It is no secret to those who know me; I am a big Foo Fighters fan. The other day I was listening to one of their song entitled These Days. http://youtu.be/zPHzknP7jNQ . I found the lyrics to be quite poignant and it made me take pause and really thing about whether I am living my life to its absolutely fullest.
One of these days the ground will drop out from beneath your feet One of these days your heart will stop and play its final beat One of these days the clocks will stop and time won't mean a thing
There are two unique schools on thought on living life to its fullest. These create a dichotomy. The Buddhist philosophy would have us believe that we should not be in such a rush and take time to smell the roses and be in the moment. I get this. I am suggesting that we live every moment as though it were our last and while doing so stay completely in the moment of the experience.
Long before streaming media, texting, the internet and even the printed word, history was passed forward using the spoken word. Communities of indigenous peoples would gather in a broad circle around a warm inviting fire while the tribal elders shared stories of conquest and heroism. This was how history was depicted, sometimes created but, always passed to the younger generations for them to future share with future generations.In Native American culture a sacred talking stick was held by the story teller and that passed to the next elder when he was through. During the time of storytelling only one person talked.
My great aunt passed away a few years ago leaving boxes of miscellaneous papers and documents going back to the turn of the 20th century. It was an amazing treasure trove of history. There was memorabilia from two world wars and several passing of relatives I didn’t even know existed. I was going through this portal into the past at my grandparents’ house in northern Wisconsin. My grandmother peered over my shoulder and commented “oh, I remember those”. It was a booklet of unused gas stamps. My grandmother went on to explain to me that during World War II the entire society participated. Gas, food and other necessities were rationed. You had a book of ration stamps and once those were gone that was it for the month. The entire nation took a deep breath sucked in their belly and toughed it out without complaining. They felt like it was their duties as Americans a far cry from how society functions today. This generation was the original conservationist. Under Roosevelt national parks were created, public lands were protected and the American infrastructure was greatly improved. They are referred to them as the greatest generation ever to live.
I would have never known the depth struggle and glory of triumph my grandparent’s generation lived through if it weren’t for the box of papers my great aunt left behind. It was my grandmothers talking stick and I listened intently to every word and felt the pain, hope and splendor of their generation.
I have always treasured my relationship with my grandparents and older generations. Their stories are amazing, enriching and inspiring. I hope this story inspires you to open a story telling dialog with older generations and if you are part of an older generation pass along your story to me.
My little sister and her husband gave birth to their second child Lauryn yesterday afternoon. Mother and daughter are doing well and thriving.
Last weekend I took my canine companion Dignan camping, something he used to love. I think he has become more of a bed and breakfast kind of dog instead of a camper. There was one particular stretch of the river I was keen to access. It required about a six mile trek through some high desert. About five miles in Dignan decided he was done and he laid down in the shade of a cedar. He has been a very good companion to me and it struck me that he is aging. In fact seven times faster than me. While I look into the mirror and see a new wrinkle every few months and have aches and pains in the morning, I recognize that he is just not as spry as he once was. I picked him up and wrapped him in my shirt to keep the sun off of him and started our journey back to the truck. It was like carrying a twenty-five pound water balloon for five miles. About a mile into the walk back he fell asleep and his legs were bouncing in tune with my steps, priceless.
The take home on all of this is while Lauryn is just beginning her journey some of us are in the middle or making our way to the end. Dread, denial or cosmetic surgeries do not affect the cycle of life from taking its course. Embracing the cycle of life and honoring all living things that pass through it brings us a sense of connectedness since this is something we all share and have in common.
As far as Dignan and I go, well, I will cut my hikes with him a bit shorter and be prepared to carry him when I have to. I will also do this for all who are in my life and graciously accept their help when I start falling behind.We are all in this together and the glue that binds us is the cycle of life itself, the beginning, the middle and eventually the end.
