Date Night: Then & Now

I write often here at About POPS about what I call our "second coming-of-age." The first being that arbitrary passage from youth to "maturity" and the second, the passage to some other older version of maturity. As I look forward to a "Date Night" tonight with My Amazing-Missus, I thought about the comparisons between a date night during my first coming-of-age and now.

In both cases, you want a full sensory experience: sights, smells, sounds, tastes and touch.

While we both look a bit different than we did back in the courting day, we've aged together, and as far as I know she's okay with that, but still I'll make the effort: you know, shave, iron my shirt, stuff like that.

One of the things I fear most about becoming a "man of a certain age" is picking up that essence of old guy and not even being aware of it. So, again I'll make the effort. Unlike the good old days, I won't be splashing on the English Leather with an extra spritz behind each ear just in case a slow song comes on and a dance breaks out, but again I'll make a good effort.

The sounds for a perfect date night are still key. Back then I would have been picking her up in my VW Bus (I still can't believe her Dad ever let her go out with me). Having just the right song cued up on the 8-Track player was essential. Something like "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys would be a good choice:

Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong

You know its gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through

Happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was never-ending
Wouldn't it be nice

Okay, now I've actually embarrassed myself.

Tonight I might Bluetooth® sync my iPhone® and have this oldie-but-goody by The Beatles ready to go:

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?

Date Night tastes once included stuff like a Shakey's Pizza followed by an ice cream float at Weber's Root Beer Stand. Tonight? Well since I'm less than two weeks out from gall bladder surgery, I'll probably go with a piece of grilled chicken and dry baked potato. Maybe we'll splurge and go for fro-yo after. What a romantic? Right?

Oh, and the Date Night touches? Now, that's really none of your business is it?

Go have your own date night.

Buying My First Doll

I've been in the behavior modification game for a few years now. I know the tricks of mind-molding, motivation, manipulation and marketing. I've become pretty jaded to the sleaziness of mass-marketing, but I still find the power of targeted marketing to be eerily creepy.

For example, how in the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks did some company called The American Girl Doll Company know that this was an appropriate time to send a catalog to the Amazing-Missus and myself?!

Well they did. And now two of these must-haves will be under the tree for the Grand-Girls this Christmas. (Shhhhh, it's a surprise.)

Not only did we need a doll for each, but a change of clothes as well. Their outfits cost about what I spend on one for myself. (Yeah, yeah, I hear you out there. So maybe it's not fair to compare an American Girl doll outfit to a worn out pair of Levis, an old V-neck sweater and a t-shirt.)

I'm not complaining though. The few moments of joy on their faces before they are on to the next present will be "Priceless."

Like that master of "exterior illumination" Clark Griswold, I too want to stage a Christmastime experience so vivid, Norman Rockwell himself will want to come back from the dead to paint it. And maybe Thomas Kincaid will want to come with him because the warm, golden glow from the windows of our happy, little cottage will be ultra-inspirational.

So yes, I'll fall for the pitch of holiday hucksters and buy whatever they promise will help make it all happen--just like thousands of others before me.

I wonder if Mom & Dad charged into Sears and fought other parents for the last Mr. Potato Head on the shelf, knowing it would provide their son hours of creative fun? Or it would have if Mom hadn't needed my potato back to boil up for lunch.

That's right, back in the good ol' days, Mr. Potato Head didn't come with the plastic spud. You had to provide your own torso.

Well for whatever it is that you've fought to have under the tree--an X-Box, a Cabbage Patch Doll, Tickle Me Elmo, or Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Barbie, I hope that when it gets opened, you get a smile and a hug.

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?