Dying A Rich Man

Elon Musk says we don’t have to save for retirement because Artificial Intelligence will open up a whole new world of opportunities and only then can we plot our true pathway to riches and success. Elon Musk is full of it.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to die a rich man. Fortunately, it’s not in accumulated wealth or material things. Collecting assets has never been a goal of mine. I respect those folks who have, in a more stealth mode, built up their own little nest egg. My son calls it the “Millionaire Next Door” syndrome. I guess he might be on to something there. But when the time comes to count up one’s credits, accumulated wealth by itself can be a real distraction from the more important things in life.

Every wealthy person I’ve known was rich one moment and penniless after their last breath. The slate had been wiped clean and their assets counted for nothing in the greater scheme of things. At my age, death is slowly becoming a more common occurrence among friends, associates, casual acquaintances or names once remembered. It’s called The Circle of Life.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned from perusing the lives of wealthy folks is simply that there has to be more to life than collecting collectables to make the entire journey worthwhile. Despite those U-hauls I’ve seen in some funeral processions; you really can’t take it with you.

Unfortunately, for some folk’s counting up their net worth seems to be the ultimate goal. There’s just one problem with that supposition. The most valuable asset one can accumulate in life has nothing to do with any assets collected. Instead, it’s a common equalizer that shares its influence on all of us.

The ultimate asset in life is knowing that you’ve been able to influence the lives of others in a positive way and made a difference when you could. A worthwhile life is one well lived. It makes for a more fitting epitaph and no amount of money can guarantee that ultimate headstone.

Whether as a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather or simply as a friend, it’s being there when that made a difference in someone else’s life. Simply stated, it’s trying to live a ‘good’ life.

My own life has been one heck of a ride thus far but to be honest it’s still a work in progress. There are no end-of-life regrets and I doubt there will be when the time comes. In the end, I can truly say that I did what I wanted to do. I loved whom I loved and still harbor many fond memories there. I did my best as a husband and father and friend. I was lucky with my kids. They’ve become solid respectable citizens of the world. I expect nothing less of my grandchildren and they seem to be well on their way to meeting those expectations of them.

I’ve traveled a lot and lived abroad. I’ve had a ton of experiences and saved them in blogs once my memory bank grows foggy. I’ve made up stories and bottled them in print and bytes for my grandkids and anyone else to read. With no foresight other than a desire to do something meaningful with my life, I worked hard, ran my own business, managed properties and made investments. Some panned out. Others didn’t.

The grandkids keep me young as if I need them as an excuse. Collecting friendships when I was growing up was a challenge for me but I’m a younger man now. Old friends, new friends, I’m not picky. Renewing friendships or garnering new ones is a coup. But realistically it’s still a work in progress.

My passion for writing over the last dozen or so years has surpassed my addiction to running for forty plus years. Living in those fictional worlds with my favorite characters has kept me moving into the twilight years. The heck with retirement. I don’t have the time or inclination for that distraction.

I’ve already succeeded in the great game of life. But I still want more winnings with the time I have left…and gold, silver and paper don’t count.

Chasing My Identity

I recently read about a woman who conducts workshops on how to write your own obituary. The responses to her workshop always seem go one of two ways. The first group wrinkles their nose and responds with a frown “Oh, Lord, I don’t want to talk about my own death.” The more optimistic of that group then adds “and besides, I’m never going to die.” It’s denial at its most optimistic stance.

The second group recognizes that these workshops are an opportunity to make their own farewell statement. These folks realize that they now have an opportunity to say just what they want to say about their own lives instead of it coming from some boiler-plate funeral home ad or a template from the newspaper. They get to share with family, friends, and associates just what was important to them and what they are most proud of for the time they spent here on earth.

I’m in that second group. I want to tell the world what I did with my life…once I figure it out.

At first blush I’d have to say I’ve been very lucky on so many levels. Then having said that I would also add that I’m unapologetic for past failures, mistakes, losses, missed opportunities and a wide assortment of sundry missteps that have also defined my life. At this stage of the game, I’m too old and too busy to worry about ‘what might have been’ or ‘what if’ or ‘if only...’

I guess my own story begins with a French-Canadian guy whose parents came from someplace in Canada. He was a short guy with a pencil-thin mustache and (supposedly) a fondness for the drink. He went from Michigan and ended up in the Twin Cities. He was playing in a band in St. Cloud, Minnesota when he met my mother. She was just a young German Catholic girl recently off the farm.

So, my heritage is French Canadian and German. But what does that mean in the greater scheme of things? It is a heritage that I have no affinity to nor interest in…because it has no roots. As was befitting the rural German Catholic culture of that time, my mother never spoke of my father either before or after he passed away. It was as if he never existed in the first place.

I can lay out a few of the stats, facts and incidents that defined who I became. I was young and dumb and poor but open and honest. I’d like to believe that, much like my writing, I stumbled a lot but somehow kept moving forward.

I can talk about those men and women who briefly had an impactful influence on my life. I can talk about working from 7^th grade on and usually having two jobs going on simultaneously. I can talk about twenty plus years of working full time, running my business and managing several apartment buildings all at the same time. I can talk about near burn out and finally redemption on long bike rides, torturous trail runs and sojourns into the high desert.

It’s always a challenge to revisit that narrative in my head about my life up to a certain point. The facts are easy to lie out and document. I could put them into a flow chart or a neatly outlined diagram that lists important dates in my life. It’s neat and clean but still smells like an old tattered history book. Something is missing. The data would tell you how I got to where I am but it wouldn’t tell you how I ended up being who I am today.

There is a ‘60’s time warp still safely ensconced in my head. A wonderful period of creativity with its music and Bob Dylan and the Beatles and hippies and personal liberation and milestones. I don’t apologize for that. It is part of who I have become. It doesn’t take away from my life today but instead comforts and feeds me more material for my stories.

I am not interested in ‘what if’s.’ Bob Dylan said ‘Don’t look back.’ I would add as a caveat unless you’re in a good place. Because if you’re in a good place in your life today then you can look back and see the success and the failure, the goals that fell short and those never attempted. You can look at your life as it truly was and not as someone else said it should be.

One friend recently commented to me that it was too bad I hadn’t started my writing career years earlier. I simply replied that I couldn’t have done that years ago because I wasn’t the same person that I am today. My head was in a different place back then. Neither better nor worse but probably not conducive to the focused passion I feel for my writing today.

I guess I’m foolish enough to believe that old cliché that it’s never too late to become the person you’ve always wanted to be. I am today the result of a million different experiences, episodes, loves, failures, losses, challenges, and successes that rippled through my life over the last seventy years.

Awhile back, I read a book called ‘And Then the Vulture Eats You.’ Much like another favorite book of mine, ‘Zen and the Art of Running’ These authors pointed out that a runner changes minutely each day and shouldn’t expect the same results today as he might have gotten last week or last year or ten years ago. Like many others, I am constantly changing and evolving and adapting to the nuances of each day.

I have another friend who has defined life in three simple words: Learning, Earning and Yearning. His position is that we grow up with certain knowledge. We make a living. Then (he claims) we yearn for what we didn’t do or don’t have or lost. I don’t think it has to necessarily be that way.

I can’t do nor do I want to do what I did before. I do not want to wear a younger man’s façade. The years of experience and joy and disappointment run lines across my face but I wear them like a seasoned veteran worn by the games of life.

My new identity is a moniker I wear with pride and is defined by the stories I tell. My blogs are just one step in that direction. They are personal, explicit, revealing, open and honest. But in the end, they are simply meant to be a snapshot of a moment in time in the life of…

Today I am much more interested in telling my stories and living my life vicariously through my characters. I want to share the fear of humping my hog through the boonies, riding old Apache trails and avoiding ambush in some narrow slot canyon. I want to mastermind the intricate workings of a modern-day courtship and look in on two women slowly falling in love. I want my protagonist to fall in love with a siren of my own creation.

I want the new me to splatter my keyboard with stories of past adventures, mishaps, wondrous experiences, and my characters grand plans for the future. I want to live the life of a drifter out west and an adventurer on the Mekong Delta. And I want to do that until my ink dries up and my mind slowly fades away.

I haven’t written my own obituary yet but when I do, it’ll probably start with something like…

“He had a good life…and then it got even better.”

Fixin' to Die

I’ve reached that point in my life where people I know are starting to die.

Of course, there were others who died back when I was young. But youth and little personal connection meant a somber night at the funeral home because I had to not because I cared. As I grew older there was the occasional unexpected demise of a casual friend or associate but never some-one close enough to move my heart.

Me as a Teenager

I guess I became more aware of my own mortality and that of others when my early morning sidekicks began to pass away. It was those scholars of teenage bliss and angst. My early morning rock and roll companions who trudged with me through twenty-below-zero snow banks to deliver the morning newspaper. They sang to me though my transistor radio and told me all about love and loss and my best years ahead.

One of my favorite song-writing poets died recently. Leonard Cohen spoke to me in a dozen different voices and languages; all of which tugged at my heart and soul.

Now even some folks closer to me, in-laws, parents and relatives have passed on. No one is fixin to die but it’s coming around for all of us. My next door neighbor died a couple of weeks ago. We weren’t close and he wasn’t very friendly but we talked occasionally and joked and philosophized about the world. Now he’s gone too.

Like most past generations, death was one of those topics that seldom if ever was addressed among my relatives. It was never broached in my immediate family when I was growing up. Through either a reticence to admit the inevitable, fear, or abject denial the topic was seldom broached. People grew old, got sick and died. Then someone had to write their obituary.

Strange though it might sound, I’ve always admired those folks with the foresight and fortitude to write their own obituaries.

I think it would be a challenge yet immensely rewarding to write an open honest obituary. I believe a funeral should be the time of celebrating a life well led. A finely crafted obituary can share with friends and strangers happy memories over sadness. It forces the writer to address one key question: what is my legacy? What did I do here on earth to warrant the pride and hopefully the gratitude of my peers, friends, family, and others?

All those thoughts and more have been compiled in yet another file folder for a future musical play I’ve love to write. It’s about a funeral and the celebration that takes place there.

Since none of us have the advantage of knowing how long we’re going to live, I think it’s important to reflect on what we can do now that we’re still alive. Beyond the standard of having a will, staying healthy and exercise, I do have a few more thoughts.

We should each day as if it is our last. Not in a morbid kind of way but rather a daily celebration of the wonder of life and friends and family all around us. Helping others even in the most simplest of ways can mean everything to someone else. And lastly, follow your dreams whatever they are. As the cliché goes, life is too short to live it any other way.

Our Final Tabulation

We all know our lives are supposed to follow a certain predictable pattern. We’re born, grow up, grow old and then die. In the ‘Lion King’ it’s called the circle of life. It’s also used to describe life on the African savannah in several books. A similar theme can be found in a Christian hymn written in 1907 and made popular by the Carter Family in 1935. It’s entitled ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken.’

So we usually don’t allow ourselves to think about death until something jars us back to reality. It might be a near-death experience, a catastrophic illness or the sudden demise of someone close to us. That’s just what happened to me.

Sharon’s mother passed away in October. It wasn’t unexpected. Her health had been deteriorating for some time. But suddenly becoming an orphan is tough on any adult even one as strong as my wife.

Sharon’s friend Steve was a very successful businessman, Rotary philanthropist and loving grandfather. Last Fall he was fine then one day he became unbalanced on his feet and five months later he passed away from brain cancer.

Kathy was Sharon’s sister-in-law. She broke her ankle last spring. She had it set then operated on twice since the incident. A couple of weeks ago she died suddenly from an infection. In each instance these deaths were a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the need to live each day as if it were our last.

Several friends have commented about bad things happening in threes. I hadn’t thought about it before now. Of course growing up, I knew about ‘the day the music died’ and the fact that Jimmy Hendrix, Janice Joplin and Jim Morrison all died within weeks of one another in 1970.

I usually don’t believe in folk tales, old wives stories or fables. But after these three deaths occurred so close together it got me to thinking it. Those were three life-changing events, expected and otherwise, in less than a month and a half.

Folklorists say that the belief that good or bad things come in threes is an ancient superstition that remains a strong belief among many people today. Americans especially seem to have a propensity to see things in threes. For Native Americans, it’s fours and for the Chinese, it’s five.

“It’s very deep in our culture in terms of religion – the father, son and holy ghost,’ explained Alan Dundes, a professor of anthropology and folklore at the University of Southern California at Berkley. He goes to comment: “It’s in our names. We all have three names. And numerous three-worded phrases like ‘win, lose or draw’ ‘we shall overcome’ and ‘snap, crackle and pop.’

I think it all comes down to your own belief system. The yin and yang of our universe means there will be both good and bad in your lifetime.  Bad luck and good can come in threes, fours, fives and more. It’s all a question of how you want to process these events. If you’re fatalistic it can be grim. If you’re realistic it’s a fact of life. Individual numbers don’t mean a thing.

What does matter is the simple fact that ‘no one gets out of here alive.’ For each one of us there will be an accounting whether we’re present for it or not. We will all have a final tabulation. It’ll either be on our death bed or done by others lamenting our loss. It will be a tabulation of who we were as individuals, spouses, parents, grandparents, friends and associates. It will include who we loved, liked and impacted. It will be the kids we left behind. Then their kids, our grand-children and our legacy with them.

But most importantly we will have to answer whether we made a difference with our lives. Was our existence all worthwhile to others especially those closest to us? And for ourselves, did we make a difference while we were here on earth.

So far, after seventy-three years of living my life as best I can, I think I’m good to go.

 

So I kissed my wife good-bye, told my kids and grandkids I loved them and went for a trail run.  Life is good. I want to embrace it as long as I can.

A Lovely Lady Died Today

My Mother-in-Law grew up in a world ruled by men but raised two daughters who pushed well past those boundaries. Now there is a granddaughter and two great granddaughters who are pushing those barriers out even further. The tracks of our lives continue just as the seasons come and go. A great grandson was born one day. Great Grandma Charlotte died the next. The circle of life had come around again.

Charlotte Faye Schumacher left few trappings of success behind. The house had been sold, her possessions either given to the children or sold at an estate sale. Her material goods kept shrinking with each move from the farm to a house in town to an assisted living facility to a nursing home. Now there was nothing left but for a few mementos passed out to the grandchildren. Nothing left but for the memories…good memories of a life well-lived.

In the end this wonderful woman left the world a much better place through the four children she raised and nurtured into true citizens of the world. They are all good people who followed a legacy born amid those old Nebraska sand farms of the ‘30s and ‘40s.

Row 2, farthest Left in overalls

Charlotte with her Dad

Despite dealing with sometimes crippling anxiety and bouts of depression Sharon’s mom held on to her faith and worked through her issues. Her own mother had died when she was just nine years old and her father died when she was eighteen.

She once told Sharon “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to lose a parent unless it happens to you. Denis understands.” Charlotte and I shared that commonality of a single parent household. It was a common bond seldom talked about, but understood. We also shared a deep and abiding love for her daughter.

Occasionally we’d talk about growing up without a mother as she followed her father picking berries in Oregon and operating a bar in Nebraska. We related to one another that way and spoke a language unspoken but understood among survivors.

When she graduated from high school in Nebraska, Charlotte taught in a one room school house. She had no formal training. She just took a test and began teaching. She told us her secret was to stay one book ahead of her class. It seemed to work.

Charlotte & Delbert Schumacher Wedding

Then she met a man who was to be her rock for more than sixty-five years. Sharon’s mom used to tell folks she didn’t know how to cook when she first got married. She didn’t mention it was the end of World War II and there were no stoves available. So every morning they had cereal for breakfast. For lunch they had a sandwich. In the evening they went to her Mother-In-Law's for dinner.

In 1957, she followed her husband from Nebraska to Wabasha, Minnesota. She moved there without ever seeing the farm Grandpa Delbert had bought. When Charlotte arrived she found there was no kitchen sink in the farmhouse, but ironically the barn was in excellent shape. I guess that’s what counted in a farm family.

Charlotte told people she never adjusted to living in Minnesota but all my kids can remember were the thrills of finding baby kittens in the barn, tractor rides with grandpa and calling for Shep and Brady, her two favorite farm dogs. It wasn’t ‘Dick and Jane on the farm’ - but it came darn close.

Late in their retirement years her husband developed Alzheimer’s disease. For over two years she cared for her husband at home, tending to his every need. When it was time for him to go into the nursing home, she faithfully visited him as often as she could. They went to mass there every Sunday. She did what she had to do for the man she truly cherished. I Sat Down with God Today.

Sharon and her parents, Charlotte & Delbert

It was her daughter, The Girl with Seven Suede Jackets, who used to tell me of her nurturing upbringing on the farm. Sharon has spoken often about high school class trips and weekend jaunts with her mother acting as her personal chauffeur. She talked about their special trip to England, just the two of them.

Later on in years Sharon took her own grandchildren down to see great grandma Charlotte before the end. At times it was witnessing courage in the face of crippling angst and anxiety. They learned as Sharon did about one generation respecting the next.

Now the only remaining thread in great grandma Charlotte’s life are the four lives she left behind. From them, the many grandchildren and great-grandchildren that are a part of her legacy.

A great grandson was born the day before Charlotte died. In time he will hear the tales of life on the Wabasha farm from his own grandmother. He will learn of its tradition of hard work and faith that is his legacy. And he’ll be able to thank great grandma Charlotte for those memories and lessons in life.

Her legacy lives on in her two daughters, a granddaughter and two great granddaughters born of that same steeled resolve. 

Maya Charlotte LaComb and Charlotte Jane McMahon never knew their great grandma Charlotte very well. But her sterling examples of hard work, perseverance, compassion and caring is a legacy they are sure to carry on.

Charlotte Faye Schumacher could not have wished for anything more.

Dying a Rich Man

I want to die a rich man. Fortunately it’s not in accumulated assets. Retirement has been putting a real crimp on that quest. Collecting assets has never been a goal of mine. I respect those folks who have in a more stealth mode built up a nice nest. My son calls it the “Millionaire Next Door” syndrome. I guess he might be on to something there. But when the time comes to count up credits, accumulated wealth by itself can be real a distraction from the more important things in life.

Every Millionaire I’ve known was rich one moment and penniless with their last breath. The slate had been wiped clean and their assets counted for nothing in the greater scheme of things. At my age, death is slowly becoming a more common occurrence among friends, associates, casual acquaintances or names once remembered. It’s called The Circle of Life.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned from wealthy folks is simply that there has to be more to life than collecting assets to make the entire journey worthwhile. Despite those U-hauls I’ve seen in some funeral processions, you really can’t take it with you.

Unfortunately, for some folks net worth seems to be the ultimate goal. There’s just one problem with that supposition. The most valuable asset one can accumulate in life has nothing to do with any assets collected. Instead it’s a common equalizer that shares its influence on all of us.

The ultimate asset in life is knowing that you’ve been able to influence others in a positive way and made a difference when you could. A worthwhile life is one well lived. It makes for a more fitting epitaph and no amount of money can guarantee that ultimate headstone.

Whether as a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather or simply as a friend, it’s being there when that made a difference in someone else’s life. Simply stated, it’s trying to live a ‘good’ life.

My own life has been one heck of a ride thus far but to be honest is still a work in progress. There are no end-of-life regrets and I doubt there will be when the time comes. In the end, I can truly say that I did what I wanted to do. I loved whom I loved and still harbor many fond memories there. I did my best as a husband and father and friend. I was lucky with my kids. They’ve become solid respectable citizens of the world. I expect nothing less of my grandchildren and they seem to be well on their way to meeting those expectations of them.

I’ve traveled a lot and lived abroad. I’ve had a ton of experiences and saved them in blogs once my memory bank grows foggy. I’ve made up stories and bottled them in print and bytes for my grandkids and anyone else to read.

With no foresight other than a desire to do something meaningful with my life, I worked hard, ran my own business, managed properties and made investments. Some panned out. Others didn’t.

The grandkids keep me young as if I need them as an excuse. Collecting friendships when I was growing up was a challenge for me but I’m a younger man now. Old friends, new friends, I’m not picky. Renewing friendships or garnering new ones is a coup. But realistically it’s still a work in progress.

My new passion is writing, having surpassed running, over the last couple of years. Living in those fictional worlds with my favorite characters has kept me moving into the twilight years. The heck with retirement. I don’t have the time or inclination for that distraction.

I’ve already succeed in the great game of life. But I still want more winnings with the time I have left…and gold, silver and paper don’t count.