Guest post: "Diminishment", by Elaine Heumann Gurian

With Elaine, at the Kennedy Center, Washington DC, 2013

Short introduction: For a long time, Elaine was for me one of those people that didn't 'really' exist. Author of "Civilizing the museum", she had deeply influenced my thinking and practice, especially by coining the term "the museum 'and'". But she wasn't someone I could hope to actually meet, someday, somewhere. When in 2013 I found the courage to write to her, Elaine came to find me. And this says a lot about who she is. We´ve kept in touch since, occasionally, mainly through her letters to her pals. Last week, we got one more. It was a privilege starting my day by reading that letter. It was one more confirmation of how extraordinary she is a person. She generously allowed me to share it on my blog. Thank you, Elaine, for this and for so much more.

Diminishment
August 2024

Dear Pals,

I have not written in a while. More precisely, I have not sent a letter to my pals in a long time because I have written some that I rejected and did not send. But here I am again, now an 86-year-old female, hoping that my elderly experience might yield some ideas of generalized interest. I ruminate about the inevitable diminishment facing us all.

We (elders) have mostly gone into each day (unless we were sick or had an accident) with the expectation that we had the same capacity as the day before. However, we sometimes find these expectations wrong-headed, and we are surprised by our inability. Now and then, we can compensate for what is lost, but frequently, it is gone, and our calculus must be readjusted.

For the last two years, I have had intermittent bouts of illness and accidents and have been surprised each time I fully recovered because I believed that as an older adult, I would never reach the previous state again, and there I was wrong. I was pleasantly surprised to get well, but that did not account for my unexpected decline in other seemingly unrelated ways. An apparent discrepancy.

Given my experience, I deeply relate to Joe Biden. During his last painful months, I have found myself wondering what Joe Biden, a fellow octogenarian, was feeling – stunned as he appeared to be and disbelieving that he could not do what he has always done before.

And when he failed the debate, I became obsessed. It was excruciating to watch him. I knew he was unprepared to be unfit. But I (and everyone) need a presidential candidate who can do the job prospectively. As I grew more empathetic toward him personally, I became more ruthless about wanting him out of the campaign.

Now, there have been a few weeks of joyous politics with Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. I am relieved. The merciful collapse of Donald Trump went from being feared to his being diminished and recently being proclaimed to have cognitive decline by talking heads who have declared him unable. Joe Biden has disturbing lapses, but Donald Trump’s bizarreness of personal aggrievement mirrors a familiar family moment when we tell someone they can no longer drive because of their lack of real connections. In the race to incapacity, Trump seems confined to his room. At the same time, Biden still effectively runs the country, albeit with help. Elderly infirmities hit us all differently. Thank goodness the pundits seem to have understood that in the nick of time.  

Armed with our new realism, Dean and I decided to move. It has become clear that while we still can, we should plan for eliminating car dependence. I want to walk across the street with a rolling hand wagon to get groceries. Our new back door will open to a dog walk, and the side door will bring us a bus to downtown. I hope that somewhere in the building of 125 apartments, I will find the potential company I crave to replace the proximity of my missing far-away pals that travel used to bring me to.

While packing, I discovered I had collected stuff that fit into three categories: 1. I might need it later. 2. I like it. and 3. Someone gave it to me. The objects mostly come embedded with memories. I have put most of the last category unexamined in a storage locker protected by a monthly fee. For me, the objects are too sweet/painful to allow me to discard them -- The drawings by my no-longer-alive son, the irreverent postcards from deceased rascals, the playbill from a 6^th-grade concert of a living child, and the talisman from boyfriends of yore. All have been rehidden in their corners of the storage to simmer down into becoming just stuff that can go to their deserved oblivion without pain. I now better understand what closets and cubbies are for -- they are meant to keep ghosts away.

The usual home decorating atmospherics – the books that line the shelves, the clothes that fill the closet, and the kitchen drawer of assorted things -- were much easier to part with. I am surprised that I could give away my books to begin new lives for themselves. All the children’s books went to a new grandmother, and the religious books went to a specialized reading room. A son took the art books so joyfully that I understood he would now redefine himself as old enough to collect such beautiful things.

And so now, amidst the joy of a hopeful Presidential campaign, I, unintentionally retired and concluding my all-consuming packing, begin a renewed search for relevance. I will find some way to be helpful in the campaign, but that soon ends.

I find I am not content having a surfeit of time to please myself. What I yearn for is to be helpful with associated group problem-solving. The give and take of others. Or mentoring someone who can use my accumulated knowledge for their own purposes. The size of the problem does not matter. Hanging around at home, reading novels during daylight hours, and rearranging my now-clean closets are no longer on my agenda. Travel for its own sake seems indulgent when travel has always been about going somewhere for directed action.

I am beginning to study my new neighborhood, wondering where an old lady might help. I have started looking at the local coffee shops and fantasizing about what minor incursions might help them build community while gaining profits. It seems selling coffee and pastry without additional incentives fails as a business. Public or commercial spaces become more viable if they are intentionally welcoming.

As always, physical examples can be found that enhance neighborhoods, such as the “Little Free Library”.   New to me is “The Chat Bench”. I found a unique design that allows carers of small children to work on computers in a public setting.  

I have been to the coffee shop that offers tables for patrons to give free English lessons, chair yoga for older adults, and free Wi-Fi for strangers. I know community can be enhanced in many places. I need to wander into some of them and lend my enthusiasm. I will keep you informed as I look around my new neighborhood.

As I am writing this, The Center for the Future of Museums Blog at AAM has published this essential and quite comprehensive article, which suggests that our museums could look at older people with more interest. Thank you, Elizabeth Merritt.

So, I send love to all my pals, hoping that this musing on aging resonates with you and that our bond continues based on affection and ideas. Please feel free to write back with any thoughts. Xxx e--

P.S. I close with a book recommendation for all ages from my favorite category – myth/allegory with happy endings: “The Eyes and the Impossible” by the fascinating Dave Eggers. Thank you, Susie Wilkening, for suggesting it. 

 

Elaine with her grandchildren (2015, image taken from her website)