Whenever Ernie laughed, he did so with his entire body, a knee-slapping, unrestrained, booming cackle that invited others to join the every-minute-of-every-day party he hosted for anybody who wandered by.
But eating corn on the cob made Ernie more philosophical: the more gnawed cobs, the more profound his utterances. During a six-cob session, he said the best thing about being old was no longer worrying about the expectations of others, but doing what he wanted. Furthermore, when he did so, people usually expressed amazement and appreciation.
Since his favorite activities were drinking beer and singing scandalous songs he learned in the Navy, I could believe people expressed amazement.
“I’m easier on myself now I’m old and retired,” he continued “I’m finally free to do things because I want to, not because I’m proving something to myself or others. At 68, I’m 200 pounds of blue-toned steel, and I can pee into the wind if I want.”
At the time, caught up in a whirlwind of goal achievement, I chuckled, but missed both Ernie’s point and the model he provided. He wasn’t offering toileting advice. Instead, his words and actions were saying that as you grow older and retire, you can laugh, create fun, and be kind to yourself. You can relax into the rhythm of the life you now have with no need to maintain your past self; and, if you take the time to look for delight and humor when young, they’ll be easier to find when you’re old.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, I had only a few years left to benefit from Ernie’s fun and wisdom. Too soon, I sat in a drab hospital room as he drifted in and out of sleep, watching his gnarled hands crawl the bed covers and listening to the shudders of his breath. I knew the day was fast approaching when I would join his family to drop flowers into his beloved Yuba River, which flowed through the Sierra Nevada Mountains as deeply and surely as his friendship and happy spirit flowed through our lives.
In memory of Ernie and to remind myself how to live well in retirement, each year I choose a summer day to eat corn on the cob and sing his favorite navy song—the one about Columbus and the cabin boy.
Have some thoughtsI
related to today’s post?
Please leave a comment below.
Beautiful!
LikeLike
You would have like Ernie, Janice.
LikeLike
Janet, with teary eyes I’ve read and re-read your words about Ernie. You captured his spirit and it’s remarkable that twenty-six years after he left us we still laugh and have so many stories about how he enriched our lives. He was a responsible and ethical man yet had the heart of a child when it came to enjoying life.
My youngest daughter remembers an evening when he said “I’m in the mood for lemon meringue pie”. We piled into his tiny ancient Datsun, “high-balled” from Carson City to Marie Callendar’s in Reno, bought a pie, “high-balled” back to Carson City, and ate the entire pie. The memory is lasting because it was such a silly and fun-loving thing to do.
One memory among so many. I took your picture of him one day after he called to say he was diagnosed with cancer. He was camped on the Yuba River, panning for gold. He told me, “don’t cry Mary, I’ve had such a good life”. He said how glad he was he’d retired at 62 and had enjoyed extra years of retirement, against advice from more logical thinkers.
He loved the spontaneity that retirement gave him and you’ve reminded me again what freedom we have with retirement…..and how enriching life can be if we USE that freedom. He didn’t have monetary riches but he showed us how to have fun. Thank you, thank you, I needed that reminder
LikeLike
Mercy, dear friend, your comment made me teary-eyed as well. How fortunate that we both knew this wonderful, wise, funny man and can help one another keep our memories of him fresh.
LikeLike
Okay, I cried too! Mary, I was thinking about your stories of him always delivering a box of rubber bands with any supply order. And of course, your cake! Janet, you will have to sing that song to me.
LikeLike
Cindy, I think somewhere Ernie is laughing at the way we’re weeping and remembering.I’ll be practicing his song for when next we meet.
LikeLike
Although I didn’t know Ernie your description caused him to leap off the page, saunter into my backyard and take a seat at the picnic table—piled high with corn-on-the-cob of course.
He could have been my husband’s beloved Uncle Ed, or my Uncle Clarence, recalling the days of WWII and dispensing wisdom about how to live life with gusto, and on your own terms.
What a great idea, to dedicate a day each year remembering our wise elders who have passed by living in the moment and enjoying something they loved.
LikeLike
Rita, I can tell you completely caught the spirit of Ernie because of the way you describe the two uncles. Our lives are enriched by knowing such people.
LikeLike
Aunt Janet, your description of Ernie brings back memories of Grandpa.I remember his laugh, his knee slap and his enjoyment of life. He was never afraid of what others thought. He enjoyed life, and showed it. I LOVE those memories!!
LikeLike
I love those memories, too, Dawna, oh so much. But you reminded me of something I had forgotten: the way my dad slapped his knees when he was really tickled. Thank you.
LikeLike
awesome..looking forward for that also..
LikeLike
Thank you for your comment. The older I get the more I believe that aging well depends on living well, not matter how old we were. Or, as Aunt Beulah put it, “Mean old people were probably mean young people.”
LikeLike
What a wonderful memorial. At 71, I am trying to be just like I imagine Ernie was. I love a good laugh, and corn on the cob, and beer. Thanks for sharing, and congratulations on being Freshly Pressed. We need more of your type of blog.
LikeLike
Those are such wonderful words for a new blogger to hear. Thank you. If you’ll keep reading, I’ll keep trying to live up to your expectations.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on haitianbarbiek.
LikeLike
Thank you, HaitianBarbieK. I’ll visit your blog soon. Right now it’s time to take a walk on what’s an unusually gloomy day in Colorado.
LikeLike
You are welcome and no problem.
LikeLike
Love this! Thanks for sharing 🙂
LikeLike
Mary, I am so glad you enjoyed it. It’s easy to share when people are so kind.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on How 2 Be Green and commented:
A great inspirational post!
LikeLike
You are so kind, Marycheshier. I think my friend Ernie would have thought so too. I’ll be visiting your blog.
LikeLike
Hi. Thank you.. Yes Ernie seemed like a fabulous person!
LikeLike
Thanks so much for reflagging — the ultimate compliment from a blogger.
LikeLike
You are ever so welcome. 🙂
LikeLike
Now that I am up there in years, I look at a lot who did not make it and there are tears. Soon I will give my regards to your Ernie, but I am in no rush, tell the sled dogs to go slow and not to mush.
LikeLike
Oh, awax1217, I, too, shed those tears. And I’m hoping the sled dogs go slow.
LikeLike
What a joy to read! This past year I’ve seen four great people pass on, and after hearing eulogies that made me realize how amazing those lives were. I hope one day I too can have those stories read about me. Well wrote!
LikeLike
We owe such a debt to those who helped shape us. I’m sorry you lost those great people, but happy you knew them. And I’m sure you are leaving wonderful stories in the hearts of your loved ones.
LikeLike
Now that’s an outlook on life I can get behind. Too bad retirement is too far off in the distance right now. I love the idea of living for yourself, like Ernie did in his retirement.
LikeLike
During my early years as a teacher, I thought retirement was what happened to other people, because it was so far in the future. Then one day I received a clock and went home. You’re right, it’s better to enter retirement joyously and free of worrying about what others think, as Ernie did.
LikeLike
I love that, you received a clock and then went home. It seems to sum up the whole process of a great achievement in a few words.
LikeLike
Great blog…
LikeLike
Thank you for reading my blog, susipet. I also appreciate your letting me know you enjoyed it.
LikeLike
My goodness..I was not expecting to get choked up ..Beautifully written and I like Ernie’s philosophy.. time for me to start peeing in the wind..
Congrats on being FP!
Lynne
LikeLike
It was so exciting to receive the news about FP and the responses, like yours have been wonderful. I can hear Ernie laughing about the excitement of my day, happy that he caused it! Thanks for you clever and kind response.
LikeLike
Love this so much! You are a beautiful story teller. I can’t wait to read more. Always a breath of fresh air to find a writer who writes from her heart, honestly. Thank you for sharing!
LikeLike
Wow, Carrie, your words are words every writer enjoys hearing. Thank you for taking the time to tell me. (And you tapped into my secret identity. I have always thought of myself as a story teller!)
LikeLike
You are more than welcome. Time well spent. Maybe your secret identity, isn’t a secret anymore. Thank you for unveiling it to me.
LikeLike
What a simple, beautiful memory of a good man.
LikeLike
I appreciate your description of my friend as a “good man.” It captures him so well. Thank you for responding.
LikeLike
Beautiful story, thank you. In my twenties, I did as I pleased, roamed unafraid and never worried about money. Now getting old is a bit of a worry…but stories such as yours will get a girl through.
LikeLike
Something tells me that you have the spunk and character to get yourself through. I think to age well a person must live well, and it sounds like you’re off to a good start.
LikeLike
Today,
It’e been two years since my uncle passed away. His laugh, his memories, his crazy obsession for all things abnormal, make me miss him even more.
He was young when he died, a mere 42.
He is missed by all of us as a person who you could turn to in times of distress, a person who will help you with issues related to your mistress, a person who never failed to make you see the light in the darkest days.
But, his death changed something.
I saw my family shatter before my eyes.
My mom weeps till date remembering how easily God took away her only younger brother away from her.
Trust me, its huge burden for me as a 16 year old to bear.
But today, reading this paragraph you wrote about Ernie, makes me think that maybe death is just a door into a better world for those who were too good to stay.
Thankyou for writing such soul stirring pieces.
Thankyou.
LikeLike
“…maybe death is just a door into a better world for those who were too good to stay.” What a beautiful thought. I will long remember it. Thank you for reading my blog and commenting so honestly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
N I C E……..good post
LikeLike
It’s nice that you read my blog and took the time to tell me so. Thank you.
LikeLike
you are a good storyteller. Wish I had met Ernie too
LikeLike
You would have liked him, Martha; everyone who took a minute to look closely and find his joy did. Thanks for your kind comment.
LikeLike
you are most welcome
LikeLike
Very touching and at this point in my life I totally get what he had expressed. I love his celebration of this life- with no apologies.
LikeLike
You’re right, Ernie never apologized and he always included others in his celebrations. Thank you for finding my blog. I’ll find yours soon.
LikeLike
Hi !
Thanks for your new post !! It´s a good article.. Îm from Paris in France (im sure your know the french bread ?) so i will add you for gat your next post…
Have a nice day !
Fred
—–
Site officiel agrée d’enlèvement d’épave ville de Paris.
http://www.enlevement-epave-ile-de-france-idf-60-77-78-75-91-92-93-94-95.fr
Dépannage automobile :
http://www.enlevement-epave-ile-de-france-idf-60-77-78-75-91-92-93-94-95.fr/depannage
Rachat cash de votre automobile :
http://www.enlevement-epave-ile-de-france-idf-60-77-78-75-91-92-93-94-95.fr/
Tél : 06.12.94.88.66
LikeLike
Fred, I do know French bread, and I have visited your lovely city. I’m so glad you found my blog. And because of your nice message, I will have a nice day!
LikeLike
Wonderful story. Very moving. You can tell it was written from the heart.
LikeLike
Yes, it was. I find that when I’m truly writing from my heart, the words flow so easily and readers seem to respond as well. Thank you for reading my blog. I’ll pay a visit to yours.
LikeLike
What a touching memoir of a special man in your family–thank you for sharing it! 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you for finding my blog, ermigal. I’m glad you enjoyed my post, He was a special man.
LikeLike
I love to laugh, I do it all the time. It’s contagious just like the Tanzania laughter outbreak of 1962. I enjoy stories that are well written and food for the soul. I appreciate the meal.
LikeLike
And I appreciate your well written comment, Cinique, and found the laughter outbreak in Tanzania interesting. Once at a picnic, my younger sister and I got the giggles and laughed so hard she blew a watermelon seed out her nose. It was the talk of the town. I’m glad you found my blog, and I will find yours soon.
LikeLike
A seed? Really? Oh my, that’s a picture my mind won’t soon forget. Hilarious!
LikeLike
My sister has tried to forget. I won’t let her.
LikeLike
It is amazing how someone who is gone never forgotten, at our quiet or even our loudest moments there word’s bring a sort of ease to life. As if they are looking at you at the moment or telling you something. A spiritual thing I would think.. Good Read
LikeLike
I know the feeling you describe, overedge, and it is spiritual in nature. Thank you for finding my blog and commenting.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on intergenerationalsig.
LikeLike
Glad to have re-found Ernie, whom led me to your site, and the sweet photo- if love is letting go of fear, his life epitomised it, I shall read this one again.
LikeLike
I’d forgotten, dear friend, that it was Ernie who introduced us. He would really like you, I know. He would also be pleased that you now know Mercy (Mary) as well.
LikeLike