Ralph Latham
A Personal Journal Reflecting On Aging
June 17 | June 18

	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 17: "Ambivalence" Is a Good Word
WOW! I didn't realize just how big a deal this journal entry stuff was a part of—until I checked incoming email just now. Just the Web site address alone is really impressive to a novice like me. (I know I should say "such as I" but the formality of that seems too stiff & stodgy).

I notice that "Aging Gracefully" is a major part of it, and right now I am definitely aging, but not at all gracefully. This afternoon I took the lawnmower by the handle and spent a couple of strenuous hours in a task I call "Taming the Jungle." It's not a proper lawn, and I don't want to make it that. But I do enjoy having the property look sort of kept and tended close around the house.

Considering my mixed feelings about doing that nasty chore, I recall the word "ambivalent" as it was used years ago by a long-lost friend of ours at a conference on personal growth or some such topic. The conference leader asked in a pointedly emphatic tone, "How are you?" and our friend Rich said, "Ambivalent." That's how I feel about lawn mowing, wood splitting, snow shoveling, driving long distances in the car, and a good many other onerous but somehow fulfilling tasks. On the one hand there's the grunt work and fatigue of it; on the other hand there's the satisfaction of seeing immediate results of your own efforts. Good word, ambivalent.

Actually, writing is another excellent example. I'll bet that all writers know exactly and vividly all the reluctance about getting started, and all the ecstasy of something finished and satisfying.

So, though this evening I'm hobbling about on tired legs, and groaning over sore arm and shoulder muscles, I am also feeling a glow of pleasure when I glance out the window and see neatly trimmed (if you don't look too closely) yard where this morning there was a ragged mess of dead and dying dandelions. I know they'll be back blooming again before I can revel long, but yellow's a pretty color.

Gotta go now. It's time to take up another of those items I feel ambivalent abou—practicing my saxophone. The community band has a gig (concert) scheduled for July 17, and only four more regular rehearsals before then. Community band started just last year, so we're a fledgling outfit. But we're hanging in, thanks to three or four key people who keep the rest of us from falling by the wayside. It's a good mix of ages we have in the group, from 14 to 73. I'm not the most musical of the bunch, but I'm the oldest. Gee, I sure hope they don't start calling me "Pops" or "Gramps."

June 18: Eye Appointment in Duluth
A chilly and rainy one today, which brought forth all of the annual laments and jokes and comments about the brevity of summer on the North Shore. Living on the North Shore and loving it as we all do, local residents feel free to make light of its quirky weather and other small squalls and irritants.

Except the weather, I am approaching the late evening of this day with some satisfaction. We began in something of a flurry because Geri needed to see our ophthalmologist in Duluth, having suffered through the weekend with some alarming visual aberrations—flashes, spots, and floaters persisting in her left eye.

So it was a quick call to the eye dept. at the Duluth Clinic, quick preparations, and hit the road. I don't deal well with sudden changes in my anticipated daily schedule, so I was a little unnerved. Also, it meant missing a meeting I had planned (and really wanted) to attend. But first things come first, so off we went. I was certainly not about to expect her to drive herself the 110 miles, have her eyes examined, dilated, picked at, etc. then drive back with blurred vision.

And it turned out that she's not in any serious trouble at all—not eye disease, damage, detached retina or anything scary. And the waiting time at the eye department was shorter than anticipated when we first arrived. So we came home feeling less hurried and harried, reached Grand Marais in time to do bank, post office, pharmacy, and Whole Foods co-op shopping, and even refill the car's nearly empty gas tank. If tomorrow should bring another lurch in our scheduled activities (not much on the calendar until community band rehearsal in the evening) we are ready to go charging off again. But we fervently hope no sudden duty or errand calls.

I really do tend to overreact to sudden changes of plan or schedule—it takes me a while to reprogram myself to accept the change. Once I've settled down, I'm okay with changes, but I have to make a conscious effort to let go of the initial intent—whatever it was—that I had in mind.

I hope there are many other people like me in this respect—for that would lead to the conclusion, however tentative, that I'm probably quite normal.

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