply not entertaining. As I said, there's too much of it. Satiation. Too much of a good thing, although I'm not sure I'd define much of the programming as 'good'. Most of it borders on junk. 

With some few exceptions, the episodes of streaming series are usually available all at one time, to be binged if one would like to. I don't like to, nor do I want to. The exceptions are to be found on MAX--My Brilliant Friend and The Gilded Age are two examples that come to mind. Upon their release, each episode is shown one at a time, one per week, and that's fine because it gives us something to look forward to. I suppose the appeal of Netflix is that you can watch as many episodes as you like all at one time; apparently younger people like to binge-watch shows. I don't want to. I'll watch an hour or so of television, and then I get restless and want to do something else. Read for example. There are so many classic books just waiting to be read, and I want to read them. 

Linear television created natural boundaries so that we didn't overdo television watching. Whether you liked it or not, you had to wait to see the next episode the following week. That's how we grew up, and I miss that. It prevented us from sitting in front of the television for hours at a time, mindlessly flipping through hundreds of channels, desperate to find something to watch. I remember my parents when we were teenagers; we maybe watched a show or movie together, and then the television was turned off and we read in the evenings. Or found something else to do. We had homework to do, so the television was never turned on before we had finished it. And we knew that, so we did our work and were rewarded. My parents understood that their time was limited, and they didn't fill their limited free time with useless television programs. Having said that, we did manage to watch a lot of the popular series of the day. So it's not that we didn't watch television, it's rather that television had its place in our lives. The television wasn't on 24/7 the way it is now in many people's lives. And that was a good thing. I miss those days. 

Rage in society

I've been thinking about rage for some time. The world is teeming with rage-filled people. Every day, there is another news story about a terrorist attack, someone being stabbed, shot, pushed in front of a subway train, terrorized by an ex-husband, murdered by an ex-husband, not to mention road rage and the inability to make a mistake in traffic without possibly losing your life over it. The list of rage-induced behaviors is long and everyone has an unfortunate story to tell. When you've been the recipient of another's rage, it's not likely that you'll forget it any time soon, if you live to tell the tale. 

What is rage? It is defined as violent uncontrollable anger. You certainly understand viscerally what rage is when you are unfortunate enough to experience it via another human being. Both men and women feel rage, but men are more likely to express their rage outwardly (acts of aggression) whereas women are less impulsive. Perhaps women weigh the consequences more, for various reasons. For women, not acting on their rage is often smarter, especially if the other person (usually a man) is likely to use violence against them in his rage outburst. It makes more sense to try to be a peacemaker in the interest of self-preservation; I would guess that is true for many women who would rather not end up bloodied and bruised at the hands of an angry man. The children of abusive parents learn that lesson very young; they learn to deflect, distract, and to dilute others' anger (and sometimes their own) in order to avoid potential abuse. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Women can say the same when dealing with violent men. 

There is such a thing as righteous anger. Righteous anger stems from a perception of injustice, that an injustice has been done to oneself, another person, another group of people. Righteous anger is not frowned upon as long as it does not lead to wanton violence and killing of those perpetrating the injustices. In our civilized societies, there are laws and courts to deal with the perpetrators of injustice. Those who hurt others out of their uncontrollable rage should pay the price--jail. We may rejoice when a perpetrator experiences karma--gets paid back for his or her transgression--but it still is best that they are dealt with under the law. We don't want vigilante justice to take hold in society. We had that once in the early days of our nation, and it was a brutal daily life for many people, especially when the vigilantes were the self-appointed 'sheriffs'. That didn't work out well. 

The anger in society is out of control. One need only witness the wars, conflicts, outward threats, veiled threats, and otherwise hostile interactions between nations, religions, leaders, etc. Aggressive rhetoric promotes aggression. Why do we elect politicians who foment hostility and aggression, even violence? Why is the world filled with angry old male politicians? Why do we want to be led by them? I'm not saying that women are necessarily better leaders, they're not. But in our civilized nations, more women should have the chance to lead countries. Nor am I saying that anger has no purpose, but continual anger lived out on a daily basis means that random acts of violent aggression, often with fatal incomes, will only increase. Is that what we want? Is that the world we want for our children and grandchildren? It is possible to identify societal problems, enforce laws, and promote peace without resorting to violence and vigilante thinking. It is possible to use anger constructively. More people should invest in anger management courses; I think they'd benefit from them. And perhaps it's time to kick the habit of watching too many violent tv series that depict murder and violence of all kinds graphically. I for one am mighty tired of all these kinds of shows and the behaviors they depict--indiscriminate use of guns and knives, stalking, murder, torture, serial killing, rape, kidnapping, home invasions, abuse of women, spousal abuse, and rage of all kinds. Why is this entertainment, day in and day out? What does it do to the minds of those who watch this as entertainment? It certainly is not entertainment. 

 

A view of January that I can agree with

Those of us who enjoy December and the Christmas season do not look forward to the month of January (this describes me, in any case). This was posted on the Happy Gardens Facebook site; I don't know who the creator is. 

Plants make it all alright

This describes me perfectly!