Through the Looking Glass: 40. Retirement Learning

Saturday, December 15, 2012

40. Retirement Learning

Reports conclude that in this modern age we can expect to change careers at least three times during the course of our lives. Our present life spans can easily accommodate the learning and practice of a myriad of new skills.

Involvement in schools and education as both student and educator for more than five decades prods me to explore something other than the academic realm in my retirement. As have many others, I am presently exploring career moves that will provide me with the spiritual and personal satisfaction that I seek as I step into the youth of my old age.

As an initial exploration I am considering becoming a 'clown'. Having had such a high level of exposure to clowns in my classes I thought that a closer study of the profession might help me in my personal quest for fulfillment.

To my surprise I found that there exist several 'Clown Colleges". These centers of ludicrous learning exist solely to teach interested individuals the method of mirth that defines 'clownhood'.

One might think that a dawn to dusk timetable of mayhem and silliness is all that can be expected at such a school, but such is not the case. Academics are pursued in the course of studies. Courses include the relationship between deafness and exploding cigars. The ancient predecessors of the rubber chicken are also explored in earnest.

Social issues are also explored in forums that debate the question of steroids for the feet. Health and safety are examined in studies that explore whether or not cholesterol from cream pies can be absorbed through the skin. There is research presently taking place that hopes to develop footwear resistant to elephant manure. Specific professional research is carried on in attempting to determine if soda water or seltzer is funnier.

Economic concerns are also addressed in workshops through offerings such as 'Reducing Travel Expenses - How to get 28 into a Car.' Personal interaction is also supported by sessions such as 'Why Chicks Dig Clowns.'

With such an array of academic, safety and social concerns offered I find it difficult to come up with a reason not to pursue such a noble and open minded profession. I look forward to the day when in full regalia I am able to entertain some of my old students quite anonymously. Perhaps I will even be able to test my thesis about "Gasoline -A replacement for Seltzer?" at that point.

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Introduction

Having moved at least twenty-five times in fifteen years has opened a world of learning to me. In six decades, an education ranging from the coldness of large cities to the isolation of remote rural locations to the busybody gossip of small towns and the wonder of the prairie and it's ocean of grass have all left their impressions on me.

Recently I relocated to a small city in British Columbia. It touted itself as a historical, cultural, educational and, over-all wonderful, place to live. Once I was past the trees and the rocks, the heights and the hills, the water and the wind, I calmed down and was ready to look at the people I was sharing that space with.

Every location I have ever squatted has had it's share of characters. Players in the cities along with the wide range of tinfoil hat wearers and baggy pants skaters were a given. Pop up strangers at odd hours surprised me with their appearance in the middle of nowhere. Rumours of my serial killer past from neighbours I had never met never swayed me. The wonder of gazing on the effects of wind on the grass ocean interrupted by a landowner enquiring why I was leaning on his fence was oft forgiven.

In this new locale a variety of characters as I had experienced elsewhere was a given. The density and variety of them however gave me more surprise than I would have expected.

I had heard comments about this place being a time warp to the sixties. However I only saw few that , by their appearance, I could say lived through the sixties. What apparitions appeared were younger and more colourful than I remember from that vague decade.

Purple haired strong armed accordionists, heavy head shaved violinists clutching tiny instruments, winter coated scarf wrapped individuals in shorts and oddly calm people with large coffees wandered the streets.

They wandered in and out of new age crystal shops, expressed opinions on local radio, bought nothing but organic food. They played jazz on squeeze boxes, made strings and wood sing in ways not intended, talked to themselves as they tightened their scarves and became more serene with each sip of coffee.

Characters here are more concentrated than in any other locale I have ever lived. It is a point of interest as well as point of concern.

It remains to be seen whether I will be mugged with organic carrots, side swiped by hooligan mountain bikers, be harangued with advice on dressing warmly or kept awake nights by jazzy sounds from an errant squeeze box. Whatever the outcome I am certain I could find it in no other place on earth to explore these particular uncertainties.

Until I am transplanted again, I extend every new-ager and boarder, every subculture economist and spiritualist, every would-be and wanna-be my deep thanks for extending me the opportunity of educating myself one measure more.