North of Sixty

North of Sixty Blog

23
Aug
2021

Later That Same Lifetime

Dunkirk NY – We are well into yellow summer. While light still remains past 8PM, I can see and feel the diminishing days shorten. In a few weeks we will be 18 months into the pandemic. The Delta variant has created another wave of infections and hospitalizations, and what just a few months ago felt like a glimmer of hope has relapsed into a renewed sense of dread and just plain weariness.

On the one hand, I remain far removed from the pandemic. I have no job to go to or any other pressing activities that would put me in contact with others. I’ve solved the shopping dilemma by doing 95% of my grocery shopping online and driving to the store to have someone place it in my car. My greatest regret is not being able to travel. It’s not that we couldn’t travel; it’s that we choose not to. I don’t see the purpose of spending the money to roll the RV down the road just to camp in some different place. My home is comfortable, and there’s plenty of opportunity to recreate right here should I so choose.

What is lacking, however, is joy. If the pandemic has robbed me of anything, it is joy. It’s really no longer possible to see the world as a place where people quietly get along despite their differences. The pandemic has been very successful at not only infecting millions and killing over 650,000 US residents, but also at tearing apart the thin veneer of any concept of civility. We are now a torn nation, with no god, quite divisible, with liberty and justice for the 1%.

It is difficult to think about nurturing a sense of joy when you witness the manifest stupidity taking place in this country every day. Political divisions, race divisions, ethnic divisions, and class divisions of all makes, models, and types abound. I’ve no interest in traveling to places where people are so stupid that they are willing to let others – and often themselves – die over mask requirements and vaccines. I don’t want to talk or interact with people who have misappropriated the word “freedom” to mean “privilege.” I don’t want to interact with selfish people in national parks and forests who trash the places they visit.

The joy of any possible new experience is poisoned by these realities. The simple act of entering a store is fraught with concern and caution each time I put my mask on. A potluck I am scheduled to attend this coming Saturday has now become one where masks will be worn outside and social distancing is in effect. Children are starting school and becoming sick, bringing the virus home to family. It’s not fun out there, not joyful.

To this point, retirement has not been anything I had imagined. I went into it with not much planning and forethought, feeling that within the first three years, some direction would naturally make itself known. So far it has – being there for others. The pandemic has had its own complications in terms of society shutting down. I’ve not really done much of what I wanted to do; I’ve just been reacting to situations that come up. I feel fortunate to be free to handle them without issue, but they do not inspire joy. The coming winter seems to be trending more into the direction of another season of hibernation. I hope in the next few months I can pack in a few joyful activities to last through the coming darkness.  -twl

 

Posted by poorplayer in Essays, North of Sixty
04
Mar
2021

Pathways

Chicago, IL – During yesterday’s walk, I thought a lot about paths. I found I had a few choices as I walked along the lakeshore. There was a path close to the seawall. There were the rocks that make up the seawall. There was a wide strip of grass along the gravel pathway. There was the gravel pathway. There was the Lakeshore Trail. Which one to take?

I like the feeling of being near a lakeshore; that is something I can also do at home. So I started off on that path. Along the way, I came across a man who had a portable speaker playing his music. It wasn’t loud, but I veered off the path and began to travel on the wider strip of grass (not quite grass yet this time of year). The path led me under trees and such, and felt soft under my feet. It wasn’t perfectly level, but that was OK.

I found myself walking parallel with a young girl who appeared to be of high school age. She had a backpack on, and she was walking closer to the shoreline. Some other people were coming up the opposite direction, so I had to make a choice: get closer to the shoreline, or move to the gravel path. I chose the latter. The gravel path was wide and even, and a little harder underfoot. I moved to the right side of this path, farther from the lake.

There was a path I wanted to take that led up a small incline, but the high schooler had already claimed this route, so I stayed on the gravel. The gravel led to a sidewalk, the smoothest but hardest surface I had walked on. It was on this path that I reached the halfway point of my walk, so I made a wide turn across a small field, and found myself on beach sand.

The sand proved to be the toughest surface on which to walk. Your feet sink in, and it’s an effort to push off. Fortunately, the sand did not last too long, and I walked on a sidewalk around a small parking lot.

From there, I was able to get on that high ridge path that the high schooler had been on. There was a wide walking path as well as a rutted bike path up here. The little bit of height felt nice. The water was clear blue, with most of the ice melted away. Only some very large ice mounds remained right on the shoreline; large, mud-covered blocks of frozen water hanging, waiting to fall. There was a small flock of geese seemingly practicing their take-offs and landings into the lake.

The mound trail ended, and I descended onto the grassy strip once again. I began to notice the unevenness a bit more under my feet, making me pay some attention to where I was placing my feet as I trudged along. Roots, small holes, little depressions, stones and twigs, all played a part in how I placed one foot in front of the other. The man with the music was still there as I walked by, this time indulging in a little pungent weed. I felt the urge to ask for a toke.

I arrived back at the car after this 30-minute sojourn, a bit winded, but feeling pretty good. All I had really done was travel in a fairly straight line, first south, then north, taking whatever path I found most reasonable and would keep me socially distanced from people. But by the end, I felt like I had traveled a lifetime.

Life is a straight line, from one year to the next, with no deviation. It’s only a matter of which paths you choose to take that offers variety. Some paths are even, some not. Some are hard, some soft and muddy. Some paths offer better views than others. Some paths offer more solitude, some less. One moves south in the early years, but eventually you take a big turn and begin moving north. You end up where you began: helpless, feeble, in need of others to supply your needs and wants. You wonder about all the paths you didn’t take, couldn’t take. You think you’ll get on those paths tomorrow, until you run out of tomorrows.

That was my walk yesterday – 30 minutes of choosing paths. Whatever your path is these days, tread it lightly, and tread it safely. -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, Essays, North of Sixty
10
Jan
2021

Museings

Chicago, IL – I’ve been writing for a while in different locations. Lately I’ve taken experimental stabs at Substack, Tiny Letter, and a not-online journal. Each one is a piece of something, but the parts do not yet seem to make a whole. In this pandemic time, I seem to lack a muse.

Rosehill Cemetery

There are other names for this sensation, but I think it stems from one thing – isolation, especially from nature. Being in Chicago for the past two months has led me to understand that I need that connection to nature perhaps more than I realize. The best I can do here is walk in the nearby cemetery – Rosehill Cemetery – which has a fantastic natural feel to it. Yet it’s not quite enough. Perhaps the lack of a natural setting combined with not being in my own space is sort of a one-two punch when it comes to this lack of inspiration.

I’ve always been someone who generally tends to improvise, so to speak. It’s probably why I like short-form writing more so than anything that takes time. I can be inspired to write an essay, or a journal entry, or a haiku, and when I get that inspiration, it does not take long to write the piece. Even this essay has been essentially inspired by recent thoughts, particularly about the fact that haikus have not been coming to me in the way they were even a year ago. I think that lack of inspiration is the most telling – the inability to feel haikus. When my view is an alley, and my daily walks are surrounded by headstones and grave markers, perhaps my sense of inspiration has gone dry. Spontaneity requires stimulation, and at least for the two months I have been in Chicago, stimulation has been lacking.

And truthfully, so has motivation. The ongoing pandemic and “shelter in place” routine has begun to sap me of motivation. Winter does that as well. So has living in a small apartment space (which is not truly small, but not as spacious-feeling as a house). All these things have combined to snuff out inspiration and motivation. Without these two elements, how does one write anything worthwhile?

There is one victory – I write every day now. Somewhere. It is now a habit of mine to sit down with my morning coffee and write. Something. Somewhere. I was even going to take this morning off, but I found I could not. I made my coffee, grabbed a muffin, and here I am banging away at the computer keyboard, writing this essay about how writing has become difficult. Perhaps it’s just the haikus I miss the most (I do miss those. It’s not for lack of trying.).  Perhaps it’s because the ultimate goals of writing are not clear yet for me. What are my strengths as a writer? What’s my best form? What would be my best subject? All of these questions linger there, waiting for answers. I also wonder if, at my age, it’s already too late. Would I have been a better writer 15 years ago, when I was more sure of myself and my viewpoints?

If a muse serves any purpose, it’s to provide motivation during dry times. I had come to think that nature was serving as my muse, and perhaps I’ve been right about that. But the last half of 2020 was tough to get through; my mind was unsettled, and to some degree still remains so. I always get this sense that I have to wait until a certain period of time passes, such as when I finally get back home. Then I can be more creative. But deep down I really don’t think that’s true. I suspect writers have their own tricks to get through dry times, but of course one of them is to keep writing – something, anything. So far I’ve been successful at that, and perhaps while drifting down this particular river I’ll arrive somewhere where inspiration is a little more abundant. I’d like to feel again what it’s like to write a few good haikus.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, Essays, North of Sixty
24
Nov
2020

RIP Eddie Schneller

Chicago, IL – When I think of my former students from time to time, I always see them in my mind as 22-year-olds. Even if I have actually seen them recently, they still remain, in my memory, frozen at 22 years old. Whenever I hear of one passing away, their 22-year-old image is what I first see and remember. When I received the news that Ed Schneller, of the class of 1990, passed away yesterday, that’s who I remembered – the 22-year-old Eddie. It’s hard because the 52-year-old Eddie had fallen on difficult times in the past few years. I choose today to remember the 22-year-old Eddie.

Eddie was a sweetheart; that’s the best word I can use to describe him. He was a lovable kid with irrepressible energy. Whenever you met him, he was unfailingly positive and upbeat. He had a joy about him that expressed itself in how he joked, teased, and kidded his friends and colleagues alike. Whenever he called me on the phone, the first thing he would ask me is if I was wearing any clothes, and if so, to describe my outfit. He had a quick wit, and was a very good conversationalist. He could talk to you for hours if you let him.

Eddie was a member of one of the most talented collection of students I had the honor to teach. In many ways, Eddie was the student who helped me gain the initial trust of that class. They were already juniors when I was hired. I was their third acting teacher in as many years, and they had little reason to believe I was going to be any better than the two who had come before me. Eddie helped smooth the path in front of me. He was willing to take me at face value, as someone who was there to help them become better actors. I was young and inexperienced, but I knew enough at that point to know I had to do as little damage as possible and respect what they were experiencing and had already gone through. I needed to gain their trust more than really teach them anything. Eddie was someone who helped me gain that trust by first trusting me himself. He became someone I could turn to for advice and background information on how best to approach this collection of fierce talent. I’m pretty sure I would have screwed things up a lot more had Eddie not been there. His sweetheart nature was invaluable.

Eddie started out as an actor, but I feel what he always wanted to be was a director. I think he discovered that when he directed a production of Agnes of God, for which he chose me as his faculty advisor. Creating and managing all facets of the theatrical experience appealed to him, and he enjoyed delving into how best to stage a play. Upon graduation, however, he went into the business end of theatre as a theatrical agent and behind-the-scenes manager. He served for a time as the company manager for Merce Cunningham’s dance company, getting to travel around the globe. He was a natural at this as well, because his sweetheart personality excelled at talking to people, making them feel good about themselves, and managing details. He loved telling stories about all the show business personalities he ran into and worked with. He kept in touch from time to time over the years, and throughout his career he always exhibited that 22-year-old sweetheart persona.

A short while after I retired, Eddie called me and asked me if I was wearing any clothes. After a brief discussion of my state of (un)dress, he pitched a proposition to me – to enter a joint venture with him developing a NYC tour company. Eddie had become a professional tour guide, and he thought I would make a good partner because of my experience, my past teaching history, and my personal connection to NYC (where I was born and raised). The idea had some appeal to me as something I could do in retirement on my own time and schedule, and getting the chance to visit New York every once in a while. Naturally, his sweetheart personality and persuasive tone prevailed, and I actually took the test for a NYC tour guide license and passed it with one of the highest scores my examiner had ever seen. He was quite proud of me. Many intervening circumstances on both our parts prevented me from actually ever using the license (which I still keep current), but we had talked about more plans as late as this past June.

A few years ago, Eddie suffered a stroke, and from that point on, he aged fast. Despite his failing health and deteriorating living circumstances, he could still muster up that positive sweetheart energy when he needed to. His passing is a heavy sorrow, made heavier because of all the struggles he endured and shared with me in his last years. I am left with my memories of a 22-year-old sweetheart of a student who became a friend, some unfulfilled plans we had together, and an ID badge that has my picture on it that says “Licensed NYC Tour Guide.”

RIP, Eddie. And thanks. You were a sweetheart.   -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
17
May
2020
The Shakespeare Glut

The Shakespeare Glut

The lack of live theatre has opened the floodgates for world-class Shakespeare companies to stream recorded versions of their recent productions. I’ve watched many of them, glad to have a chance to see productions I would have otherwise never been able to enjoy. I thought I’d take the time to put down a few thoughts on each of the productions I have seen in the last three weeks. So here’s a passel of mini-reviews of the various shows. Continue reading →

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty, Theatre
15
May
2020

Non-Participant

Today marks the beginning of trying to open up NY State. My region of the state, however, does not meet the necessary requirement to “re-open,” so we continue on “pause” until we do. At the practical level, it means the city of Buffalo has to have less COVID-19 cases to meet the standard. As of today, their hospitalization rate still is trending up. So we wait a little longer.

Personally I am somewhat torn about this situation. I understand and sympathize with both sides. My greatest fear is that the people too eager for re-opening will endanger everyone else. When I read the stories about people crowding bars and beaches and other recreational spaces like lemmings, I fear what will happen next in those areas. Because the virus is random, it’s not going to be just the people who put themselves at risk. It’s going to be the innocent who will pay for this stupidity. This is what I have a hard time grasping – why other people cannot see that their behavior endangers not just themselves, but other people whom they do not know. Continue reading →

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
02
May
2020
The Musty Month of May

The Musty Month of May

May has arrived, and it marks the beginning of the third month of sheltering in place. My wife and I have been OK through it all thus far. We’ve been able to secure what we need, and without knowing it we had stocked up on essentials before the shelter in place orders had begun. We intend to continue sheltering in place for some time to come, because in a lot of ways, “sheltering in place” is really our day-to-day lifestyle.

Continue reading →

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
26
Apr
2020
Wanderlusty

Wanderlusty

If traveling is currently restricted, then the next best thing is to read some travel literature. I am currently reading the least-known (at least to me) of the Trinity of American Road Literature, Blue Highways, written by William Least Heat-Moon. Published in 1982, the book is an account of his travels across the United States in the late 1970s after losing a teaching job and becoming divorced from his wife. It ranks with the other two famous “road” books: Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, and John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. I had heard of the other two, but never Blue Highways. My loss.

The book is part journal, part journalism. Heat-Moon basically does a circumnavigation of the outer edges of the US, starting in Columbia MO, heading to the southeast coast, across the south, up the desert southwest to the Pacific Northwest, across the high plains, through New England, and down back the east coast and across again to Columbia. Right now I am in North Dakota with him, about 2/3 of the way through the book.

It’s a great read. I do feel a certain connection to the man and the travels. He has done something that I’ve always wanted to do, and may yet do someday. Wanderlust is a powerful emotion, and while I have done my fair share of travels in my life, I’ve never quite gone on an extended road trip like this, especially one that follows the back roads of the US. It’s an alluring dream, but the circumstances of my life so far have not offered to me (or I have not chosen to take) the time, freedom, or the solitude to attempt such a journey.

What makes the book so interesting is the writing style. Heat-Moon has the ability to be poetic while simultaneously being narrative. He is very good at engaging with the people he meets, and he is meticulous in reporting the encounters. His descriptions of people are unique in that he seems to capture, not just a description of what they look like, but what their external appearance seems to say about their inner life and their personal conditions in life. Not unsurprisingly, he likes bars and cafes, and he finds most of the people he describes in one or the other. An occasional hitchhiker joins him for a spell. He lives in a Ford Econoline van, long before #vanlife was ever a thing.

Ghost Dancing, Heat-Moon's van

Ghost Dancing, Heat-Moon’s van.

His van, actually, was quite similar to one I owned at that same moment in time, a Ford Econoline E-150 with shaggy carpet interior and no seats. I bought that van in the hope of taking more road journeys after the cross-country trip my wife and I made back in 1976 in a VW Squareback. Heat-Moon eschews the tourist traps, parks, and legitimate campgrounds for simply pulling over on a sidestreet in a small town and sleeping in the van. His lack of gear is astounding when compared to #vanlife today.

In fact, I think I feel pulled to the book largely because of the immense difference I feel between people who are on the road today as opposed to 30 years ago. Today, it’s all about “experiences.” People get on the road to work part-time via the internet and to have “experiences” such as surfing or rock-climbing or a myriad of other experiences one can enjoy. The vans themselves are custom-made, have many of the modern conveniences of today’s technology (Heat-Moon didn’t even have a cell phone), and can cost up to $10-50K. That’s not to mention many of the people who are full-time RVers, with their $50-100K rigs and trucks and assorted toys. It always troubles me somewhat that, in wanting to travel, I come to the realization that the roads today are crowded with these kinds of experience-seekers. I often wonder if it’s even possible anymore to make a journey similar to Heat-Moon’s. Can one really truly get lost in America’s backroads today?

Heat-Moon’s journey was not about seeking “experiences.” It was a journey of self-discovery, of finding one’s self through others one met along the way. It was a journey into the interior of his existence through the external factors of the environment and the people he met. As such, it is a wonderfully satisfying journey to share. There are few pictures in the book, and the ones that are there are mostly quick portraits of the people he met. No landscapes, no scenery, no snaps of building he describes. You are left to feel the land and the people through his descriptions, nothing more. The journey, at all levels, is sparse, intimate, and personal.

I was never taken with On The Road. I tried to read it a number of years ago but found it too chaotic and perhaps a bit self-indulgent. I may have to try again. I’ve never read Travels with Charley and perhaps now is the perfect time to pick up that book and give it a read. Blue Highways is exactly the kind if book I need right now, as I sit sheltered at home, limited in my freedom to travel. -twl

 

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
20
Apr
2020
Lost – or Misplaced?

Lost – or Misplaced?

When my mother passed away two months ago, I thought that my time for unrestricted travel had finally come. Three weeks after her passing, shelter-in-place orders had been put in place, so I became stuck at home. I am not complaining about that, because I believe it is necessary, but all the same, it has resulted in my dreams of travel being lost. Perhaps it’s better to think of them as being misplaced so as not to lose too much hope.

I am sure that travel will be much different if and when the “lockdown” period begins to end. I am mostly interested in travelling in my RV, but overseas travel was also on the agenda. I have no illusions that travel will become far more complex. On top of the already onerous process of getting through airport security will be added some sort of checking for signs of virus. You’ll have to provide some sort of evidence that you are healthy and virus-free. I suspect free and unrestricted travel will become a thing of the past. I also suspect that the processes by which safe travel will be reasonably guaranteed will take upwards of three years to put in place.

And once you travel, where will you go? How will tourist sites deal with continued physical distancing requirements? How will national parks and forests manage how many people can be let in? How will art museums and other tourist attractions handle their crowds? How will hotels deal with things like free breakfasts? What sanitation regulations will be implemented to insure your room is safe? So many questions.

Here is the list of trips I’ve had to put off since retirement for one reason or another. Some of them I’ve been able to do in smaller ways, but the larger trips have yet to happen.

  • A major fall trip. Starting in Labrador and following the changing of the leaves throughout the eastern portion of the US. This trip probably goes from mid-September through the end of November, from Newfoundland/Labradour to maybe just south of the Smoky Mountains. 3 months.
  • Winter snow bird trip. Ideally we come home for the holidays after the fall trip and then set out for the desert southwest. My brother has a vacation house in Ft. Mohave AZ, and it’s a great spot for escaping the winter. Sometime in the future I’d either like to have a very inexpensive house out there, or find an RV resort we can return to every year. I’m rather done with winter.
  • Ireland. I would love to take a walking tour of Ireland. Maybe two or three.
  • I’ve been to London twice, but I’d like to see more of the UK countryside. I would like to get up to Glasgow as an ultimate destination. I’ve also been to Paris, but only for seven hours, so I’d like to combine the London/Paris trip as one.
  • A European river cruise. Doesn’t really matter which one, but the Danube would be preferred.
  • Japan. Three months if possible.

Those are the major travel dreams. I’d also like to hike the Appalachian Trail, but trying to get all this in may be asking too much. The enemy is time, and with the pandemic stealing anywhere from 2-3 years, it may be tough to get this all in. I hope I don’t lose these dreams to the virus. I think I fear that more than anything else.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
16
Apr
2020

Weather or Not

It’s cold.

The current temperature is 32° with a wind chill of 25°. There is snow on the ground from yesterday evening’s snowfall. It looked for all the world like a mid-February snowstorm for about 30 minutes. The snow is not much – maybe half an inch or so – but enough to cover the grass. More snow is forecast for Friday afternoon, maybe 1-2″. Average temperatures for the remainder of this week and into next week are 15° below normal. The average high in April is 55°. That’s not going to happen for at least the next seven days.

The weather is just another factor in making the stay-in-place guidance just that much harder to bear. The T.S. Eliot phrase “April is the cruelest month” from The Wasteland never had more resonance than now. Spring always arrives in the Northeast last, and even the first 10 days of May can feel much like winter. It would be more tolerable if the weather were just a touch warmer, so one could sit outside in the sun and escape the dry air of a heated house. Being safe and warm in a cozy heated house is a great feeling in late January; not so much in mid-April.

There was one day this month where I was able to take a chair and my book outside and sit directly in the sun for a few hours. It was warm enough that I got the sensation of being sunburned. On my walk yesterday, however, the feeling was different. No one was on my usual loop. It was cold, cloudy, and the wind off the lake was noticeable. Two hours later it was snowing.

The world now seems to be Eliot’s wasteland. One can’t really take in the full enjoyment of the coming spring. I fear that the coming warm weather will be too much for people to resist, and they will want to get out to the beaches and parks and other summertime recreational areas. I am looking forward to being able to sit in the fresh air in my screened-in porch or my backyard. That will be enough for me. I am not sure it will be enough for a lot of other people. The coming spring and summer has much potential for much more wasting of lives.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty