My "day job" is still editing journals -- that is, sets of articles written by researchers in various fields, from engineering to ocean law to classroom technology. I love it! It makes sense of my own academic background (chemistry degree from Michigan State, where I only went to one football game). And it keeps me learning every day.
Some recent work on articles about housing for "the elderly" took me to learning about urban China, where the ages that Americans label "past retirement age," that is, after age 65, are actually divided up into more groups. I did the work a few weeks ago, when I noted that my own age fits into the "young elderly" in China. That was something of a relief (being young), but also set me up for arguing: Although 50 years ago, I would have said the 70s are "old," now I know they are not. Definitely not "elderly"!!!
Except yes, I've lived for almost three-quarters of a century. I recall years that to my grandsons are part of American history. For me, "the war" is still the one in Vietnam. I do adapt quickly to people talking about either World War II or Iraq as their war, but ... mine was the one when a draft-board notice arrived around the time I'd been married for a year to another college student. And before that, the early part of that war when I saw several black students at my high school heading to the recruiting offices, while most white ones watched from the sidelines. (We all learn the force of racism in different ways, don't we?)
Now my poetry is based in an aging body and an overflowing mind, and often the poems begin with recognition of that, in some form. Today I found myself writing about how my feet are changing. If you know, you know. It's all good.
But it does seem to make autumn more symbolic than ever. I am planning for a good winter. So now is the time to prepare, prepare. And to hold these mountain colors in my spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment