Retirement in the Mix: Resisting "Gone": July 2015

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

A place on the table

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This summer, I’ve been on a serious return-to-fitness kick, trying to regroup from the long spell of inactivity brought on by last fall’s assorted orthopedic woes. I’ve been really conscientious about it, too, prioritizing walks and workouts and such rather than letting them take the last, left-over spots (if any) in my schedule. So today, after a nice lunch with a friend in Golden and before I got back to work, I planned to stop on my way home for a walk, thinking I’d probably do a loop on a local trail and call it good. But just north of Golden, I spotted the trail head for the North Mesa Trail. I’d never hiked it before (though I'd heard tales), and the steep initial climb really beckoned. So I traded lunch duds for walking shorts, slathered on sunscreen, and started climbing.

If you live in the Denver area and haven’t yet explored this trail (or rather, this web of trails), check it out. It does start with a serious uphill grade, but the almost immediate reward is great views to the west—that wonderful Colorado sky and the shadows of the clouds on the hills. But maybe the best treat for me was the pleasure of walking up a steep hill, settling into a steady-state pace, and discovering that my “training” has actually worked. If legs and lungs can smile, then mine were smiling. But I suspect my fitness regime is of far less interest than the scenery, so I’ll skip right to the nature tales and pictures.

From the road, North Table Mesa looks dry, rocky, and boring. But in truth, once you get up the hill and on top of the mesa, it’s really lovely. At least this year, with our ample rain, the meadows are soft and beautiful, and even mid-summer, the wildflowers and grasses are really nice.

From the flat mesa top, you can see east to Denver and west to the afternoon clouds rolling in.

Around a bend in the trail, I was surprised to see a large-ish pond (in Colorado, we might call this a lake)—thanks, I suspect, to the abundant rain, since there are definitely no streams up there.

I heard and saw lots of birds—meadowlarks, swallows, circling hawks, an American kestrel on a wire, a cormorant landing on the pond, and a bumblebee big enough to count as a small bird.

And at the top of the highest promontory, the increasingly common rusty-legged signal carrier.

This unexpected adventure was such a treat—a trail I hadn’t walked, a beautiful day, and the sweet awareness that walking uphill is actually fun again. What a great day.

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Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Witnessing Pluto

I was barely awake this morning when I thought about Pluto. I’ve been following the approach of the New Horizons spacecraft as it nears the “Pluto system” (Pluto and its five known moons), about 3 billion miles and more than 9 years after its launch. The thoroughly amateur astronomer in me was eager to learn the status of the mission, and I knew that the moment of its closest approach would be early this morning. That would be at 7:49 EDT, I recalled … translating that to 9:49 MDT. A bit later, a news alert on my partner’s phone declared that New Horizons had reached Pluto—at 5:49 MST, of course.

I had this instantaneous moment of deep disappointment: “Rats,” I thought (maybe out loud). “I wanted to notice that moment. I wanted to witness it.”

Pretty quickly, I realized that I was awake at the crucial moment. I had even noted the time at 5:45, and I was thinking about Pluto. That made me feel better, but I could still hardly wait to get to my computer to learn more—and I made a mental note not to miss the moment when, at about 8:53 EDT tonight (note to self: that would be 6:53 MST), New Horizons should send a brief signal indicating that it made it safely through the Pluto system.

All day, as I monitored news about the encounter with one eye, I was also being curious about my early-morning reaction, my peculiar attachment to this event. It’s hardly central to my life, although it's obviously a matter of great interest. Why did it matter whether or not I was awake to witness that moment?

I wasn't wondering about the intensity of my interest in things astronomical. That’s a near-lifelong passion that has waxed and waned over the years but has never been absent. And I wasn’t wondering about my astonishment at the sheer magnitude and precision of the knowledge required to pull off such a feat—with now-old technology, with a target that had never even been seen clearly, a spaceship launched almost 10 years ago toward an impossibly remote and tiny moving object (smaller than our moon). (If you want to get a hint of the mind-blowing precision of this shot, described by one scientist as equivalent to hitting a hole in one with a golf shot that travels from New York to LA, check out this graphic). That’s definitely astonishing enough to warrant some serious interest, not hard to explain at all.

Besides, there are plenty of things to make this an especially noteworthy happening for me: the lead instigator and investigator for the project is at the Southwest Research Institute in Boulder, and bunches of CU students have worked on the project over the years. And then there’s Pluto’s mythical status—the planet (OK, dwarf planet) so small and far away that even Hubble can’t get a clear picture of it, the planet that was named by a child and that soon became the namesake of Mickey Mouse’s dog. How could I not feel some attachment to Pluto? (OK, so lots of people don’t … but it makes sense for me.)

But none of that is curious at all. No, the question that puzzled was this: Why was it so important to me that I be conscious of that precise moment when the spacecraft arrived at Pluto? That I “witness” it?

That question was in the back of my mind through the day as I hovered in the news and did my day's work. I kept returning to this answer: I think that, at least in part, it’s about age. In that moment, as in many these days, I was acutely aware that singular events won’t be happening indefinitely for me. And I don’t want to miss them as they come along. Pluto provided an occasion for me to look (again) at that part of my aging experience: missing things matters more to me. Even missing apparently unimportant things like the Pluto flyby.

In recent years, I’ve noticed a certain nostalgia, even regret, that has to do with experiences that passed without my paying (enough) attention. I actually wrote about this here a long time ago, and it keeps happening. For instance, I might recall a place I visited, a hike I took, a forest or a sunset I saw, a time with a friend, a physical challenge met—so many things that I know I experienced but that I don’t feel like I really noticed, actually witnessed. In retrospect, I find myself wishing that I had known it would be my last time being there, doing that, whatever it was, so I could have honored it more. Pluto’s very rare moment was reminiscent of those now rather frequent moments.

As I think about it, I believe I have a tendency to not notice experiences as they pass by—an unfortunate penchant under any circumstances, but especially lamentable as I grow old, when the opportunities to do it again, whatever it might be, are increasingly rare. It's good to have my attention drawn to this issue, even if it takes a (dwarf) planet to do it.

Coincidentally, this morning a friend, with whom I’ve talked about this general theme, sent me this cartoon that describes the feeling well.

I know that New Horizons’ encounter with Pluto is not a life-changing event (for me) and that it may even seem trivial as an example to make this larger point. But that’s part of the point—how seemingly “trivial” moments can carry a certain magic, if they matter (for whatever reason) and if we take the time to witness them. I think that’s where my momentary regret came from this morning: it mattered to me, and I feared I’d missed it. I don’t want to do that too often, because I don’t want too many regrets about missed singular experiences. Obviously, there will be many, far more important such moments. I’m grateful to Pluto for this reminder to notice them, however trivial or singular.

As for the New Horizons flyby, I had my phone set to signal me at 6:53 MDT this evening so I could check on the spacecraft's well-being. Just after 7:00, I saw a news flash that New Horizons had “called home,” right on schedule.

I’ll keep following it in the days to come. If you’re in the Boulder area and would like to join in that process, Fiske Planetarium on the CU campus will be hosting a couple of public events later this week where you can learn more—and also see some of the pictures being sent back across billions of miles.

I’ll be there, on time, MDT.

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Thursday, July 9, 2015

Before marriage (equality) was imagined

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Last week’s US Supreme Court ruling declaring that marriage is a fundamental right and that barring same-sex couples from access to that right is unconstitutional unleashed torrents of joy and commentary that have only now, almost two weeks later, started to ebb. Some folks have bemoaned how long it took us to get to this point. Personally, I’m astonished at how quickly it happened, especially relative to other social justice movements. In a single lifetime, my lifetime—in fact, in what I call my “conscious lifetime,” i.e., the period since adolescence—the status of LGBT folks has shifted from our being regarded as illegal, immoral, and insane to our achieving constitutionally sanctioned participation in what is historically the most revered heterosexual institution of our society. How amazing to have been present for all of that—and even engaged in some parts of it.

Just days after that ruling, we took a long-planned trip to Philadelphia, where we joined in celebrating the 50^th anniversary of the birth of the gay rights movement. Now, the modern queer rights movement is usually dated from the Stonewall uprising, that iconic moment when a group of LGBT folks refused to be herded into a police paddy wagon outside a Mafia-owned bar in NYC. That event, now commemorated around the country by Pride parades and festivals, happened in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, some 46 years ago. So why was this celebration on July 4 in Philly—wrong day, wrong year, wrong city—billed as the 50^th anniversary of the LGBT rights movement?

It's all about the parts of history we don't usually hear. Here's the story, for folks who don’t know it, followed by glimpses of this great three-day celebration.

The contemporary LGBT movement in the US actually began in the 1950s, though it was known in those days as the “homophile” movement (the word means, roughly, “affection for the same”). The primary focus of that movement was on freedom from discrimination, especially in the workplace, and freedom from police harassment.

The event we celebrated in Philadelphia this past week, which preceded Stonewall by four years, was a carefully coordinated series of pickets (a tactic borrowed from the African-American Civil Rights movement) carried out by members of this homophile movement. These gay and lesbian picketers chose Philadelphia because it’s home to the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and perhaps most importantly, the Liberty Bell. Other folks organizing for their rights—notably, the abolitionist movement and the suffrage movement—had also employed the symbolism of that bell. In each case, the argument was that the nation was not living up to the promise of the founding documents or of the caption inscribed on the Liberty Bell, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof.”

Barbara Gittings,
a key organizer of the Reminder Days,
walking the picket line.

In 1965, identifying as “homosexual” (the term widely used at the time by LGBT folks as well as their detractors) could easily land someone in jail or a mental institution, could mean medical “treatments,” the loss of your job, your housing, and your relationships with family and friends. Yet in that atmosphere, 40 brave folks chose to picket in front of Independence Hall in Philadelphia. The demonstrations began on July 4, 1965, and continued annually through 1969. The activists called these “Reminder Days”—reminders that a group of citizens were still excluded from equal rights. The last Reminder Day, which happened in 1969, just days after the Stonewall uprising, had about 150 picketers. Then, recognizing that Stonewall could be (to quote a speaker from last week’s event) the Boston Tea Party of the LGBT movement, the organizers turned their skills to planning the first ever Pride parade in NYC for the year after Stonewall. And with that commemorative march, the tradition of annual Pride celebrations and, as legend has it, the contemporary gay rights movement were born.

It's not a stretch to say that these daring Reminder Days helped build the momentum that would launch the modern movement, provided the fuel that Stonewall then ignited. So why don't we hear more about these folks and their persistent picketing? Good question, to which I have no definitive answer. But here are some thoughts.

Frank Kameny, the other main organizer,
talks with onlookers

First, the early homophile movement has often been criticized as too assimilationist, dismissed for being so willing to tolerate persistent homophobia, so limited in its aims, so eager to accept tolerance as an acceptable goal. Some of these early activists didn't even question the then-dominant notion that homosexuality was a mental illness—they just thought that this shouldn’t matter as long as the condition did interfere with a person’s ability to function on the job or in the world. One indication of their conservative bent was seen in the strict dress code required of people in the picket lines—men wore suits and ties, women wore dresses, heels, and pantyhose. The goal was to look “normal” and employable, in keeping with the aims of that early incarnation of the movement. But from the perspective of later years and a more ambitious agenda, their stance has been regarded as regressive at best and drenched in internalized homophobia at worst.

Which brings us to a related reason for the relative invisibility of this launching moment: by 1969, the year of Stonewall, picketing, which was initially regarded as a radical and risky undertaking, was no longer viewed as radical enough. This was the era when the student movement, the anti-war movement, the feminist movement, and others were in full, flowery swing. People were rioting in the streets, taking over campus buildings, burning draft cards, turning on and dropping out, clashing with police in hand to hand battle. In the midst of that sort of energy, the Stonewall rebellion probably looked far more like a happening worthy of consideration as the origin of this vibrant social change movement than orderly pickets in front of Constitution Hall ever could be. Interestingly, during the 1969 picket, some marchers already began violating the dress and behavior codes, wearing more casual clothing and even holding hands —a clear sign, if anyone were looking for one, that the movement was morphing. Whatever the reason, Stonewall quickly became the moment of the movement’s mythical birth, and the Reminder Days were largely forgotten.

For the two of us, both LGBT history buffs, this trip was a total treat, a chance to immerse ourselves for a few days in the events of 1965–1969, a pleasure magnified by the Supreme Court’s recent marriage ruling. The juxtaposition of our simultaneous engagement in these half-century-old events and in this remarkable, singular moment in contemporary history was sort of mind blowing. What an incredible time to be alive! Imagine it: to have been around at the time of those early pickets and to still be around to witness this momentous shift in our place in society. What a gift to be here, in this movement at this moment.

Our time in Philly was a three-day submersion in queer history, community, and celebration—all framed over and over by reminders that we have so much work yet to do. Marriage was a marvelous accomplishment, but it doesn’t solve enduring problems of anti-LGBTQ discrimination in housing and employment. It doesn’t address the pervasive difficulties faced by trans folks, especially trans women of color. It doesn’t address the needs of LGBTQ youth, especially in poor, rural, or conservative areas where LGBTQ identity is far from accepted. It doesn’t address issues related to immigration, doesn’t provide answers to income equality, doesn’t solve problems of second-parent adoption and other parenting concerns. Heck, marriage doesn’t even solve the problems of huge numbers of LGBTQ adults who are, for whatever reason, not joining in that institution.

But let me stop with the lecture and tell you about our marvelous time in Philadelphia. First, it felt surprisingly affirming to realize that the city of Philadelphia was honoring this day as a major historical event. There were 50^th anniversary banners hanging all around the Independence National Historical Park (the site of Independence Hall, the Constitution Center, Congress Hall, the Liberty Bell Center, etc.), and the museums that participated had created impressive, curated exhibits about it. It wasn’t just a token acknowledgement of the date, but a full-blown city-sponsored occasion. Against this very validating background, we spent our time dwelling in the historic, the celebratory, and the challenging.

The "Gay Pioneers" marker with
Independence Hall in the background.

We began our adventure with a visit to a marker installed by the city of Philadelphia honoring these so-called Gay Pioneers, where we caught a glimpse of James Obergefell, the lead plaintiff in the marriage case (and thereby the benefactor of these early activists’ daring). From there, we moved on to a packed itinerary of museums, discussions, films, and panels, with meals grabbed on the run and an inadvertent tour of much of downtown Philadelphia. We heard panels on legal issues, on legislative issues, on historical perspectives, saw a film about “Gay Pioneers” and one about Black LGBTQ identities, attended an interfaith service led by Bishop Gene Robinson at historic Christ Church (where we sat in the pew that had been reserved for George and Martha Washington and John Adams), and were treated to lively audience discussions that pointed to everything from the roots of the LGBT movement in other movements to the sexism of (even) the queer movement—although that last notion was rejected by the event’s organizer. Between schedule events, we wandered among sponsoring museums and institutions—the Museum of African-American History, the Museum of American Jewish History (which has started a Tumblr site to collect LGBT oral histories), Liberty Bell Center, and the Museum of We the People at the National Constitution Center—all of which had major special exhibits honoring this 50^th anniversary.

I learned so much ... new facts and also new perspectives on things I knew. But rather than dwell on all that, let me share some of the mood of these excellent days through a few photos.