Trip, Stumble, and Fall (or Winter)

      TRIP (the noun): The Oxford dictionary defines trip as: ...an act of going to a place and returning; a journey or excursion, especially for pleasure.  So that was us, now in Portugal.  We knew (and still know) next to nothing about the place, other than it being the oldest nation state in all of Europe.  Yes, we knew and had tasted the "fortified" wine called port, of course (from the city north of Lisbon appropriately named Porto).  And of course we'd read about the country being yet another ex-pat escape for oldies, many of them spreading like a virus as they depart the U.S. for cheaper digs in foreign lands to end their days.  But that wasn't us (yet), since we were only in Lisbon for a day: no extensive Camino walk, no stunning Sintra beaches, no ventures up to the Basque country or doing coastal drives inland to enter Barcelona and Spain.  Instead, we were soon leaving the mainland entirely, venturing far out to sea once again, modern-day explorers anxious to see a few islands we had heard about but also knew nothing of their history or their geography or peoples: the Azores and the Canary Islands (they are indeed islands, nine in the Azores, and the same in the Canary Islands).   But have no fear, this will not be another long series of travelogues boring you with sights and pictures, a post long on history and short on interest.  So rest easy, this is more or less a way to convey that there may be a slight pause in these blog posts as we cruise (yes, we were on another cruise) the islands.

     So I brought this up to my wife, mentioning to her that our friends may also be tired of hearing about us heading out to another cruise or visiting another country or place as if we should hang our heads low since others were still working or raising kids or facing tougher times.  But my wife piped in with asking why would --or should-- we feel bad about traveling?  We had worked hard and saved even harder, and had only began traveling in the last few years.  During our work years we had skipped all sorts of vacations and "toys," quite happy to be with our animals and friends and slowly pay down our debts.  Our cars are nearly 15 years old (yes, we're still skipping "toys"), and we were now older; the government was requiring us to start using whatever retirement funds we had...or else be penalized (they wanted their taxes).  So while we have no plans to buy a Ferrari (as if) or brag about the millions we lost in gambling in Vegas (double as if), we were booking a few vacations here and there while we were able to enjoy them.  All that said, we know (as mentioned often in earlier posts) that we are in a fortunate position...healthy, few bills, a bit of money in savings.  But we also spend far more on charitable causes than we ever do on our vacations.  No puffy chests here, because we feel that there are many out there exactly like us, older with no kids, affairs in order, and grateful to still be walking and hiking and breathing and eating, all with no major health issues such as diabetes or cancer.  To wile away our remaining years on a couch watching the new soap operas termed "series" is fine for many (and admittedly we do watch a few such series such as Silent Witness); but we also feel that this world is so varied, a mixture of chaos and beauty, a planet basically infested with us humans and yet patiently waiting for things (and humanity) to settle down.  And for my wife and I, we are only now discovering that there is so much to see...African animals in the wild, the steps of ancient lands such as Machu Picchu, the wilds of Alaskan coasts, and the buried or existing monuments of Vikings and Mongols and Persians and Romans.  So, there's my defense of sorts, a brief summary of why we were in Portugal, all with fresh eyes and a blank slate, ready for a new bit of learning.

     Of course, "trip" as a verb means something else entirely, as in my recent tripping over my dog's leash when he pulled me around (and thus, my cracked pelvis injury).  "Watch out for that step" (or "mind the gap" if you're in England) is a common warning to prevent you from tripping, as is "slippery when wet."  And back when psychedelics first became popular, the phrase "don't be tripping out on me" had both meanings.  So back to the cruise, yes there was another reason: balance.  One could say that we all need balance in our lives, not only physically but in all other aspects -- emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and socially.  And not just us but seemingly everywhere.  The world needs balance, and on so many fronts.  As mentioned before, there are few things that can compare to travel when it comes to balance.  Just to mingle and see other people and to talk with them, to taste their foods and smell such different aromas, to hear new languages and yet see that laughter and crying and anger are universal, to notice that people are people everywhere, in all their complexities.  Only through travel do we find that describing something as simple as "an American" is a near impossibility for you are as different from your neighbor as you are from the person living an ocean away.  But here's a bit of wisdom passed onward: your physical balance can atrophy as easily as everything else.  Oh no, you'll reply (as I did), my balance is fine.  So here's a simple exercise as given to me by the physical therapist.  Standing straight with your arms flush against your sides, place one foot in front of the other, heel-to-toe.  Now nod your head up and down in a yes-no position, then move your head side-to-side, left then right.  Do this for 30 seconds (if you can), then move forward and place the other foot in front...repeat the motions with your head.  Too easy?  Do the entire sequence with your eyes closed (standing next to a wall helps to prevent you toppling over).  As he told me, balance depends on three things: our ears, our eyes, and our feet on the ground.  And I'll be the first to tell you that each of these senses and tactile feelings diminish as you age.  But the slight rocking of the cruise ship keeps you on your toes!  Thus, my second "defense" of us going on this cruise...

     STUMBLE:  So in Portugal, the language is logically Portuguese, a language used in Brazil and other areas but sounding different (to my ears) than Spain-Spanish, or the Spanish from what we heard in South America (close but no cigar, as they say).  I could get by, even with broken elementary Spanish; and of course the majority of people there speak English so hats off to them (as our guide in Norway told us, "you should learn Norwegian...it's easy!").  Yet what seems a monumental task for most of us --that of learning a new language such as Mandarin or Arabic-- is little when compared to that person from another country having to learn English.   So put yourself in that position for a moment and imagine that you have indeed arrived from another country and need to learn English.  As but one example, not only for spelling but for pronunciation, picture the words: tough, though, thought, thorough.  Then throw in all those idioms and regional traits such as flapjacks (used primarily in the South) vs. pancakes (used more in the West).  Flapjacks apparently originated in England of all places, although I've yet to see pancakes on any English menu when over there (to add to the confusion, you're more apt to see the term "hotcakes" while there); and you have to throw up your hands and admit that nothing is as dyed in the wool as it seems because who really "flaps" pancakes, though it turns out that the "jack" part was simply the name for a common man in ye olde England, much as we refer to someone being an ordinary "joe."  And don't even start with waffles.  Anyway, or anyways, that tidbit (which is petisco in Portugese) comes from a book by linguist Anne Curzan, Ph. D. who wrote that we intermingle certain words --anyway & anyways, proved & proven, shaved & shaven-- that both versions become accepted as "correct" in common usage.  Which is not the same as the redundant usage of irregardless, an unnecessary add-on since "regardless" provides the same definition.  But her book is not only for "grammandos," her polite term for those loving the stickier details of grammar (and she IS the dean of Literature, Science, and the Arts at the University of Michigan), but even for those who feared those diagrammed sentence breakdowns in English class (which included me).  But I wasn't alone.   Author Cruzan better explains why learning such details can cause your brain to glaze over: Let's start with "the perfect," which is not a tense but an aspect in English grammar.  The perfect describes an action in the past and its relation to another moment in time.  The present perfect is used for an action that began in the past and is still happening or remains relevant now: for example, "I have read half the book."  If you imagine a timeline, this sentence places the action at this moment.  I have finished half the book.  The past perfect describes an action that began in the past and ended at another moment in the past: for example, "I had read half the book when I decided it wasn't worth finishing."  So in this case, the starting and ending of the reading both happened in the past in the left-hand part of the timeline if time is moving from left to right, with the present in the middle and the future to the right...And here you thought math was tough.

     Learning the "rules" of a language can drive a person the level of frustration.  And most of that learning comes after one learns the vocabulary and sentence structure and whether or not to "use" a subject (in many languages, but not English, the correct conjugation of the verb defines the subject so for us it would be like saying "hungry" in different versions and you would hear "I'm hungry," or "we're hungry" or "you're hungry;"  makes sense but then, we don't do that with English).  So now jump to learning something entirely new to humans, that of learning how animals speak.  It's the topic of sociologist Arik Kershenbaum's book, Why Animals Talk, and he asks why and how all living creatures, including us, broke off into different languages and vocal cords and environments.  As a review in The Inquisitive Biologist wrote: Rather than asking what animals are saying, Kershenbaum is foremost interested in why animals talk in the first place.  How do they live, what do they need to say to each other, and are there any parallels with human language?  The answers Kershenbaum presents are a highly stimulating and thought-provoking exercise in decentering the human experience and trying to understand animals on their terms.  As the author wrote: If the history of life --the history of communication-- were compressed down to a whole day, language evolved in the last twenty seconds before midnight.  Is language really so special, or is it just the latest fad -- another specialist adaptation like the spectacular colors of a butterfly or the absurdly long tongue of an anteater?  When we compare ourselves to animals, and compare our communication to that of animals, it would be good to remember that we are only a small part of the greater ecosystem of Earth, and that our language, impressive though it is, is just one adaptation to communication out of millions.

     FALL: As with so many other words, "fall" can be taken in several ways.  You can indeed "fall" down, or "fall" off of a ledge.  And then there is the "fall" of autumn, as in the Carole King song, You've Got A Friend,*: winter, spring, summer or fall.  And just as would happen with Halloween, we would miss much of this year's fall.  Of course we were here when fall first arrived, but our area has such terrific fall colors in the mountains that there is little need to venture elsewhere.  A simple drive up through any of the canyons often presents you with a dazzling display worthy of most scenic calendars.  A hike into the woods gives you even greater colors: thicker, lush, virgin in a way as vegetation grows untouched by paved roads or foot paths.  But catching the "peak" of fall colors is a gamble; finicky and a bit like life overall.  You can be there at exactly the right moment and almost immediately recognize that you are witnessing something special, that life itself --even at its end-- is spectacular and colorful and something to be cherished.  But that moment is fleeting.  Arrive too soon and the colors are not quite there but still appearing beautiful and proud as if accepting what was coming and ready for it.  But time your visit just a week too late and the leaves will be growing sparse, the salmon-like colors now decorating more of the ground like shed skin, the aspens and oaks knowing that their time was limited and there was now only a few weeks left to prepare themselves for the cold of winter; time for their roots to dive deeper into the ground and prepare for an extended sleep, protected from the bug-killing cold.  These photos show that scenario, that even with being there just a week late, the curtain of colors were giving way; and higher up, as the leaves completely gave way to their stark white trunks and branches, I couldn't help but reflect on my own hair, also stark white and perhaps echoing that my own life had entered its autumn.

     But whatever time of year or season we did or didn't experience, we would be returning from the cruise to a new dynamic, the race for the White House would be only days away from a major change.  Should Trump re-enter that realm, it would be with his right-hand man, John Eastman, still an election-denier and one who wrote that Kamala Harris likely is not a US citizen (Eastman lost his bid to be the GOP opponent to Harris back in 2010 when he wanted to become the attorney general of California).  Trump, who has now become the oldest candidate to ever run for the office (Biden was 5 months younger than Trump when he ran in 2020), had described Eastman as "very highly qualified, very talented lawyer."  On the other side, should Harris win the Presidency, she would enter a world where white males now make up just 30% of the population and yet hold nearly 2/3 of all political offices, wrote the New York Review.   As the piece noted: By contrast, only three Black women...have previously even sought a major party's presidential nomination, and only three (including Harris) have served in the Senate.  No Black woman has been elected as a governor, and only twenty-five have held other senior statewide offices, such as lieutenant governor, attorney general, or secretary of state (on a similar note, a recent report noted that just 2% of all charitable giving goes to women or women's causes).  Times are changing as old ways seemingly disappear (note the disappearance of writing checks, wrote a piece in TIME).  And I kept hearing that song by Sting: You could say I lost my faith in the people on TV.  You could say I'd lost my belief in our politicians.  They all seemed like game show hosts to me...I could be lost inside their lies without a trace.  

    Getting back to our hike to see the fall colors, the same hike which we once would do as a "warm-up" to other hikes, seemed more difficult, the inclines steeper and the descents somehow harder on my toes.  And all the while my wife and I watched as younger couples with their dogs passed us in both directions (we used to also bring our dog on this hike).  But we still made it.  And as with the changing seasons, the question for me became: had I also reached my peak?  Sting's song was titled "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You," and I think that rather than being a romantic ode it was more of an asking to believe in yourself.  To not lose hope and faith in yourself, regardless of your age or situation.  To not lose faith in others, no matter their views.  To not lose faith in the world, despite the destruction.  If I ever lose my faith in you; there'd be nothing left for me to do, sang Sting.  As author Arik Kershenbaum' noted in his book's closing: Rather than thinking of what we humans can do as being so special, we need to view our abilities as an extension of those of our ancestors, and of our cousins who live around us today.   The more we move away from human exceptionalism, the more we can understand animals in their own context, and the more open our minds will be to the kinds of radically different communication all around us.  There is really nothing to list, except our perception of sorting on a throne at the pinnacle of creation.  Which was always an illusion anyway.  

     While the hike was a bit more of a struggle, it was also a chance for both my wife and I to see things in a new way.  To discover that our bodies ached a bit more but that it all made us feel more grateful that we could still make the ascent and see that all was still right in this part of the world, that nature didn't give a hoot about politics or whose boundary was where, only that it was time for the trees to begin preparing for the coming winter and the new life that would later follow.  I likened our new travels to what long-time traveling writer Paul Theroux wrote in Condé Nast Traveler: ...the passage of time has allowed me to see better: Aging is the great clarifier, offering wonderful, unanticipated insights, because aging is an odyssey of enlightenment.  Growing old is also a lesson in timekeeping: You value time as precious and want more.  I began to understand that the natural wish in old age for more time can be granted by travel...The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once observed, in a mathematical way, “When we are traveling: one month away seems longer to us than four at home.”  So as we climbed those hills and saw what was left of the leaves, each of them revealing colors that were always there but hidden with chlorophyll, it brought to mind that which we too may have hiding within ourselves, things which perhaps only are discovered with growing older.  For me, even though we had missed this area's "peak," there at the tail end of the hike was a distant display of aspen trees, one which seemed an acre or more in size.  Look, my wife said, the leaves are all shimmering.  And indeed they were, as if applauding or perhaps just acknowledging our time out among them.  There was indeed "gold in them thar hills," but what I was seeing was far more valuable than any metal...

*While the prolific songwriter King wrote the original tune (and won a Grammy for Song of the Year), it was her friend James Taylor who asked her if he could also record it (he also won a Grammy for male vocalist, doing the same song); the story goes that both were set to go on stage at the Troubadour in Los Angeles in November 1970 when Taylor heard King's version (she was on before he was scheduled to appear) and when she left the stage, Taylor asked her permission to give her song a try; it was the first time he had heard it.  The rest, as they say, is history...