Welcome to my retirement blog!

Confessional, biographical, political, philosophical, perhaps controversial, but hopefully stimulating and thought-provoking. That is my goal with this personal blog. I want to be mindful of the privacy of myself and especially others, but open and honest. I intend to also share quotes, books, poems and recommendations, so here goes.

I am a ‘Thursday’s Child’ . . . far to go. I read a Random House children’s book, “Ulysses”, when I was ten or eleven. Ulysses reluctantly sailed with the Greeks to the Trojan war which lasted 10 years. It ended when “wily” and clever Ulysses planned the ruse of the Trojan horse that resulted in the destruction of Troy. He wandered another ten years before reaching his home island of Ithaka. I wanted to be Ulysses (Odysseus in Greek) -even to the scar on his knee he suffered on a boar hunt (which in later life I had, though not from a boar). I wanted to be a restless wanderer, hear the Siren’s song, to enjoy the charms of Circe, to sail between Scylla and Charybdis, to use my wiles to escape Polyphemus, the Cyclops.

My career was law and insurance. Few adventures there. I managed a crew through some dangerous claims, and outwitted the bureaucrats a few times – as close as I came to my hero, Odysseus.

I have now retired to a new beginning in life. Although no longer a young man I yet have an adventurous spirit and a willingness to share my stories, adventures, reflections, lessons, regrets, and even sins.

It is important to provide background, a context.

I was born in 1950, two years after my family had been stricken with polio. Florence, our mother, was smart and knowledgeable, especially about the epidemic of that era, poliomyelitis. She was aware of the dangers of water as a carrier of the virus. She had warned the children, Robert, Richard, Janet and Jeanne, to stay away from the river (the Straight River was just below their farm). and did not allow them to go the county fair. In August, though, Bob, the oldest came down with flu symptoms, headache and fever. Mom took him to a local doctor who said it was the flu, but his eyes and fear confirmed to her it was something more serious. A day later, a Sunday morning, Bob tried to read a Tom Mix comic book, but could not hold it up. Saliva dripped from the side of his mouth. John and Florence left Dick, Janet and Jeanne with Father Snyder, their parish priest, and took Bob to another doctor who told them to immediately take him to Minneapolis. The route was the old Lyndale, a two lane road. In route, Dad suddenly slowed, whitened, as the car turned by itself into a field drive. Mom asked why he was stopping. A tie rod had broken, but the car miraculously turned into the only drive. Dad flagged for help. Two ladies, Good Samaritans, drove them to the hospital in Minneapolis. Bob had Bulbar polio, a form that strikes the spinal cord and breathing. He was placed in an iron lung, but died two days later, 9 days before his 13th birthday.

Dick was already stricken and hospitalized when Bob’s body was brought home and placed in the living room for the wake. Only the bravest friends and neighbors (treasured as lifelong, loyal friends) braved the fears of this disease of undetermined origin. Grandpa Durand sat up all night with Bob in an old oak rocking chair. Bob was laid to rest in the parish cemetery, land that John and Florence had donated less than a year before. He was the first to be buried there, coming home to rest on the old farm.

Left to right – Bob, Jeanne, Janet & Dick

Dick (11), Janet (10) and Jeanne (8), in turn, by age, suffered polio. It was most severe according to age. Brother Dick had a spinal fusion in 1951, when I was barely a year old and toddling with our old dog, Pooch, to keep him company. He was in a full body cast for months, but was so well-cared for that he never suffered a bed sore. Dick suffered all his life, had much active enjoyment taken from him, and would never endure surgery or life prolonging treatment. He died at age 61.

Jeanne, the youngest, suffered much less, but died too young at age 71. She suffered from the effects of chemotherapy and radiation as well as post polio symptom, all severely weakening the muscles in her throat and neck. She was in a halo for months and fed only a liquid diet, but remained positive and firm in her faith.

Sister Janet had polio in her leg, resulting in one leg shorter than the other and a foot smaller than the other. A blessing was meeting a woman who shared her story, one with whom she could share pairs of shoes. (A life lesson that we are better when we share our handicaps with others.) Janet is always positive and upbeat, no matter her pain or discomfort. She thrives on company, never complains, always ready with a laugh. She and I have NEVER had one cross word – though I tease her relentlessly!

My mother called me a “miracle child”, named for St. Michael to whom she prayed fervently. She had suffered miscarriages, so, I guess I was, in fact, a miracle child. That is a heavy burden for a Thursday’s child . . . more to follow . . .

 

Let me share a poem about the journey of Odysseus back to his home of Ithaka, a journey we all share –

Ithaka

BY C. P. CAVAFY
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND KEELEY

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.