Ralph Latham
A Personal Journal Reflecting On Aging
June 15 | June 16

	Reflections of Ralph Latham June 9: How's Retirement? Great! June 10: Thinking About Health June 11: I Miss My Wife June 12: Donating Blood June 13: Comparing Notes June 14: This Process Called Aging June 15: A Down Friday June 16: Indoors, but Productive June 17: Ambivalence Is a Good Word June 18: Eye Appointment in Duluth June 19: Bike Ride June 21: Happiness from Within

June 15: A Down Friday
I meandered through what I call a down day yesterday. Maybe it's the aftermath of the ancient Friday syndrome—that cliche about never buying a car that was built on Friday. Actually, I don't think that was it at all. More likely I was just tired from the combinations of activities over the past several days.

I tend, periodically, to pile tasks, obligations, or stresses into bigger heaps than I'm entirely comfortable about. Then I have to just shut down for a day and mostly sleep or wander about the house and yard doing a whole lot of nothing.

That's what yesterday was until late in the evening, when I began to perk up some. I walked around in a zombie trance, felt vague aches and pains and itches, didn't bother to brush my teeth, put on shoes to go out and check the mail—but didn't tie the laces.

This morning, Saturday, the sun is shining brightly and the lake is glittering, and I woke up at six feeling rested and ready to face the tea and crumpets of life. I think I'll practice the saxophone today, and write some letters, and I'm overdue for baking a batch of whole-wheat bread, so that's on the agenda, too.

But I'm not going to fire up the old noisy smelly lawn mower and chug around the grubby yard decapitating dandelions. Not today. That onerous chore will have to wait until this old guy is feeling exceptionally strong. Maybe next Tuesday, unless I can think up a pretty good excuse.

June 16: Indoors, but Productive
I've spent most of this day of glorious weather sitting indoors, which seems less than the best way to make use of a sunny, warm day. But I've had some quite absorbing things on my mind to accomplish today, and have managed to get some high-priority ones done. Wrote a fairly long letter to our son, read through a batch of notes for Monday's meeting of the Higher Education Project board meeting, worked on selecting some items to read next Thursday at the North Shore Care Center (which many people here call "The Nursing Home"), actually practiced the community band music on my saxophone for nearly an hour, vacuumed the floors, went for a two-mile walk with Geri late this afternoon, baked a small batch of baking-powder biscuits, and cleaned up my own mess in the kitchen.

About the reading I've agreed to do at the care center: I think it's going to be fun, but I haven't done it before. A small group (usually about six or eight) of the residents ges together on alternating Thursdays to hear and discuss some prose or poetry chosen and read aloud by one of several volunteer readers. Sharron McCann is the volunteer coordinator on this deal, and she says the folks like to be asked a few questions to get a discussion started. I have a narrative poem of Stephen Vincent Benet's in mind—"The Mountain Whippoorwill"—and I think I'll read a couple of Robert Frost's narrative poems, probably "A Drumlin Woodchuck" and "Two Tramps in Mud-time" Maybe I'll choose something else between now and Thursday, but those are the things I'm in the mood for now, and I expect the group will be very receptive to them.

I guess I feel a wee bit nervous about doing this. I want it to be both entertaining for them, and an engaging stimulus to their minds and emotions as well. Why am I nervous? With those two authors, how can it go wrong?

I keep telling myself that I should write more letters, especially to friends I haven't seen for a long time. We both do quite well at keeping in touch with immediate family, except that my correspondence with my sister and brother-in-law suffers from long silent intervals. They are as cavalier about writing letters as I am—#possibly even more so.

Today's walk was later in the day than we usually go out—my whim, and not a particularly good choice as we were facing the low afternoon sun the first mile, squinting all the way. It's possibly less risky at late morning or midday, as we walk on the wide paved shoulder of the highway along the lakeshore, and drivers likely find us more easily visible when they aren't squinting because the low sun is hitting them right in the eyeballs.

We noticed small wooden stakes that have been set along the highway right-of-way. They seem to be placed at regularly measured intervals, and each lath-like stake bears a hand-lettered number. It can't be Grandma's Marathon. We're way too far from Duluth for that. We've heard some talk about an overlay resurfacing of the highway in this area. Maybe that's what the stakes are about. I expect we'll learn all about it in due time.

My kitchen clean-up after baking biscuits is nothing to be very proud of. It didn't require much, since I prefer to cook and bake simple one-bowl recipes—"minimize the mess" is my motto. So clean-up was just rinse the bowl and the measuring cups and spoon (that's right, just one spoon) and tuck 'em into the dishwasher, then wash, rinse and dry the three-tined utensil fork with the good wooden handle and the biscuit cutter and the baking sheet. Put those away, wipe the countertops, and sit down with a cup of tea and a nice warm biscuit with butter and Bayfield Apple Jam.

Yep, it has been a fine day, or as Norwegians are reputed to express satisfaction, "Not too bad."

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