Hand-me-downs? At my age? Yes, they are hand-me-downs.

Yesterday the maple syrup crew, Rick, Bill and I, got together for the final clean-up of the 2013 season and to move firewood for the 2014 season to the sugarhouse. The latter task was delayed by the wet spring and early summer rains which kept the trail through the woods somewhat impassable. The rains have continued as late as yesterday morning; the low spot in the trail was wet enough to coat the truck and tractor tires as an unsightly and unserviceable recapping effort. (I am sure not all of my readers are aware that at one time worn tires were “recapped” and resold.) At the end of a seven hour day with coffee and lunch breaks—one of each—the firewood relocation effort is not yet completed. We plan to go back at it this morning.

During one of the breaks, Bill noted that I was wearing a t-shirt touting the advantages of ice cream and including the Dairy Farmers of Wisconsin logo. Bill then posed the question: “Where did you get that shirt?” I explained that it was a hand-me-down that Mom had given me after Dad passed away. Bill then pointed out that the belt he was wearing was his Dad’s, given to him by his mother after his father’s death. It was his Dad’s dress uniform Sam Browne belt from World War II with the shoulder piece removed. There we were a couple of guys in our late 60’s wearing hand-me-downs with an altogether different emotional content than we would have experienced at age ten when wearing hand-me-downs from an older brother, cousin, or neighbor.

I choose this particular t-shirt for purely utilitarian purposes. The forecast called for temperatures approaching 90 degrees, so I chose from the pile of work t-shirts—as opposed to the pile of dress t-shirts—the one lightest in color and weight. Despite that being my motivation, the history of that shirt is never forgotten whenever I put it on. It was duly worn, before it was hand down to me, so I wear it like I own it. By the end of the day it was filthy, but I didn’t rip it. It has survived a passage into and through the Valley of Filth before and came through the follow-up laundry experience unstained. I am certain that this particular t-shirt will not survive a passage into a following generation unless it simply becomes a member of someone’s ragbag. I plan to wear it and work it hard; it came to me with evidence of hard work, so it ain’t like it has never been there before. And I plan to be able to wear it and work it hard for some time..

Wearing hand-me-downs sourced by the previous wearer outgrowing them is very different than wearing hand-me-downs sourced by the previous wearer’s death. Connections with the previous wearer are also an important element in this exchange. There is a denim jacket in the downstairs closet that was given to my Dad by a neighbor after her husband passed away. This is a neighbor whom I never met. When Mom passed the jacket onto me, she commented that she didn’t think that Dad ever wore it, even after she had shortened the sleeves to fit Dad’s wingspan. The modification also fits my wingspan. What is the difference here? I think I can best sum it up with the following direct and heartfelt statement: If you are going to wear a dead man’s clothes, it is best to have known that man and to have an ongoing attachment to that man’s memory.

 

I suspect that a lot of folks are like me. When purchasing a book from Amazon.com, we will add that additional item to the shopping cart so that the purchase exceeds $25.00 and qualifies for free shipping. I know that my daughter fell to this ploy when she purchased a book for me for my birthday. Since she is family, I can't extrapolate that to "a lot of folks" and maintain the validity of my statistical analysis. One needs to be cautious when one's study population consists of two closely biologically related subjects. The resulting research findings may not reflect the general human condition, but simply be indicative of isolated genetic aberration or even a cultural trait masquerading as a genetic expression.

Despite the machinations of its purchase, the "filler" for a recent purchase of mine has been a good read. The filler is The Instinct to Heal by David Servan-Schrieber. The author is a psychiatrist and a member of the group that I like to call Inter-Planetary Association of Post-Psycho-Pharmacological Dudes and Dudettes. (In catchy short-hand, that will be IPAPPPDD or the IPA Triple P Double D.) The group membership is open to dudettes, even though I have yet to find a dudette to offer a lifetime membership in the group and the honorific, yet enviable, status of Career Diplomat in Post-Psycho-Pharmacological Mechanics. Honorary degrees in Humane Letters with a variety of subspecialties are also available. Dues and fees are based on an individual "ability to pay" and determined by a group of one's peers motivated by unknown and unseen forces and with total disregards for the future, let alone the good name, of the organization.

Despite my feeble attempt to make light of the perspective of this author, this is serious business and a point of view with which I am comfortable supported by my own professional experience. Folks with this orientation move beyond the mind-body distinction so characteristic of the physical health/mental health divide. They simply reject it as a legitimate parsing of the human condition; this rejection is supported by the observation of practitioners and by formal studies. The methods employed to restore and promote health and well-being also reflect this integrated approach.

So Pope Francis drives a Ford Focus. And here's the proof: http://adage.com/article/news/ford-focus-brand-vehicle-pope-s-humble-car-message/243011/

Last week I succumbed to my wife's urgings and agreed to replace our 2002 Focus allegedly because of the increasing frequency of repair bills. Following some on-line and on-the-ground research, we decided to upgrade to a 2013 Focus. (My wife and the car are out of town for a few days so I can't include a picture--of the car, that is, with this post.)

Now I read that Pope Francis also drives a Focus. I don't know the vintage of this alternative pope-mobile. I wonder who decides for the Pope when it is time to replace his vehicle. Celibacy means having to make so many more decisions on one's own.

What is the impact of any number of recent comments made and examples shown by Pope Francis? Will the local bishop be trading in his Jeep Grand Cherokee?

In any case, I feel a little smug about driving a new Ford Focus--maybe even a little self-righteous--possibly even a little too self-righteous.

Sometimes, one just needs a layover day. Canoe campers will be familiar with the layover day. It is a non-travel day in the trip plan. It is a day that serves any number of purposes--a rest and relaxation day to recover from the rigors the preceding days of paddle and portage--a chance to string a line and dry out sleeping bags and tents packed either in the rain or simply endowed with several nights' heavy dew--fishing, swimming, or both--a more leisurely pace in making supper and performing other camp chores--repairing a piece of equipment--an afternoon nap--reading--catching up on one's trip log-- and yes, enjoying more than one day's allotment of trail mix. It may even become a travel day, if the crew is behind schedule and needs to make up time and distance. The layover day may be determined by the weather and taken when high winds prevent venturing forth. The crew may decide to travel in light rain on a scheduled layover day, thereby saving the layover day for when there is a break in the weather.

Today is my layover day. I spent the past two days making firewood for the 2014 maple syrup season. They were two long days. Monday I quit at 6:00PM; yesterday I quit at 5:00PM. Rather than push on, I decided that a layover day was called for. This morning I got the oil changed in the pick-up and made a periodically compulsory trip to Walmart for somethings which I simply can't live without. Since then the lawn has been mowed and the chainsaw sharpened. It is too bad there is not a Brewers' game this afternoon. I could have caught the end of it while napping in the recliner.

I have a daylong commitment tomorrow. I will be back making firewood on Friday and Saturday, weather permitting. The weather may have me considering another layover day this trip.

I have taken a few minutes to review my 2013 postings. It is accurate to say that I was preoccupied with the maple syrup season during March, April, and early May. It is not that I haven't been thinking about anything since the close of the syrup season; it is just that I haven't been successful in putting together a blog entry. Syrup making is really a year-a-round activity. This time of the year I am thinking of the need to replenish the woodpile. Rick and I walked the farm yesterday and discussed some ways to tackle this task. It is very wet in the woods, so vehicle access in most areas will be off limits for now. We leave enough marks on the natural environment; deep ruts don't have to be one of them at least with respect to our syrup making venture. The chain saw hasn't been sitting idle. I bucked up a couple of understoried balsams in the yard that had succumbed to the lack of sunlight and had given up their ghosts in tree terms. They are now stacked next to a friend's firepit where they will create ambiance for guests.

In January I enrolled in an e-course with UW-Superior titled "Healthcare in the Second Half of Life." The course addressed a number of topics applicable to the age 60 and older crowd and in many ways, applicable to anyone, who has anything to do with these same folks. My motivations for the course were self-interest and a continuing education requirement. The course was scheduled to end May 31st, but a few things have lingered on. It involved a lot more time than expected. A few of the topics were much more engaging than expected, in particular, the issue of healthcare planning within the context of chronic illness and life-threatening conditions. I learned how conflicted we are as a society on this issue and how the individual healthcare consumer is clearly outmatched by healthcare professionals and healthcare institutions as one attempts to exercise a degree of autonomy in the selection of treatment options when the best possible outcome is so limited and the risk of serious and detrimental consequences is so high. It appears that having one's documents in order, including powers of attorney of medical care, advance directives, living wills, or physician orders for life sustaining treatment (POLST), is not sufficient. One can expect that it will take considerable assertiveness on the part of the consumer patient with the added support of a strong willed advocate to insure that the desires laid out in such documents are followed.

The Medical Society of Wisconsin is piloting a program entitled Honoring Choices-Wisconsin, which encourages physicians and patients to have a discussion about the patient's individual preferences for end of life care and to make appropriate plans and arrangements. As this program is implemented, I am fully expecting a bit of an uproar. My hope is that all parties concerned can participate in a reasonable conversation and set aside hyperbole and volatile vocabulary. We need to find common ground rather than highlight and concretize differences.

For my part, I am also conflicted on where to make my own stand.  I know that I am not comfortable with a dictatorial overriding moral principle of survival at all costs--however one may compute those costs--personal, emotional, the capacity for independent and autonomous function, financial, and social. The past three years have also shown me that this issue needs to be resolved before implementation is imminent. It is not a task to be attempted coincidentally within the highly charged atmosphere of emergency medicine. I also know from experience that the longer a crisis or chronic condition lingers on, both patient and family simply want it to be over--one way or another. This too may not be the best rationale--in whole or in part--in support of a decision.

 

This is the last vestige of winter remaining in the yard. For the past two weeks, I have been raking around what originally was a large snowbank as it released its grip on the yard. The rain in this evening's forecast should hasten its final demise. There was an advantage to its lingering presence; I had an excuse for not completing the raking task in one go.

This past week, I marked another milestone in the changing of the seasons; the snowblower was put into its summer location following an oil change and the lawnmower was taken out of its winter location. The oil had been changed in the lawnmower before it was put away last fall. I am trusting that the precipitation  in the forecast will not come as snow and that the next piece of power yard equipment needed will be the lawnmower.

We shall see if the calender and the forecast are in sync. If not, it won't be the first time that I fell victim to unrealistic expectations based on faulty data.

The weather has taken a wintry turn since Tuesday. That afternoon with temperatures near 70 degrees, thoughts of washing the car and truck came to mind--washing the old fashioned way, that is, parked in the driveway with the hose on the outside faucet, cold water and only cold water all the way. It must be a rite of spring in car culture to perform this initial bath of the automobile in a highly stylized manner. I wonder if there is an approved clothing list and an equally approved selection of beverages and finger foods that must accompany this ritual activity in order to insure freedom from accidents and mechanical breakdowns during the following six months.

Having spent Tuesday morning performing clean up chores in the sugarhouse, I decided to postpone this rite of spring. It just seemed like too much work. I picked up the yard instead--another rite of spring--and only that part that was free of snow. Winter returned or, at least, turned around and came back in, as it appeared to be slipping out the door. With a total of 18 inches of snow and 30 degree temperatures, it is looking a lot like Christmas. Forget about spring rites and rituals, the winter chore of clearing the deck and driveway continues.

The task of pulling taps or spiles along with gathering up and washing bag holders, which will formally mark the end of the syrup season, has been postponed until next week. We are expecting more seasonal weather that can accompany these tasks. An outside activity like washing bagholders--not unlike car washing--is not something to be undertaken in freezing temperatures.

Addendum: Spell checking is an interesting exercise. The correct spelling is wintry and not wintery. Spile is correct, even though it is not in the database, so I reverted to Webster's New World Dictionary and then learned that spiling is synonymous with piling.