Panama is the kind of place where you can back up on the freeway. I should know, because I did it. And I wasn’t the only one. Here, if you miss your exit, shift into reverse and hope for the best!
Panama is the kind of place where you can show your bare midriff, no matter your age. No matter your size! And no matter your taste in revealing clothes. Sequins are very big here. Who needs a holiday or party? Every day is a good day to show some sparkle . . . and a generous gut, too!
Panama is the kind of place where a waitress might answer her cell phone . . . while she’s serving your table. Gossip is like restaurant food—you got to get it while it’s hot!
Panama is the kind of place where a driver can hold his infant child in one arm, and the steering wheel of his Toyota in the other. Where bikers seem to believe their caps afford the same protection as a helmet. And where the rare jogger might be wearing a knit stocking cap and full sweats . . . in 85 degree weather.
Panama is the kind of place where bright yellow jungle flowers practically explode from the limbs of jade green trees, while piles of garbage fester nearby. The jarring contrast between natural beauty and manmade ugliness makes your head spin. My environmentalist daughter sees education opportunities in Panama. I see . . . well even though I’m an optimist, this is Panama, so I don’t know.
I’ve heard that Panama is one of the top five places in the world to retire. That’s true if you’re measuring weather and cost of living. Panama is a wonderful place, with exuberant, friendly people. At the same time Panamanians see the world differently from most Americans. Certain basic values now embraced in the U.S. (like safety precautions and picking up your own garbage) sometime seem in short supply here.
But in February, when life is gray back home, I can accept the difference much more easily.
Monday, February 28, 2011
I Touched A Dead Body Yesterday
It didn’t scare me, or even freak me out. I was surprised. I touched the body while my wife and two men preparing her aunt’s body (who we knew as Na) for a funeral that was taking place the next day. They were struggling with her dress. The slip was hard enough to put on, but now the dress, with its zippers and lace, it required three sets of hands to lift the body and keep Na’s head in place. I wasn’t going to just stand by—I had visions of the body slipping off the table, bursting open and embalming fluids splashing on my legs. Better I help and avert a potential disaster!
The place where the body was being prepared for the funeral was described to us as a “private morgue.” We had visited the public morgue earlier that day and had identified the body for the death certificate. The sight of Na’s body wrapped in a sheet, with cotton in her mouth and nose, was almost too much to bear. I was not looking forward to a second encounter with Na’s body.
To find the private morgue, we were told to look for the large Edwin Hardware sign off the side of the highway. “You can’t miss it,” I was told. Who hasn’t heard that before?
But I saw the Fereteria Edwin sign and the rutted, dirt driveway that led to what appeared to be an open garage where cars were being repaired. A forlorn dog, skinny with sagging tetes watched us walk warily up to the building. The garage doors were open and we walked right in. Inside we saw the coffin we had selected earlier that day, and Na’s body lying on a metal table. The room was clean enough, but lacked the sterile, medical atmosphere I expected. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t nervous. Na’s body was being readied for her last public appearance in a garage! Fortunately she looked much better than she did at the public morgue. The cotton had been pulled out, her face was less puffy, and some makeup had already been applied.
The body itself was soft to the touch, but room temperature. There was no life in that skin. The faint aroma of Na’s perfume was evident, but her spirit had departed. I wasn’t scared, repulsed or nervous. We had a limited amount of time to make sure she was presentable. So my wife fixed the makeup, changed the earrings, combed her hair, and arranged her clothing and rosary beads. This was the best we could do.
The next day, 30 minutes before Na’s funeral, a hearse arrived at the church. It was not exactly a hearse, but a white minivan that transported the coffin. We were asked to find men to carry the coffin up the stairs into the sanctuary. For this funeral, the pall bearers really bore a burden, not symbolically accompanied the casket. So huffing and puffing, six of us carefully carried the coffin with Na inside up two flights of stairs. Once in the sanctuary, mourners crowded around the coffin to see Na one more time. My wife was grateful she spent the time carefully arranging the body the day before—fixing the makeup, choosing the right clothes and jewelry—because at this funeral people wanted to see the deceased—a closed casket simply would not do.
My wife said she wished she had one last opportunity to hug her Na before she passed. While they talked on the telephone almost daily, she hadn’t felt her warm embrace, smelled her perfume or seen the vibrant sparkle in her eyes in almost a year. While the corpse looked like Na, it was not her. You can’t feel love from a corpse.
My wife and I both touched a dead body yesterday. Fortunately, a life of warm memories is what we’ll remember.
The place where the body was being prepared for the funeral was described to us as a “private morgue.” We had visited the public morgue earlier that day and had identified the body for the death certificate. The sight of Na’s body wrapped in a sheet, with cotton in her mouth and nose, was almost too much to bear. I was not looking forward to a second encounter with Na’s body.
To find the private morgue, we were told to look for the large Edwin Hardware sign off the side of the highway. “You can’t miss it,” I was told. Who hasn’t heard that before?
But I saw the Fereteria Edwin sign and the rutted, dirt driveway that led to what appeared to be an open garage where cars were being repaired. A forlorn dog, skinny with sagging tetes watched us walk warily up to the building. The garage doors were open and we walked right in. Inside we saw the coffin we had selected earlier that day, and Na’s body lying on a metal table. The room was clean enough, but lacked the sterile, medical atmosphere I expected. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t nervous. Na’s body was being readied for her last public appearance in a garage! Fortunately she looked much better than she did at the public morgue. The cotton had been pulled out, her face was less puffy, and some makeup had already been applied.
The body itself was soft to the touch, but room temperature. There was no life in that skin. The faint aroma of Na’s perfume was evident, but her spirit had departed. I wasn’t scared, repulsed or nervous. We had a limited amount of time to make sure she was presentable. So my wife fixed the makeup, changed the earrings, combed her hair, and arranged her clothing and rosary beads. This was the best we could do.
The next day, 30 minutes before Na’s funeral, a hearse arrived at the church. It was not exactly a hearse, but a white minivan that transported the coffin. We were asked to find men to carry the coffin up the stairs into the sanctuary. For this funeral, the pall bearers really bore a burden, not symbolically accompanied the casket. So huffing and puffing, six of us carefully carried the coffin with Na inside up two flights of stairs. Once in the sanctuary, mourners crowded around the coffin to see Na one more time. My wife was grateful she spent the time carefully arranging the body the day before—fixing the makeup, choosing the right clothes and jewelry—because at this funeral people wanted to see the deceased—a closed casket simply would not do.
My wife said she wished she had one last opportunity to hug her Na before she passed. While they talked on the telephone almost daily, she hadn’t felt her warm embrace, smelled her perfume or seen the vibrant sparkle in her eyes in almost a year. While the corpse looked like Na, it was not her. You can’t feel love from a corpse.
My wife and I both touched a dead body yesterday. Fortunately, a life of warm memories is what we’ll remember.
Friday, February 4, 2011
I'll Spare You the Details
President Lyndon Johnson famously showed off his gall bladder surgery scars to reporters in the mid 1960s when I was a small child. The press had a field day. Such a vulgar man. How could the president, the most powerful man in the world, lift his dress shirt, and show reporters his ample mid section. Gross.
Gross, for sure, but I understand the impulse.
Maybe I too am vulgar and gross by nature. Or maybe there's something else going on when the president lifts his shirt and shows off his scars.
Johnson later said he wanted the country to know that he was fine. People worry about the health of the president--his well being impacts the stock market, the news, daily watercooler chat. The former president believed showing the world his healed scars was an act of reassurance--instead it became a big joke.
In the week since my own hernia repair surgery, I've had to repress the urge to ask everyone I see, "Do you want to see my scars?" What's going on in my head? I haven't popped a vicodin since Monday so I can't say it's the drugs talking.
For me, showing my scars justifies my current, albeit strange behavior. All week long I've done nothing but sit around, read, watch TV and eat. I even started playing video games, and am especially enjoying Bejeweled. No work, no exercise, no projects, nothing. How to explain this out-of-character behavior? I just had surgery for goodness sake! How long will that excuse work?
I am surprised that my body really seems to need this down time. I expected that two days after the surgery I would feel like doing my normal activities--all those restrictions were for softer people. Yet, turns out the man of steel has feet of clay after all. I'm kind of shocked. Makes me want to show off those scars even more!
It's amazing the physical changes I've endured this week. From swimming 4,000 yard workouts, running twice weekly 10ks, and doing reverse dips off a weight bench, now I strain to stand and I'm not allowed to lift more than 15 pounds. Earlier this week my walk resembled Mr. Tudball from the old Carol Burnett show. One week I'm physically fit, the next I'm a shuffling invalid. "Look at the scars, they explain it all," I think to myself.
I'm not used to physical limitations. Yet, in this my fiftieth year of life, physical limitations are becoming increasingly familiar. My eyesight is failing. And my hearing? Forget about that sense, too!. Is a walker all that far away?
Fortunately, some of the limitations I'm experiencing are temporary. I am on the road to recovery, which is reassuring. In fact, I should be better than ever because my surgery fixed a congential defect. However, I can't help but feel that these aches and pains, the trips to the hospital, conferring with doctors, will become ever more common, ever more familiar as the years roll forward.
Thank God I'm feeling mostly fine. My mind is as sharp as ever. I'm not too bad to look at even if the hair is more sparse--and increasingly gray. My wife still loves me and my children still talk to me. My mind still creates new ideas. And, if pulling all nighters seems impossible, there still seems sufficient strength in this body to get most jobs done.
This week I learned, however, not to take my abilities for granted. They sometimes need a rest--and may or may not come back once they're gone. My prayer is that as life becomes more challenging, that I have the wisdom to deal with these challenges, and the confidence to know that less is much more than nothing.
Gross, for sure, but I understand the impulse.
Maybe I too am vulgar and gross by nature. Or maybe there's something else going on when the president lifts his shirt and shows off his scars.
Johnson later said he wanted the country to know that he was fine. People worry about the health of the president--his well being impacts the stock market, the news, daily watercooler chat. The former president believed showing the world his healed scars was an act of reassurance--instead it became a big joke.
In the week since my own hernia repair surgery, I've had to repress the urge to ask everyone I see, "Do you want to see my scars?" What's going on in my head? I haven't popped a vicodin since Monday so I can't say it's the drugs talking.
For me, showing my scars justifies my current, albeit strange behavior. All week long I've done nothing but sit around, read, watch TV and eat. I even started playing video games, and am especially enjoying Bejeweled. No work, no exercise, no projects, nothing. How to explain this out-of-character behavior? I just had surgery for goodness sake! How long will that excuse work?
I am surprised that my body really seems to need this down time. I expected that two days after the surgery I would feel like doing my normal activities--all those restrictions were for softer people. Yet, turns out the man of steel has feet of clay after all. I'm kind of shocked. Makes me want to show off those scars even more!
It's amazing the physical changes I've endured this week. From swimming 4,000 yard workouts, running twice weekly 10ks, and doing reverse dips off a weight bench, now I strain to stand and I'm not allowed to lift more than 15 pounds. Earlier this week my walk resembled Mr. Tudball from the old Carol Burnett show. One week I'm physically fit, the next I'm a shuffling invalid. "Look at the scars, they explain it all," I think to myself.
I'm not used to physical limitations. Yet, in this my fiftieth year of life, physical limitations are becoming increasingly familiar. My eyesight is failing. And my hearing? Forget about that sense, too!. Is a walker all that far away?
Fortunately, some of the limitations I'm experiencing are temporary. I am on the road to recovery, which is reassuring. In fact, I should be better than ever because my surgery fixed a congential defect. However, I can't help but feel that these aches and pains, the trips to the hospital, conferring with doctors, will become ever more common, ever more familiar as the years roll forward.
Thank God I'm feeling mostly fine. My mind is as sharp as ever. I'm not too bad to look at even if the hair is more sparse--and increasingly gray. My wife still loves me and my children still talk to me. My mind still creates new ideas. And, if pulling all nighters seems impossible, there still seems sufficient strength in this body to get most jobs done.
This week I learned, however, not to take my abilities for granted. They sometimes need a rest--and may or may not come back once they're gone. My prayer is that as life becomes more challenging, that I have the wisdom to deal with these challenges, and the confidence to know that less is much more than nothing.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Age Ain't Nothin But a Number . . .
. . . but in my case it's still a really big one!
Actress Bette Davis first said, "Getting old is not for sissies," which has been repeated many times, by many commentators, in many circumstances. And, now you're gonna hear it from me. Getting old is definitely NOT for sissies. I should know. It's kicking my butt this week!
It's not that I wish I was young, because I don't want to relive those awkward, mistake-filled, crazy days of yore. Wisdom and experience are wonderful gifts. However, it is true that youth is wasted on the young (thank you George Bernard Shaw for that nugget!). If I knew then what I know now . . . Unfortunately my time machine is missing a few parts and I can't whiz back to 1983 and buy that Microsoft stock. And, it's wasted effort pining over what might have been. You can't change the past.
Experience is a wonderful teacher, and, unless we're insane, it keeps us from making the same mistakes over and over. However, it sure would be nice if some of my newfound limits related to aging weren't part of my personal equation.
Am I back in midlife crisis mode? Not really. What's got me down this week is my hernia. Yuck! That sounds like an old man's malady. Can you even say the word "truss" without seeing visions of hobbling old gentlemen? In my case, I didn't actually tear anything or experience pain. My hernia came on after I started swimming seriously this fall. After one particularly grueling workout, while in the shower, I looked down and said to myself, "that doesn't look right." My physician confirmed it wasn't right and scheduled me to go under the knife for a little repair work. Six weeks of no exercise, too. Other than having my wisdom teeth removed at age 17, I've never been under the knife before.
Is this the dreaded slippery slope? Have I now, on the cusp of 50 years old, become the old man who talks incessantly about his ailments, puts pills in a daily pill counter, wears sansabell shorts, and scans the paper for earlybird dinner specials? Say it ain't so!
Hear's another good quote--if it's true that youth is wasted on the young, perhaps medication is wasted on the old. That's funny. It made me laugh.
Truth is that time marches on. There is no fountain of youth. We must make the best of our days whether we are young or old or somewhere in between. We all have limits--it's just some of us are more aware of those limits than others.
Sure with hard work, a good attitude, God's grace and a little luck, we can accomplish great things at any age. It's just that on some days, it's more difficult to shine with sunny optimism . . . especially when you have a surgeon waiting to slice you open in a few days.
He said I'll be back, though, better than ever. That is, of course, assuming there are no complications. Now that's the spirit! Ha ha.
Actress Bette Davis first said, "Getting old is not for sissies," which has been repeated many times, by many commentators, in many circumstances. And, now you're gonna hear it from me. Getting old is definitely NOT for sissies. I should know. It's kicking my butt this week!
It's not that I wish I was young, because I don't want to relive those awkward, mistake-filled, crazy days of yore. Wisdom and experience are wonderful gifts. However, it is true that youth is wasted on the young (thank you George Bernard Shaw for that nugget!). If I knew then what I know now . . . Unfortunately my time machine is missing a few parts and I can't whiz back to 1983 and buy that Microsoft stock. And, it's wasted effort pining over what might have been. You can't change the past.
Experience is a wonderful teacher, and, unless we're insane, it keeps us from making the same mistakes over and over. However, it sure would be nice if some of my newfound limits related to aging weren't part of my personal equation.
Am I back in midlife crisis mode? Not really. What's got me down this week is my hernia. Yuck! That sounds like an old man's malady. Can you even say the word "truss" without seeing visions of hobbling old gentlemen? In my case, I didn't actually tear anything or experience pain. My hernia came on after I started swimming seriously this fall. After one particularly grueling workout, while in the shower, I looked down and said to myself, "that doesn't look right." My physician confirmed it wasn't right and scheduled me to go under the knife for a little repair work. Six weeks of no exercise, too. Other than having my wisdom teeth removed at age 17, I've never been under the knife before.
Is this the dreaded slippery slope? Have I now, on the cusp of 50 years old, become the old man who talks incessantly about his ailments, puts pills in a daily pill counter, wears sansabell shorts, and scans the paper for earlybird dinner specials? Say it ain't so!
Hear's another good quote--if it's true that youth is wasted on the young, perhaps medication is wasted on the old. That's funny. It made me laugh.
Truth is that time marches on. There is no fountain of youth. We must make the best of our days whether we are young or old or somewhere in between. We all have limits--it's just some of us are more aware of those limits than others.
Sure with hard work, a good attitude, God's grace and a little luck, we can accomplish great things at any age. It's just that on some days, it's more difficult to shine with sunny optimism . . . especially when you have a surgeon waiting to slice you open in a few days.
He said I'll be back, though, better than ever. That is, of course, assuming there are no complications. Now that's the spirit! Ha ha.
Monday, January 3, 2011
New Year/New Gear
It took me a while, but I'm rapidly upgrading my athletic gear. Some of these items I bought, other new, cool duds and gadgets came to me from friends and family. Don't worry, I have not gone overboard here--athletes can be suckers for every new fad and fashion. And, in the same way I resist being the middle aged guy in the sports car (such a sad cliche), I don't want to be the old guy trying to look young and flashy in my workout clothes.
Up until recently, "young" and "flashy" were two words no seeing person would ever use to describe my workout attire. My sweat pants were gray, cotton and oversized (like those favored by Marky Mark in The Fighter). My shorts were mostly rejects from the sale bin at Steve and Barry's (yeah they went out of business two years ago). And my T-Shirts were give aways from various promotions (e.g. a bunch of Dwayne Wade Nike T's), hand me downs from my kids (most either involving baseball tournaments or Greek functions), or artifacts from long ago family trips (did we actually ever visit Nantucket?). I even engaged in a little cross dressing when a pair of Jacklyn Smith shorts appeared in my drawer. And no, I did not give them back to their rightful owner!
For most of 2010 I relished my shabby athletic attire, insisting it was my workout efforts that mattered, not the expense of my gear. One exception to my low budget style, however, has been my footwear. I've been wearing Asics sneakers for years, dutifully changing them every six months. No way I'm risking an injury by wearing cheap shoes!
In the summer, however, I made my first changes. For my first triathlon in July, I decided to purchase actual running shorts, some moisture wicking socks, and a well-ventilated running shirt. I'm wearing that getup in the picture attached to my blog homepage. It's one thing to work out privately in shabby clothes--but in public, I felt I needed to look better. I also discovered that better gear does have its advantages other than visual appeal.
For one thing, cotton is not the best fabric to wear during heavy duty workouts, especially if you sweat as heavily as I do! Since cotton absorbs liquids well, my gear gets very wet, very fast. While that's not so bad in the summer, when you aren't wearing much in the first place, in a race every little bit of extra weight is baggage you don't need. So "moisture wicking" is the key.
Fabrics with moisture wicking properties pull sweat away from the body and then sends it off into the atmosphere. Interestingly the favored "moisture wicking" fabric among athletic gear makers is that old, widely lampooned 70's fabric, polyester. Yep, polyester is back--now hip, expensive and hightech. With leisure suits and shiny shirts a distant memory, polyester has made a remarkable recovery with a whole new category of consumers. And I will admit I paid top dollar for polyester!
Late in the summer, I added some additional "moisture wicking" shirts to my athletic gear drawer. Hey, they were on sale at Dicks. I couldn't resist.
Finally, with late fall and early winter came my birthday and Christmas. And, thoughtful friends and family, who probably were sick of seeing me look so dreadful in the gym and jogging around town, conspired to purchase more new stuff. Very thoughtful gifts, actually. And, with the cold weather, I was grateful. I'm still exercising outside with a running group. And yes, I looked pitiful in an ancient windbreaker and those old school sweat pants. What's worse, wet clothes are a nightmare in cold weather. All those cold, wet garments were gonna make me sick! Without new stuff I certainly was on the road to a case of double pnemonia! I needed an intervention and my friends and family came to the rescue.
So now when you see me running around town, pedaling on my bike and huffing and puffing in the gym, I won't look like Rocky Balboa's poor relation. I will be styling big time. Baby it's a new year--and I have new gear!
Up until recently, "young" and "flashy" were two words no seeing person would ever use to describe my workout attire. My sweat pants were gray, cotton and oversized (like those favored by Marky Mark in The Fighter). My shorts were mostly rejects from the sale bin at Steve and Barry's (yeah they went out of business two years ago). And my T-Shirts were give aways from various promotions (e.g. a bunch of Dwayne Wade Nike T's), hand me downs from my kids (most either involving baseball tournaments or Greek functions), or artifacts from long ago family trips (did we actually ever visit Nantucket?). I even engaged in a little cross dressing when a pair of Jacklyn Smith shorts appeared in my drawer. And no, I did not give them back to their rightful owner!
For most of 2010 I relished my shabby athletic attire, insisting it was my workout efforts that mattered, not the expense of my gear. One exception to my low budget style, however, has been my footwear. I've been wearing Asics sneakers for years, dutifully changing them every six months. No way I'm risking an injury by wearing cheap shoes!
In the summer, however, I made my first changes. For my first triathlon in July, I decided to purchase actual running shorts, some moisture wicking socks, and a well-ventilated running shirt. I'm wearing that getup in the picture attached to my blog homepage. It's one thing to work out privately in shabby clothes--but in public, I felt I needed to look better. I also discovered that better gear does have its advantages other than visual appeal.
For one thing, cotton is not the best fabric to wear during heavy duty workouts, especially if you sweat as heavily as I do! Since cotton absorbs liquids well, my gear gets very wet, very fast. While that's not so bad in the summer, when you aren't wearing much in the first place, in a race every little bit of extra weight is baggage you don't need. So "moisture wicking" is the key.
Fabrics with moisture wicking properties pull sweat away from the body and then sends it off into the atmosphere. Interestingly the favored "moisture wicking" fabric among athletic gear makers is that old, widely lampooned 70's fabric, polyester. Yep, polyester is back--now hip, expensive and hightech. With leisure suits and shiny shirts a distant memory, polyester has made a remarkable recovery with a whole new category of consumers. And I will admit I paid top dollar for polyester!
Late in the summer, I added some additional "moisture wicking" shirts to my athletic gear drawer. Hey, they were on sale at Dicks. I couldn't resist.
Finally, with late fall and early winter came my birthday and Christmas. And, thoughtful friends and family, who probably were sick of seeing me look so dreadful in the gym and jogging around town, conspired to purchase more new stuff. Very thoughtful gifts, actually. And, with the cold weather, I was grateful. I'm still exercising outside with a running group. And yes, I looked pitiful in an ancient windbreaker and those old school sweat pants. What's worse, wet clothes are a nightmare in cold weather. All those cold, wet garments were gonna make me sick! Without new stuff I certainly was on the road to a case of double pnemonia! I needed an intervention and my friends and family came to the rescue.
So now when you see me running around town, pedaling on my bike and huffing and puffing in the gym, I won't look like Rocky Balboa's poor relation. I will be styling big time. Baby it's a new year--and I have new gear!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Merry Whatever
John Lennon had it right--that Paul McCartney had given up groundbreaking creativity for writing silly love songs. He said that in 1973 when the breakup of the world's greatest band still touched raw nerves, and the former bandmates seemed to be trying to outdo themselve to prove they were the real reason for the group's astonishing success.
Clearly, something was lost in McCartney's songwriting after the Beatles. While he certainly has enjoyed popular success over the last forty years, tossing off hummable bon mots with about as much effort as most of us use to make breakfast, "groundbreaking" is not how most music fans would describe these tunes. Compare "Ebony and Ivory" with "A Day In The Life" and you'll know what I mean.
It wasn't the spectacle of watching McCartney bring his senior citizen rock moves to Saturday Night Live this past week that has me thinking about the former Beatle, or the fact that his music is finally available on I-Tunes (hurray!!), but that my son picked his Christmas song to try out for a solo slot in his high school's upcoming holiday concert. Isaac didn't get the solo, which I believe has as much to do with the quality of McCartney's carol as Isaac's admittedly shakey performance.
Written in 1979, McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" has taken its place as one of the most often heard songs played on 24/7 Christmas radio stations. Yet, it boasts lyrics so banal that it could be about any family-oriented holiday. OK, that is an overstatement. There are no choirs of children and bells in a song about the Fourth of July, but you get my drift. The song is about feeling good, having a party, being with friends and family--that's Christmas spirit without Christmas message.
John Lennon, who was never a proponent of Christian faith (e.g. "The Beatles are more popular than Jesus"), at least understood that the hope of Peace on Earth was a very good reason to wish Merry Christmas. Yet, for Paul McCartney, there is no gift giving, no peace, no humble, struggling Holy Family. Instead Christmas is all about mood and feelings.
Well, if that's what Christmas is about, maybe we should all just take a Zoloft on December 25, sit home, and listen to Johnny Mathis albums! Seriously, in this weather, who needs a party? Why don the cheesy red sweater and risk grievous bodily harm to drive across town, especially after imbibing a few egg nogs? If feeling warm inside is the goal, then skip the cards and the $10 gifts and just mix me another Hot Toddy, please!
I'm still waiting for Christmas spirit to hit me this season. My wife says I've been a curmudgeon all month--heck I nixed the backyard ice rink, have found plenty of things to do other than shop, and not even faked an effort to start addressing Christmas cards. I know I have responsibilities to bring Christmas spirit to my family--and with that in mind I gamely hung outdoor lights, hoisted an enormous wreath on the front of the house, and even baked some amazing cookies. In a more serious vain, our family's Advent devotions have occurred almost daily--in an admirable effort to remember "the reason for the season." Yet, I'm still left wondering, who's going to bring the Christmas spirit to me this year?
Last night we ended up watching Seven Years in Tibet on television. This visually spectacular film tells the story of Heinrich Herrer, an egotistical mountain climber, whose life was changed by his friendship with Dalai Lama and introduction to Tibbetan Buddhism. With Brad Pitt as the lead, the movie was a Hollywood production that needed mass appeal to earn profits (and recoup the $70 million + production budget). Yet, despite Pitt's almost comical German accent (wonder if he was remembering this role while hamming it up in Inglorious Basterds?), his character showed admirable growth thanks to his encounter with the Tibetan people.
In one scene, Pitt's character was showing off his athleticism to a throng of Tibetans who were ice skating, apparently for the first time. Yet, the Tibetans paid no attention to the flamboyant mountain climber who was performing stunts on the ice, preferring instead to encourage Herrer's companion, another Austrian, who was focused on helping a lovely young Tibetan find her footing on a very slippery surface. Lesson? It's not about drawing attention to one's self that matters, it's all about helping others.
Bereft of the attention of the lovely young Tibetan woman, Pitt's character finds himself taking an awkward, saffron-robed monk by the hand, and guides him across the ice. Ironically, it's this selfless act of kindness that drew the Dalai Lama's attention, watching the whole skating adventure from afar. But for his selfless act, Pitt's character may have never formed a bond with one of the world's most deeply spiritual persons.
Lesson for me? I'll not enjoy authentic Christmas spirit this year unless I find a way truly to give of myself to others. Isn't that what Christ's gift showed us? That by emptying ourselves of power and position, honor and glory, and by humbling ourselves, we learn true purpose and meaning for our lives? Just what will that mean for me? I'm not yet sure. But I'll let you know when I figure it out (probably with some outside help).
Keep your Christmas mood this year Paul McCartney--I'm looking for something more.
Clearly, something was lost in McCartney's songwriting after the Beatles. While he certainly has enjoyed popular success over the last forty years, tossing off hummable bon mots with about as much effort as most of us use to make breakfast, "groundbreaking" is not how most music fans would describe these tunes. Compare "Ebony and Ivory" with "A Day In The Life" and you'll know what I mean.
It wasn't the spectacle of watching McCartney bring his senior citizen rock moves to Saturday Night Live this past week that has me thinking about the former Beatle, or the fact that his music is finally available on I-Tunes (hurray!!), but that my son picked his Christmas song to try out for a solo slot in his high school's upcoming holiday concert. Isaac didn't get the solo, which I believe has as much to do with the quality of McCartney's carol as Isaac's admittedly shakey performance.
Written in 1979, McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" has taken its place as one of the most often heard songs played on 24/7 Christmas radio stations. Yet, it boasts lyrics so banal that it could be about any family-oriented holiday. OK, that is an overstatement. There are no choirs of children and bells in a song about the Fourth of July, but you get my drift. The song is about feeling good, having a party, being with friends and family--that's Christmas spirit without Christmas message.
John Lennon, who was never a proponent of Christian faith (e.g. "The Beatles are more popular than Jesus"), at least understood that the hope of Peace on Earth was a very good reason to wish Merry Christmas. Yet, for Paul McCartney, there is no gift giving, no peace, no humble, struggling Holy Family. Instead Christmas is all about mood and feelings.
Well, if that's what Christmas is about, maybe we should all just take a Zoloft on December 25, sit home, and listen to Johnny Mathis albums! Seriously, in this weather, who needs a party? Why don the cheesy red sweater and risk grievous bodily harm to drive across town, especially after imbibing a few egg nogs? If feeling warm inside is the goal, then skip the cards and the $10 gifts and just mix me another Hot Toddy, please!
I'm still waiting for Christmas spirit to hit me this season. My wife says I've been a curmudgeon all month--heck I nixed the backyard ice rink, have found plenty of things to do other than shop, and not even faked an effort to start addressing Christmas cards. I know I have responsibilities to bring Christmas spirit to my family--and with that in mind I gamely hung outdoor lights, hoisted an enormous wreath on the front of the house, and even baked some amazing cookies. In a more serious vain, our family's Advent devotions have occurred almost daily--in an admirable effort to remember "the reason for the season." Yet, I'm still left wondering, who's going to bring the Christmas spirit to me this year?
Last night we ended up watching Seven Years in Tibet on television. This visually spectacular film tells the story of Heinrich Herrer, an egotistical mountain climber, whose life was changed by his friendship with Dalai Lama and introduction to Tibbetan Buddhism. With Brad Pitt as the lead, the movie was a Hollywood production that needed mass appeal to earn profits (and recoup the $70 million + production budget). Yet, despite Pitt's almost comical German accent (wonder if he was remembering this role while hamming it up in Inglorious Basterds?), his character showed admirable growth thanks to his encounter with the Tibetan people.
In one scene, Pitt's character was showing off his athleticism to a throng of Tibetans who were ice skating, apparently for the first time. Yet, the Tibetans paid no attention to the flamboyant mountain climber who was performing stunts on the ice, preferring instead to encourage Herrer's companion, another Austrian, who was focused on helping a lovely young Tibetan find her footing on a very slippery surface. Lesson? It's not about drawing attention to one's self that matters, it's all about helping others.
Bereft of the attention of the lovely young Tibetan woman, Pitt's character finds himself taking an awkward, saffron-robed monk by the hand, and guides him across the ice. Ironically, it's this selfless act of kindness that drew the Dalai Lama's attention, watching the whole skating adventure from afar. But for his selfless act, Pitt's character may have never formed a bond with one of the world's most deeply spiritual persons.
Lesson for me? I'll not enjoy authentic Christmas spirit this year unless I find a way truly to give of myself to others. Isn't that what Christ's gift showed us? That by emptying ourselves of power and position, honor and glory, and by humbling ourselves, we learn true purpose and meaning for our lives? Just what will that mean for me? I'm not yet sure. But I'll let you know when I figure it out (probably with some outside help).
Keep your Christmas mood this year Paul McCartney--I'm looking for something more.
Friday, December 10, 2010
December Reset
Hello blog, my old friend. Hopefully with a little tending I can get you nursed back to health in no time. Hopefully my neglect has not permanently destroyed what was an important part of my life a few months ago.
So what's been going on in my life lately. Let me start with passions. I'm still exercising (and have kept the weight off). But, today it was snowing and I didn't run, swim or do anything remotely physical. Is this the beginning of a slothful trend--or will I get back on the horse and continue working out like before? We'll see.
Food is still a passion. Lately I've been making delicious morning smoothies with Arab yogurt and frozen berries from Costco. Not too much sugar, lots of protein, fantastic taste. Having a ball baking, too. Made a Paula Dean rum-soaked pound cake for my wife's birthday. So good. Boozy, sugary, full of butter, rich--yeah it was "out of the park" good. Also made the Thanksgiving pies this year, which everybody loved.
Work is picking up. Though hardly my passion, it is something I enjoy. The new business started last spring is finally up and running. Along with my partner, we've got an open location that is serving patients. We've got a functioning website and even a marketing plan. It's all very early, but it's more than a dream--it's a reality. Oh yeah, I have a new law client, too. Unfortunately, the first real project I did for them was less than a stellar success. I thought I was good with people? Well, in designing an executive compensation plan for the client, the first person they presented it to found the plan "one-sided and unfair" and refused to join their enterprise. I think she was mentally unstable, so good riddance--but the client wasn't pleased. I'm in fence mending mode with them now.
I also "broke up" with another associate who I intended to launch a business with. Filled with exuberance over a good idea, I got way ahead of myself and spent a lot of time and energy planning for this business. When we actually sat down to negotiate our partnership, my friend (who says he has high control needs) refused go into the venture as equal partners with me. He wanted to own a large majority of the shares of our corporation and I said "no!" I'm just not in the mood to be anybody's junior partner at this stage in my career, especially when the venture is a start-up with no established business. I hope we're still friends, but I'm not sure.
And the family? Well let's start positive. Isaac is kicking butt in high school with really good grades, lots of friends, and interesting extracurricular activities. We're confident we made the right call keeping him in public schools.
Amelia seems to be doing OK in college again. Her classes are challenging, her spirits are high, but her health has been a little shaky. She burns the candle at both ends and is paying the price. Her asthma, which had been in check for years after receiving a blessing from a Catholic priest with known healing powers (not kidding), is back with a vengeance. With a nice long school break approaching, she'll have a few much needed weeks to recover.
Angel is in culinary school, which is a good thing. Clearly he loves his studies. And, he's really good at the subject matter. Now, the challenge is to keep his nose to the grindstone even though the academic part of his course work is not nearly as exciting and emotionally rewarding as his interactions with people and time in the kitchen. Staying focused on long-term goals is always a struggle, especially with so many distractions in his life.
Speaking of single-minded focus, Lonelli continues to hurtle through life fixated on one or more challenges. Right now she's determined to complete a half ironman triathlon in South Africa early next year. She is also determined to get into a healthy, affirming relationship. These are both good things--at the same time they are not the only things in her life. We continue to encourage her to remember that family and friends are not just yes people there to green light every passion in her life. We have different perspectives and we are not kill joys if we suggest different priorities.
That leaves Clarisa and me. I'm always glad that I'm married--and have never wanted to be anything but Clarisa's husband for the last 20 years. At the same time, even people you love can get on your nerves--and Clarisa and I seem to find every occassion to bother, bug, and generally annoy each other.
In my marriage, we both assume that our perspectives are correct and that our partners have somehow changed. I don't think its change that bothers us, it's our intense togetherness. I believe that as we grow older we're less and less tolerant of our partner's annoying characteristics. They were always there, we just overlooked them, which was easier when we both worked, had small children to tend to, and many other obligations in our lives. But now we're together more--so we're left staring at each other every day thinking, "Is this the person I married?"
I think we both need to become more accepting of each other and recognize that our lives are changing. We're no longer young--and more of our life is behind us than ahead of us. Our roles are changing in our families and in our community, and we need to accept these changes and see the opportunities for growth.
As 2010 winds down, I'm glad this year is over. There were far more uncomfortable experiences than I'm used to. There was less success. More unhappiness.
Ultimately I know that success and happiness come from within, they come when our lives, spirits and goals are aligned with God's will. Chasing after other people's approval or admiration are deadend streets, because we can never get from someone else what brings peace to our spirits. Instead, in 2011 I will strive to find purposefulness in my relationships, in my work, and in my deeds.
One big upcoming event that will help me deepen my thinking and improve my spirit will be World Youth Day 2011. Clarisa and I are the primary chaperones for a group from Grosse Pointe who will attend the World Youth Day in Madrid, Spain in August. The preparation for that journey will include intense spiritual reflection and working hard at interpersonal relationships. The trip is coming at a good time in my life--the year I turn 50--a time when, hopefully I'll be more open to the moving of God's Spirit within.
I also hope this rambling essay resets my mind and gets me back writing. We'll see, won't we. Keep reading!
So what's been going on in my life lately. Let me start with passions. I'm still exercising (and have kept the weight off). But, today it was snowing and I didn't run, swim or do anything remotely physical. Is this the beginning of a slothful trend--or will I get back on the horse and continue working out like before? We'll see.
Food is still a passion. Lately I've been making delicious morning smoothies with Arab yogurt and frozen berries from Costco. Not too much sugar, lots of protein, fantastic taste. Having a ball baking, too. Made a Paula Dean rum-soaked pound cake for my wife's birthday. So good. Boozy, sugary, full of butter, rich--yeah it was "out of the park" good. Also made the Thanksgiving pies this year, which everybody loved.
Work is picking up. Though hardly my passion, it is something I enjoy. The new business started last spring is finally up and running. Along with my partner, we've got an open location that is serving patients. We've got a functioning website and even a marketing plan. It's all very early, but it's more than a dream--it's a reality. Oh yeah, I have a new law client, too. Unfortunately, the first real project I did for them was less than a stellar success. I thought I was good with people? Well, in designing an executive compensation plan for the client, the first person they presented it to found the plan "one-sided and unfair" and refused to join their enterprise. I think she was mentally unstable, so good riddance--but the client wasn't pleased. I'm in fence mending mode with them now.
I also "broke up" with another associate who I intended to launch a business with. Filled with exuberance over a good idea, I got way ahead of myself and spent a lot of time and energy planning for this business. When we actually sat down to negotiate our partnership, my friend (who says he has high control needs) refused go into the venture as equal partners with me. He wanted to own a large majority of the shares of our corporation and I said "no!" I'm just not in the mood to be anybody's junior partner at this stage in my career, especially when the venture is a start-up with no established business. I hope we're still friends, but I'm not sure.
And the family? Well let's start positive. Isaac is kicking butt in high school with really good grades, lots of friends, and interesting extracurricular activities. We're confident we made the right call keeping him in public schools.
Amelia seems to be doing OK in college again. Her classes are challenging, her spirits are high, but her health has been a little shaky. She burns the candle at both ends and is paying the price. Her asthma, which had been in check for years after receiving a blessing from a Catholic priest with known healing powers (not kidding), is back with a vengeance. With a nice long school break approaching, she'll have a few much needed weeks to recover.
Angel is in culinary school, which is a good thing. Clearly he loves his studies. And, he's really good at the subject matter. Now, the challenge is to keep his nose to the grindstone even though the academic part of his course work is not nearly as exciting and emotionally rewarding as his interactions with people and time in the kitchen. Staying focused on long-term goals is always a struggle, especially with so many distractions in his life.
Speaking of single-minded focus, Lonelli continues to hurtle through life fixated on one or more challenges. Right now she's determined to complete a half ironman triathlon in South Africa early next year. She is also determined to get into a healthy, affirming relationship. These are both good things--at the same time they are not the only things in her life. We continue to encourage her to remember that family and friends are not just yes people there to green light every passion in her life. We have different perspectives and we are not kill joys if we suggest different priorities.
That leaves Clarisa and me. I'm always glad that I'm married--and have never wanted to be anything but Clarisa's husband for the last 20 years. At the same time, even people you love can get on your nerves--and Clarisa and I seem to find every occassion to bother, bug, and generally annoy each other.
In my marriage, we both assume that our perspectives are correct and that our partners have somehow changed. I don't think its change that bothers us, it's our intense togetherness. I believe that as we grow older we're less and less tolerant of our partner's annoying characteristics. They were always there, we just overlooked them, which was easier when we both worked, had small children to tend to, and many other obligations in our lives. But now we're together more--so we're left staring at each other every day thinking, "Is this the person I married?"
I think we both need to become more accepting of each other and recognize that our lives are changing. We're no longer young--and more of our life is behind us than ahead of us. Our roles are changing in our families and in our community, and we need to accept these changes and see the opportunities for growth.
As 2010 winds down, I'm glad this year is over. There were far more uncomfortable experiences than I'm used to. There was less success. More unhappiness.
Ultimately I know that success and happiness come from within, they come when our lives, spirits and goals are aligned with God's will. Chasing after other people's approval or admiration are deadend streets, because we can never get from someone else what brings peace to our spirits. Instead, in 2011 I will strive to find purposefulness in my relationships, in my work, and in my deeds.
One big upcoming event that will help me deepen my thinking and improve my spirit will be World Youth Day 2011. Clarisa and I are the primary chaperones for a group from Grosse Pointe who will attend the World Youth Day in Madrid, Spain in August. The preparation for that journey will include intense spiritual reflection and working hard at interpersonal relationships. The trip is coming at a good time in my life--the year I turn 50--a time when, hopefully I'll be more open to the moving of God's Spirit within.
I also hope this rambling essay resets my mind and gets me back writing. We'll see, won't we. Keep reading!
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