BOO?

I do long for the good old days. That's one of the things that us "men of a certain age" do well. The appeal of those "days" is their familiarity, their simplicity.

Take Halloween. Thankfully I grew up in the time before religious fundamentalists decided that all of our Halloween traditions were inherently evil and whether you intended any actual dabbling in the dark side or not, simply putting on a black pointy hat or a cape and wax vampire teeth, was the equivalent of walking your soul on the precipice of an abyss.

Now with the help of church-hosted Fall or Harvest festivals, and non-occult related costume selections we can partake and stay on the bright side. But I have to wonder, which is scarier-- throwing a sheet over your kid's head with a couple of eye holes cut in it, or having them dress up like Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus.

If you look closely you'll see a precious little girl in that pumpkin patch picking out her first pumpkin. That's Karlee: grand girl #1.

Back in the day, we celebrated Halloween full-on and we yet we had a wonderful innocence. Even our TV stars like Ricky and Lucy, Ozzie and Harriet, June and Ward Cleaver slept in twin beds. (Oooo, Cleaver--there's a scary name for you.) Maybe I'll be "Ward The Cleaver" for All Hallows Eve; you know kind of like Winnie The Pooh, or John The Baptist. And just think about June and Ward's baby boy, Beaver Cleaver! There's an image that would scare; well, beavers.

Don't get me wrong. I love that churches still provide a venue for little princesses and power rangers, if not little ghosts and goblins. I guess all I'm saying let's not throw the baby out with the witches brew, or look for a demon behind every bush.

In C.S. Lewis's masterpiece, The Screwtape Letters, which is written as a collection of advice given to a young devil in training from an experienced, teacher-type devil, you'll find thought-provoking nuggets like this:

“It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out.” 

 One thing I do know for sure, our culture is starving for childlike imagination, creative play and even the fun of pretending. My childhood memories of Halloween were all of those things. And that made me better not darker.

Karlee: a few years later, with her superhero friends. 

In Case The House Burns Down

I ran across a really cool website: theburninghouse.com

It offers this challenge:

If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It's a conflict between what's practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question.

I'll admit this was a lot harder than I thought it would be. The first things that came to mind I quickly realized didn't fit the challenge. They were things that I could replace--things like:

MacBook Pro

Nikon D90

Ukulele

Favorite books

I had to remind myself that this was not about what would you gather up and take if the apocalypse was impending; as if I would worry about dragging a bag full of stuff into the ruination. But wait; maybe I could use some of that stuff to barter my way in to the bunker of some delusional doomsday prepper. Let's be real--I don't really know anyone that would want to share their pork 'n' beans with me for eternity.

So, in the interest of the burning house challenge, here's my list:

My Burning House / End of the World As We Know It Kit

• Little elf doll. I bartered this little guy away from a French-speaking hippie in Montreal, Canada in 1967. I was there playing drums with a tour band (not running from the draft). The hippy was wearing the elf on a piece of leather lace around his neck.
• The little green apple is actually a USB drive containing the files of all The Beatles recordings and album art. An unbelievable collection--a gift from my Amazing Missus.
• My Grado Headphones.
• My bookplate stamp.
• A camera.
• My passport in case I need to travel abroad to escape from the fray.
• A snack. I learned from my mom that you never go into the unknown without a snack.
• The complete collection of Karlee & Harper photo books--priceless.
• Drumsticks and pad.
• My Bible. It is drama, mystery, and poetry all in one beautiful book.
• A few journals. I don't journal like I used to. A few years ago someone broke into my vehicle and stole a bag containing my laptop and some journals I had written and highly valued. Jerks!
• A few items with sentimental back stories.
• A book of Mother Goose nursery rhymes. You've got to remember innocence in the midst of all-hell-breaking-loose.

How about your list?

Come on, share it. I won't judge you... Oh, okay, in the interest of end-times honesty, I will probably judge you. See why nobody would want me in their bunker?

Stories In Ink

I don't have a tattoo--yet. The part I find most objectionable about the whole deal is the prospect of pain. My real hesitation is that, as of this time, I have no image in mind that I'm passionate enough about to submit to the process and the permanence.

Maybe I'm over-thinking it. I do that a lot. But it seems like a tattoo says something about a person and since it's still going to be around for, well, forever, shouldn't you try to have something that will be true for you now and then too?

Several years ago I had the pleasure of meeting Ted Kooser and hearing him read poetry. At the time he was the U.S. Poet Laureate. He is one of my favorite poets and here is one of my favorite poems.

Tattoo

What once was meant to be a statement—
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart—is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache lingered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled up to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft and blue with stories. 

By Ted Kooser from _Delights & Shadows_, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend, WA 2004

Talk about a finding a vivid image in the commonplace. It's like we all know this old guy. While I appreciate his story, I don't want it to be mine. I have enough to remind me of who I think I once was without adding a tattoo to the record.

For those of you who were brave enough to walk into a tattoo parlor, point to a picture and say, "Yes, I'll take one of those and put it right here," Kudos. I know there's a story behind that picture.

Nostalgia: Are You Crazy?!

Apparently nostalgia wasn't always a pleasant stroll down Memory Lane. I was disappointed to read a well-written article in The Atlantic by Julie Beckaug. Disappointed, and a bit disheartened because I really enjoy some quality nostalgizing now and then (not to mention making up my own words).

Turns out there was a time when nostalgia was a disease, brought on by any number of causes including: "A too lenient education, coming from the mountains, unfulfilled ambition, masturbation, eating unusual food, and happy love."

Julie points out in her article that this "disease" first became problematic in the good old USA following the Civil War: "American military doctor Theodore Calhoun thought nostalgia was something to be ashamed of, that those who suffered from it were unmanly, idle and weak-willed. He proposed curing it with a healthy dose of public ridicule and bullying. Maybe this is why most people don't feel nostalgic about middle school."

Maybe I'm in denial about my own nostalgiaism; after all, while I am not from the mountains, I do occasionally eat unusual food and I do enjoy "happy love." But, I want to believe that remembering good times is a good thing.

I once heard a doctor make what I thought was a beautiful point. He said that if someone cuts off, let's say a finger, it is called dismembered, medically speaking. He said that if the finger is reattached it is not necessarily called re-membered but it should be.

That's what remembering can do for us. When we gather at the Thanksgiving table and tell and hear old stories of the family craziness it is like we are being re-membered with all the stuff that makes family; well, family.

You can read Julie's article here: When Nostalgia Was A Disease

Read it. Then be glad we figured out that nostalgia isn't a psychopathological disorder. Then take a few minutes to remember the good times. And if I could make a suggestion, listen to The Beatles "In My Life" while you're re-membering. Then feel free to share a fond memory or two in the comments here.