Scraps

Let’s see…where were we? Doesn’t matter. I am still alive and am very much committed to blogging the arbitrary thoughts that flood my brain. I see that my last official blog was sometime back in February. How sad. It is not as though I have been sitting still. A lot has happened since then. But finding that right moment to slow the mind down and get all wise and erudite has escaped me. I needed a reason to slow down and write, and thus, came up with a really good one – my birthday.

Yes, August 3^rd marks my 51^st trip around the sun. My wife celebrated her 50^th very quietly earlier this summer. While women complain a lot about how society allows a man to age gracefully, how the touch of gray around the temple is considered dignified and handsome – I can guarantee you that on my 50^th I was not allowed “quiet.” And, I can also guarantee you that my wife didn’t receive 50^th “non-dignified” birthday greetings adorned with Doctors with rubber gloves, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks, etc. The way I see it, it all evens out. Women are allowed to celebrate (?) their milestones quietly. Men are savaged.

51 is not a milestone year. The milestone years, except for 18, end in a 0 or a 5. I have four humdrum birth-dates coming up until the 55^th. That will be a weird one. I remember the Jimmy Carter years when the President who taught us the word “malaise” mandated that the top speed across the country would be 55. That came at an unfortunate time in my life. I was just beginning my driving career and I lived in the Midwest. Our scenery consisted of…corn. How phenomenally boring to putt across the prairie in an 8 cylinder Ford Galaxy 500, with bench seats that would comfortably seat: 8 people, a senator, and a small herd of goats. The trunk was so large that it would create echoes if I sang into it. I was stuck going 55. I wonder if turning 55 will feel that way four years from now? I’ll keep you posted.

On July 17^th we married off our last child, Riley, to a beautiful young lady, Kristy. She is Irish looking enough that I am quite pleased. So far, the empty nest thing is not a tortured affair of padding aimlessly about the house, mumbling, and looking at old pictures of the family. I am enjoying it. It is not that I do not love my children. They would each report that I am a doting father, but…hey, it is nice to see a clean kitchen and not worry about running out of toilet paper. The peace that these modest pleasures afford cannot be measured.

Our ancient and regal Chinese Pug, Moe, is quickly drifting off to his dotage. I affectionately refer to him as “Moe the Worship Dog” because he always seats himself prominently in front of the musicians when we lead worship at Simple Church. One of his great pleasures seems to be to watch the audience sing. I find that interesting because he is stone deaf. You can shout out his name from 12 inches away and he doesn’t budge. He is also blind in his right eye. If you toss him a scrap of food toward his right eye, it bounces off his face. He still catches well if you toss to his good side. He no longer hears but he can feel vibrations. If a car comes up the drive he still shows up to his station on the second step and dutifully woofs. Sometimes he will do a two-second staccato woof for 30 minutes or so – like a record that is stuck. The vibrations have long ceased but I am sure that the woofing makes him feels useful and stirs fond memories of his young dog days.

The good report is that, at 51, I feel great. I do not sit around mindlessly woofing and I still feel as though the best days lie ahead. I pray the same for you.

Be abundantly blessed…

-CJ