Month: July 2023

Angst:  feelings of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity about the future. Teens and angst fit together. Teenage angst, it’s real and we all felt it even if we didn’t name it.  Still I might tell my teenage self that it’s a bit of drama and over indulgence when you’ve likely got  50 years of  future to figure it out!  I think my angst is multiplied by the limited number of years I have left to begin to make sense of this thing called life and my humanity. Urgency and angst are not good for each other. Each magnifies the other.. 

I don’t court angst, but sometimes it does sneak up on me. How much time do I have left? What do I want? What if I can’t accomplish my dreams. So there it is—urgency and angst. How do I cool this anxiety and fear? There really is  some positive awareness or even wisdom that often comes with age.  I think I have some glimmers of this wisdom.  I believe life is meant to be lived joyfully. Are we having fun yet? If at 70, my answer is “ No” then I’m not doing it right. Curiosity is a virtue and a blessing to me. “I wonder if I would like that. Let’s check that out”  I might like it or hate it, or be not interested. Sure I’ll go to the Dog Hawaii print shirt contest,  with or without my dogs, who probably would think getting dressed up was  animal abuse. I’ll checkout that poetry workshop and open mic poetry reading and get inspired. Time to restart my guitar lessons. It’s a challenge and I know it will bring me joy to be able to play some of my favorite songs. I don’t want to die “with the music in me!”. Who would have thought storytelling would bring me such joy?  My writing, storytelling and poetry might bring enjoyment to others besides me, and that’s an “angst buster” for sure .

I’ve learned that I can be self-aware, but not self-absorbed. The more I think about what I want to create and share, the less time I have to obsess about my mortality. When I have an idea I imagine what the end result might be and how I would do it. At that moment I’m not ruminating on the “meaning” of life.  I’m curious and my imagination is in overdrive which is  another “angst buster”!  Enthusiasm that comes from genuine interest and commitment is energizing. It turns out that some of the things I thought I would like, I don’t, and I may even suck at some things, even those things I like. Skill is not always a requirement for fun, sometimes the fun is in my total ineptitude. Doing something badly can be so liberating. 

Where is my focus? I’m not cross-eyed anymore. What about my neighbor—next door and the other side of the world. I’ve lived long enough to truly comprehend what the poet John Dunne wrote, “Never ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”  I am “of” this world, not apart from it. I’m not a missionary in a foreign country, but I can choose to act for the greater good.  I try not to pollute the world with my own onerous and angry verbal emissions.  I can recycle, buy used, and contribute to causes I believe in. I can stand and hold a sign in protest of lies and cruelty. It matters. I matter. Knowing I matter is another “angst buster.”

I think I am much better equipped to deal with angst than a teenager. Maybe urgency and angst together is exactly the catalyst that I need. Meanwhile I’m having fun. Are you?

I have learned that writing  a poem is a whole different game than writing essays or stories. Each word in a poem has a lot of responsibility, it  needs to be just the right word to convey a feeling or paint a picture. I did a poetry reading this week and  I struggled to convey my feelings with a few powerful words. The other poets demonstrated their superior abilities and I was just a small fish in a big sea. Weak words don’t cut it, for example, in a poem you almost never see the word “nice”: It was a “nice” sunset, the morning was “nice”. Why?  Because there is not one ounce of feeling or imagination in “nice”. Poetry tells me to get to the point. Find the just right word that says it best.

As I have gotten older, I am more motivated and determined  to do the things I want to do and cut the onerous bonds of doing the things I think I should do. I want to get to the point of curious contentment.  A whole lot of “almost”, “not quite” and “kinda” miss the point for me. I can eat a whole lot of salad, but it may not be as satisfying as one small piece of good dark chocolate. There’s that “It’s quality, not quantity.” truism.  I don’t always buy the lowest price item, now I’m willing to spend more if another item is what I really want.  Living is simpler the more I am learning to listen to myself.  “Good enough  is a great concept, but I want at least some of my days to be more than good enough, I want some excellent days. After all Goldilocks  didn’t  settle until she found the bed that was “just right”.

When I say stop the “bullshit” I mean stop piling on words to make something that is nonsensical make sense. I love words and the verb obfuscate” says it well: to confuse, bewilder, or stupefy. To make obscure or unclear, offering extraneous information. We think we are evolving, but maybe we are just getting better at obfuscating! I’m worried that the end result of all the social media we live with is to “confuse, bewilder, or stupefy.” Artificial intelligence increases this risk exponentially. AI is consistent and not subject to distraction, moods and other human maladies. We could be in big trouble with all the extraneous information we are subjected to. We even have an expression for this “I fell into the rabbit hole.”  Imagine if Bugs Bunny asked ,“What’s up doc?”, and got some malignant Trump word salad in response. His rabbit hole would not save him.

I don’t have much clarity, and I doubt I can wrap this post up in a way that satisfies me and my readers. Here again a poem could be a good vehicle if I could find the perfect, powerful words to express myself. My internal thesaurus is a little rusty and I am confused, bewildered and stupefied.  That’s perfect!

When I was a child, at every family holiday celebration there was a grown-up table and a kid’s table. It was a big deal when I graduated to the grown-up’s table. I’m now 70 years old and I’m ready to go back to the kid’s table. My son who is 37 is a grown – up, but at 70 I am not really sure if I am a grown-up. I could just be old. Grown-ups seem like they are in control of their lives, it’s an illusion, but they look good! 

Adulting is an informal term often used to describe behavior that is seen as responsible and grown-up. This involves meeting the mundane demands of independent and professional living, such as paying bills and running errands, not to mention raising children. I don’t know  if I am adulting now, but I’m pretty sure I was a grown up most of the time when I was raising my son.

My son has a good job, owns his home, is responsible and seems sure of his beliefs and faith. He seems to have more answers than he has questions. I have one answer for every ten questions.My beliefs and faith are not melded together in a consistent and meaningful way. I don’t have a mission statement. Aren’t I supposed to have a mission statement? After I asked him for some advice, my son commented that it’s parents who give advice to their children, not the other way around. I said I’ll listen to advice wherever it comes from, especially from someone who knows me well. He shared an observation of me that although painful to hear I knew was true. I wanted to spew out “ You have a lot to learn yet and I’m old and wise you know.”  Good thing I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to sound like a teenager who is always right. Grownups know “ I could be wrong” is the mature thing to say. I’m in trouble  because I have a mountain of resistance to admitting I may be wrong. My son makes sure I am aware of this fact.

I don’t want to grow up if adulting means I become conforming, in-tolerant and a rule follower.   I don’t want to stop playing, having fun or being silly. Psychologists have put forth theories of life stages, all seem to agree  that elders have often gained wisdom that can be passed down to younger generations. The missing piece in all of these theories about aging and saging is that age does not always bring an audience willing to listen. Besides, no one really learns from other’s experiences, it is only their own experiences. If you are busy adulting and raising a family,  who has time to listen anyway?  Jr. has to get to his soccer game and marriages need to be saved.

Meanwhile I’m busy living and loving, trying new things, feeling new feelings and doing what I love. I don’t need a label to put me in my place in the human life cycle. 

You are in a dark smoky bar and you see a dude in a fantastic white suit. He says to his friend “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.” Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart as Rick.  I think this is the ultimate coincidence in a movie. The topic “What a coincidence!”,was the topic this week for my storytelling event.  With revisions I’d like to share it with you in this blog post. 

35 years ago …I was very upset that day, my marriage was in trouble. My husband had told me he  was willing to stay and work on our marriage he had feelings for another woman. I doubted him. Since I wanted to smoke, rant and cry my girlfriend and I decided to go to Rolland Moore Park so I could smoke outside. I looked up and I was shocked and devastated  to see my husband drive by with the other woman. A million fucks! Wrong place at the wrong time.

30 years ago: I went to my hair stylist who knew I had recently got divorced and we were talking about  my current  state of datelessness. The stylist next to us overheard us and said “Hey my neighbor is single and a really nice guy. He got divorced a few years ago. He’s cute too! Can I give him your number? ”We got married 2 years later. Right place, right time. 

Coincidences…I’d rather talk about sex or confess my sins then write and talk about this topic! It befuddles me and makes me very confused. Even in my dorm circle of earnest college girls passing Boones Farm around, there was no resolution or solace in talking about coincidences and fate. Maybe we needed better wine, or more of it, to get the courage to face the real issues: self-determination,and acceptance. My aging self still  struggles with these issues.

I’m a rule follower, so in spite of my resistance, I started to write about coincidence, but screeched to a stop just before I ran into the brick wall of randomness and chaos.  Wait a minute, do  I even believe in coincidences? My itty bitty brain wants definitions cause I’m likely to misunderstand what a word really means.  I trust Daniel Webster: 2 : coincidence…the occurrence of events that happen at the same time by accident but seem to be connected. So events are accidental but we create the connection? What a coincidence! We name  it and create the meaning. I make a judgement call about how events or facts are related. 

We humans are funny creatures, we tend to think things happen for a reason. Randomness and chaos are uncomfortable paradigms. We control our lives right? We are social creatures and search for connections. For example you tell me you are from Iowa , and I say “what a coincidence I am too.” We want to create a “we”.; we share a similar background, we have something in common. We are then socially connected, more alike than different, not total strangers anymore. If we find out our new acquaintance is on the same political  side as us that’s a good coincidence, but if we are on opposite sides politically the fact that we are in the same place at the same time may not be a pleasant coincidence, it could be an unpleasant accident. Like the “match” who thought I should wear my ballot for Biden around my neck! A coffee date with a “Match” is really all about finding out how alike we are, how do we connect. We are hoping for “coincidences” or facts  that make us more likable to each other.

I’m not a true believer in fate: Fate is a power that is believed to control what will happen in the future  What power? Is this power on my side? I’m very uncomfortable with “chaos” which is defined as “a state of things in which chance is supreme”: If chance is supreme then coincidences and fate should just slink off into the corner. Let’s kick superstition to the corner too. We don’t earn good or bad karma, we don’t really deserve anything. Bad things do happen to good people. My  husband got early onset Lewy Body Dementia and died at 64. It wasn’t” fair”, but  then I’m not owed fairness.There are things that have happened in my life and I demanded an answer to“why”, but so far I have no answers and life just laughs at me.

Sounds a bit like word salad to me. Can we prove any of this stuff? Do things have meaning? Does anybody really have a plan?  Do I  believe in magical thinking? I know I have a heap of good questions but no answers really. Does any of this really matter? I think sometimes I need to know answers  to protect myself….from fear and insecurity.

I’m not waiting for the stars to align for me. I put myself out there and expect no guarantees and my fingers are not crossed. I do know 2 things for sure: good things happen and shit happens!! I can live with this. I have to.

Linus, Danita, Neal, Maury, Aileen, Mary Jo, Ann, Leonice,Zita, Ruth, Lisa, Artie, Lee…

I grew up with 12 siblings. When I tell people this they usually are amazed and ask how  it growing up, was it lots of fun and were we close? I always tell them that we were not the Von Trapp family singing our way to freedom. No one attempted to murder another sibling, but I  can’t vouch that no one  never thought about it.  We had an an operating system to put order to the chaos. I’ll call it the Holthaus operating system. Bill Gates would have wise to buy us out. For example, if you decided to leave your position during a commercial  “ Saved” was the word that guaranteed that no one would take your seat or spot on the floor. Yes, we had positions on the floor that were quite valuable. Without this agreement we would have came to fisticuffs and hair- pulling. If you forgot to say “saved” you were sol. I still catch myself saying “saved”when I get up. 15 people, one bathroom, justifiable homicide. And one frypan for our Sunday eggs. Lots of I’m first , I’m second for the bathroom, etc.  We even had to claim the window seat in the car. Mom set  up a system with the daily tasks like washing and drying dishes, and sweeping the floor. It was a simple set rotation so arguing about it was pretty futile. It was “fair” and this was the ultimate test. Your turn was your turn.  Did you know that slicing a half gallon of ice cream is the only way to really be fair? If it wasn’t “fair” we squawked.

To keep mealtimes orderly we had assigned seats at the table,  Dad on one end and Mom on the other, and long benches on both sides with assigned seating. When Mom yelled dinner we hurried to the table because those who were late might find some dishes were empty. We said grace before every meal, but we were still likely to act out at the table by banging our glasses on the table or attempting to shove someone off the bench. Meal time was  strictly for eating.  10 minutes at the table was pretty much the norm. My parents lingered, but we didn’t. And the amount of dishes to be washed…

As soon as we were old enough we were given a chore to do. I gathered eggs, and packed them in the egg cartons. The chicken coop also housed rats and the hens pecked and squawked when I  grabbed their eggs. It was a quick in and out. I liked to sing badly at my egg table as I sorted the eggs. It was quiet in the basement and I was usually alone. Privacy was a valuable commodity to me.

 We had our roles….the funny one, the quiet one, the trouble maker, the leader, the follower, the smart one, the dumb one. The youngest in the family was born the year I graduated from high school, so we had the older ones and the younger ones and different “realities”for each. It is almost like 2 different families. Our parents certainly changed thru the years and had time to pay attention, go to more school events, and games. I just came back from a visit with family and was surprised how family tales and secrets were understood so differently depending on birth order. Alternative facts….

So did we have fun?  We had fun, but mostly outside and away from parental scrutiny. We did report in if so and so hit us or was not playing fair. Tattletale! We played together and cooperated to create situations where “fun”was the goal. We rode a toboggan packed with 5 or 6 kids and picked the driver carefully. Snowball fights,  playing basketball, HORSE, softball—- we had enough players for lots of activities. We had some conflicts on rules of course. King of the mountain on top of a big pile of snow was a favorite, and we had to wrestle or shove someone off the top. No warm and fuzzy there! We also had some boxing gloves around from someone and boxed each other. Ouch….

No privacy! Always shared a bedroom and bed. Had to hide to have a good cry! Private Phone calls required stretching the cord outside to the front porch. We went thru a lot of cords.

We could all drink from the river of denial and refuse to acknowledge the truth. Who was depressed, who was drinking too much and fell asleep driving? All for one and one for all?Ask for help? Not so much. We were fed and clothed and had a tidy house. We got the giggles with each other and teased each other without mercy.  There was always a rug rat in our family. I babied lots of babies, and for god sakes keep door closed to the basement stairs! There was total panic when baby Lee could not be found. Retracing … he had crawled into the corner lazy Susan for pots and pans and fallen asleep. True story!  I’ve always had the ability to read my surroundings. Paying  attention to the needs of others with a  wide lens. I am vigilant, and I am responsible. I grew up with those values.

We are family, all my sisters and me…we had a storytelling and poetry reading from our sister books when we were all together in Iowa last week. All of us read and told stories inspite of earlier decisions to not actively participate. We had a great  crowd of friends and family and we all had fun. My sisters are my lifeline, my shelter. Our love is elastic across the miles and across our differences. We are each unique and deserve equal treatment. Life is not fair…but we try to level the playing field. We live affirmative action. Watch out for others, they are all family, brothers and sisters.