To Be Jung Again

Imminence changes everything.

I have a friend, Kathleen, who has been a muse to me. (I promised her in return to be a mentor to her.) For those not familiar with these archetypes, a muse would be a creative inspiration, and a mentor, a wise, old, opinionated geezer. Let's be clear: Kathleen didn't ask me to be her mentor. I offered the service in exchange for her being a muse. She didn't offer that either, it just happened.

Oh, and by archetype, I mean that in the sense of "a constantly recurring symbol or motif in literature, painting or mythology. This usage of the term draws from both comparative anthropology and Jungian archetypal theory." (from Wikipedia)

Kathleen is with child. She is openly telling about this new experience, on her blog: andkathleen.com. As I read her posts lately, I can tell the imminence of it all is becoming very real to her.

Kathleen with child. Her shirt reads, "It's In The Bag."

I have been the male participant in this waiting-for-imminence twice as a parent and twice as a grandparent (and now once as self-appointed mentor). It's wonderful, powerful stuff. Such anticipation mixed with awe and angst.

And while I have no desire at all to be a parent again (due solely to old age and a bit of been there, done that), I do think I could use a bit of imminence about something besides retirement and death. I'm pretty sure all of us guys in our second-coming-of-age could use some imminence.

Why? Because without it I'm getting all wishy-washy, or in the vernacular of those who use such idioms: wishy-warshy. Tonight we will go out to dinner somewhere with a friend. The routine is always the same and the decision of where we will go to eat will be mine. The reasons for this are silly but it boils down to this: they know if I make the call then I won't piss and moan about the service, the food, the crowd, the jerk at the next table who won't get off his phone, yada, yada.

As I've posted already here, I really want an Airstream® Travel Trailer. But because I can't get a sense of imminence about it, I'm stuck in a quagmire of indecision. My Amazing Missus occasionally, lovingly suggests that I "either poop or get off the pot." That doesn't help. Maybe what I need is for someone to say, "You have until March 1, 2014, to decide or you forever forfeit the privilege of being an Airstreamer--your dream of traveling with that sleek silver icon in your rear-view mirror is dashed forever. The only RVing you'll ever get to do is in a pop-up camper parked next to a million dollar road bus with 13 slide outs."

Remember a few words back, when I mentioned Jungian archetypal theory? I am fascinated by Karl Jung and his personality theory. I would like to go in to detail about it and how it explains my contained, imaginative, open-ended, emergent, INFP personality that can't make a decision, but I'm out of space here. (Someone told me not to make a blog post more than 500 words long, "People will bail on you.") So, more on Jung later.

I'm imminently interested in your thoughts though.

By the way, since I have room for a few more words, do you remember that the Crane brothers were divided on their psych-theory loyalties? Frasier was a Freudian and Niles a Jungian. Remember when he hosted Frasier's radio show and he explained this to the audience and then said, "So there will be no blaming mother today." I miss them.

Birthdays and Veteran's Day

Today is my Dad's 89 birthday. He is today just as I've always known him: a man of character, grace, and humility. I know I've taken for granted the privilege of having someone who is both a loving father and a role model. I've had the opportunity to learn from him how to be a better husband, a better father, and now a better grandfather. I hope I haven't squandered those opportunities.

He is today just as I've always known him: a man who loves his God, his family, and his country. I've been told by psychologist types that my values run deep. If my dad had been your dad, yours would too.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Let me tell you about the people in this photo and its significance. Of course that's my Dad in the center. I took this picture recently at the World War II Memorial in Washington. Dad is holding a Purple Heart that belonged to his brother-in-law, my Uncle Bob. Hang on this is going to get wild.

Uncle Bob was married to my Mom's sister, Aunt Betty. They had four kids. The baby of the four, Coral, married my wife's Brother Fred. That's Fred to my Dad's right. Fred is holding a picture of his dad, Ernest, who is also my wife's dad. So Fred is married to my first cousin and he is also my brother-in-law. The guy to Dad's left is Joe Cox.

Joe is Fred and Coral's son, my nephew. Joe is a Chief Petty Officer in the Navy. Fred is a former Marine and now a Sergeant in the Army National Guard.

They are representing Ernest who is the father of my Amazing Missus and Fred, and is also Joe's grandfather, Ernest was a WWII Navy Veteran. They are also representing my Uncle Bob, who is Fred's father-in-law and Joe's grandfather, my Dad's brother-in-law and a WWII Veteran. Dad is a WWII Army Veteran having served in Central Europe. He is one of the ever-dwindling number of WWII Vets still living.

Thank you Fred Cox, Joe Cox, Ernest Cox, Bob Hillman, William Fuller and so many others for serving.

BOO?

I do long for the good old days. That's one of the things that us "men of a certain age" do well. The appeal of those "days" is their familiarity, their simplicity.

Take Halloween. Thankfully I grew up in the time before religious fundamentalists decided that all of our Halloween traditions were inherently evil and whether you intended any actual dabbling in the dark side or not, simply putting on a black pointy hat or a cape and wax vampire teeth, was the equivalent of walking your soul on the precipice of an abyss.

Now with the help of church-hosted Fall or Harvest festivals, and non-occult related costume selections we can partake and stay on the bright side. But I have to wonder, which is scarier-- throwing a sheet over your kid's head with a couple of eye holes cut in it, or having them dress up like Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus.

If you look closely you'll see a precious little girl in that pumpkin patch picking out her first pumpkin. That's Karlee: grand girl #1.

Back in the day, we celebrated Halloween full-on and we yet we had a wonderful innocence. Even our TV stars like Ricky and Lucy, Ozzie and Harriet, June and Ward Cleaver slept in twin beds. (Oooo, Cleaver--there's a scary name for you.) Maybe I'll be "Ward The Cleaver" for All Hallows Eve; you know kind of like Winnie The Pooh, or John The Baptist. And just think about June and Ward's baby boy, Beaver Cleaver! There's an image that would scare; well, beavers.

Don't get me wrong. I love that churches still provide a venue for little princesses and power rangers, if not little ghosts and goblins. I guess all I'm saying let's not throw the baby out with the witches brew, or look for a demon behind every bush.

In C.S. Lewis's masterpiece, The Screwtape Letters, which is written as a collection of advice given to a young devil in training from an experienced, teacher-type devil, you'll find thought-provoking nuggets like this:

“It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out.” 

 One thing I do know for sure, our culture is starving for childlike imagination, creative play and even the fun of pretending. My childhood memories of Halloween were all of those things. And that made me better not darker.

Karlee: a few years later, with her superhero friends. 

Quotable: G.K. Chesterton

G.K. Chesterton

“It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged.”

G.K. Chesteron