Back To The Present

RECENTLY, I WAS HAVING A METAPHYSICAL DISCUSSION WITH MY 6-YEAR OLD GRAND-GIRL; you know, like you do.

The discussion was brought on by watching a Christmastime episode of Dora The Explorer. Dora has a monkey sidekick named Boots and a nemesis named Swiper. Swiper is a masked fox who, well, swipes stuff. You can help Dora prevent Swiper from swiping by holding up your hand in a “stop” motion and saying, “Swiper, no swiping.” You have to repeat this three times. Swiper then says, “Oh, man!” and walks away dejectedly.

In this Christmas episode, Swiper is swiping presents and ruining the Christmas party. Santa sweeps in in his sleigh to explain Swiper’s fall from grace and the price of redemption. Then in the theme of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”, Dora, Boots, and Swiper do some time-traveling to see Swipper in the past and in a bleak, lonely, heart-wrenching future. Their time-travel is accomplished by shaking their travel capes, given to them by a grumpy old troll who lives under a bridge (of course). We get to travel along on the adventure by shaking our imaginary travel capes, and singing the little song: “Shake, shake shake. Shake your travel cape.”

While we were “shaking our capes” Karlee asked me, “Pops, if you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future.” “I’m not sure.” I replied, honestly. “How about you?” I asked.

She thought so hard, you could almost see, hear, and smell her gears turning. “I’m good with the present.” she finally decided.

I explained to her that that is a very smart choice. In fact it was what Jesus told his followers they should do.

“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.” Matthew 6:34. The Message.

More 6-year old gears turning. Then she smiled and said, “Cool”, and we continued watching to see if Dora could help her friend Swiper put his charater flaw on hold through the Christmas Season.

Spoiler alert: The episode ends happily. Swiper repents and the party goes on.

It’s been three weeks since my last post here at About Pops. It hasn’t been writer’s block, so much as it’s been too much thinking about the past and about the future. Some personal stuff, no one cares to hear about, is at the core of it all; I think. It must be in our human nature to do that. Why else would Jesus use some of his red letters to encourage us not to?

But, if you could shake your travel cape, which direction would you go: past or future or both? I think I would go back. Not so much because I would like to change things or because I didn’t enjoy it, but maybe because I enjoyed it so much. Without a doubt I would look some people up and tell them I am sorry that I was, so many times, a self-absorbed jerk. I think I would pay more attention, listen more carefully, use people less, but who knows.

Contemplating the future paralyzes me. If you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, you know that I used to write occasionally about my dream to own an Airstream Travel Trailer. While an Airstream is no travel cape, there is a mystique about them and the travel I imagine that has a grip on me. 

People who know me tend to make fun of the way I’ve obssessed over the idea of owning one, but can never take the big step. The uncertainty of the future scares me into inaction. Not just with buying an Airstream but a lot of things.

Let’s take the Airstream for example. I watch the classified ads for Airstreams religiously. At least once a month you’ll see an ad that basically says, “We used the trailer once but now major health issues prevent us from using it.”

Is there some correlation between buying an RV and having a catastrophic malady? Or, worse yet, what if I buy the thing and then “buy the farm”? Now my Amazing-Missus is stuck not only with my ukulelee and my Vespa, but with an Airstream as well.

[Shake the cape] Conclusion: if they were handing out tickets to the wormhole, I think I would pass, because in the wise words of a 6-year old, “I’m good with the present.” (For now.)

Merry Christmas Ya'll

“A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, like a thunderstorm, we all go through it together.” —Garrison Keillor

Photo Credit: Dave Fuller.   Design Credit: Molly Hennesy.

I'm trying not to get all sentimental, not that there's anything wrong with that, but one of my favorite Songs of The Season, since I heard it play while Clark Griswold was locked in his attic watching old, home movies, is THAT SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS (the Chuck Brown & Eva Cassidy arrangement). If I could, I would give you the buck-29 to buy it on iTunes; as my way of saying "Merry Christmas". I can't, but I can at least give you the lyrics:

Christmas is the time of year
For being with the one's we love
Sharing so much joy and cheer
What a wonderful feelin'
Watching the one's we love
Having so much fun

I was sittin' by the fire side
Taking a walk through the snow
Listening to a children's choir
Singing songs about Jesus
The blessed way that he came to us
Why can't it remain all through the year

Each day the same
Hey yeah, that's what I wanna hear
Heh, heh, it's truly amazin'
That spirit of Christmas

All the kin folk gather round
The lovely Christmas tree
Hearts are glowing full of joy
Sense the gifts that we're giving
And the love that we're living
Why can't it remain ohh all through the year

Each day the same
Hey yeah, that's what I wanna hear
I'll tell ya, it's truly amazin'
That spirit of Christmas

Remember, Ebenezer Scrooge's words after he had learned his lessons in A Christmas Carol? He said, "I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year."

I want to be like Scrooge--the reinvented one, not the mean, miserly one.

---

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us,
and we beheld his glory, the glory as of
the only begotten of the Father,
full of grace and truth.
—The Gospel of John, Chapter 1, Verse 14.

Can I get an AMEN?!

Flippin’ The F

REMEMBER YOUR FIRST COMING OF AGE? That time that’s pretty much filled with excitement and terror and rites of passage. Remember puberty, your voice finally changing, and all those Firsts?

In a feeble attempt to establish credibility, let me point out that I have a degree in sociology with a focus on adolescence, and 30 or so years of working with teenagers. I also have 44 years of experience trying to realize that I’m not a teenager anymore.

One of my old textbooks, Arnold van Gennep’s book, The Rites of Passage, he explains, “I propose to call the rites of separation from a previous world, preliminal rites; those executed during the transitional stage liminal (or threshold rites); and the ceremonies of incorporation into the new world postliminal rites.”

For example, around 14 or so, we begin to long ardently for independence—our own transportation—to come and go as we please. Call this “the rite of separation from a previous world.”

None to soon we get a driver’s manual, probably the most diligently studied textbook in school history and we take Driver’s Ed: “transitional stage liminal (or threshold rites).”

Finally the day comes that we get our license and Dad hands us the keys: “the ceremonies of incorporation into the new world postliminal rites.”

If you’re a faithful reader of About Pops, you know that one of my favorite story genres is bildungsroman (coming-of-age stories). You also know that I like to talk about the age of nearing retirement as my second-coming-age. If you’re bored and want to read more about that, here are links to a couple of posts I’ve made on the subject.

LIFE AS STORY
AGE IS A NUMBER

While I am not yet retired, and in fact, I can’t even see retirement from where I am, still I can see I’m in the that preliminal rites stage of separation from a previous world.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a great job and I get to work with some amazingly creative and energetic young adults, but I do look forward to the weekends and Monday morning often comes to soon. Maybe it’s Nature’s way of preparing me for the time when I will not get up and go to work M-F. Maybe I’m entering the threshold rites stage.

Last Friday morning I was going through the morning ritual: make my toast for peanut butter and strawberry fruit-only spread, start the coffee, take my daily tablespoon of olive oil, and so on.

I commented to My Amazing-Missus, “I LOVE flippin’ the F.”

“I beg your pardon?” she lovingly replied.

All of my peers these days take a cocktail of pills: baby aspirin, fish oil capsule, multi-vitamin, vitamin D, and assorted other pills for heart health, arthritis, etc. We all put them in a little box divided by the days of the week. On the lid of each section is the letter of the appropriate day. When I get to flip the lid on the F I know I get to wear jeans to work and that the weekend looms.

The second-coming-of-age isn’t as exciting as the first, but it is something. Someday instead of getting a driver’s license I’ll get a metaphorical Gold Watch. I wonder if after the “ceremony” it will be as fun to flip the S, the M, the T, the W, the other T, and the other S has it has been to flip the F?

Beautifuller

The band (a small group of very talented, humble musicians) was playing, the stained glass windows colored the light as it came through; it all had a beauty to it. To make it beautifuller I was sitting next to Karlee, at 5 years-old, our oldest grand-girl.

The words to the song the band was singing were projected on a screen at the front of the church. One of those words was “beautiful”. Karlee pointed out to her Mimi that she knew that word. Then she took an offering envelope and a little pencil from the pew rack and wrote the word to prove it.

She wrote the word again and then added an “ler” to the end of it. She explained to me, “See, Pops, normally you would say, ‘more beautiful’ but I wrote ‘beautiful-ler’, so it has my last name ‘Fuller’ in it.”

She went on to add a little cloud and rainbow as if to give us a visual reference for “beautifuller”.

From the 5 year-old hand of Karlee Fuller

Now I won’t insult your intelligence by trying to convince you that this post is largely about anything but an opportunity to brag about my granddaughter, but there is more to it. Indulge me.

The thing about kids is that they see more beautifuller than we do. There is still a wonder and curiosity stirring in them that causes them to be fully alert, asking, “Why, Pops; Why?”

Take the beauty of the colors that nature is offering us right now. I’ve seen autumn sixty-four times now—I get it. The theme song of the bored and cynical should be: “Been There, Done That”.

I have a certificate in a box of treasures my mom gave me that says I was enrolled in the “Cradle Roll” of the Brookside Baptist Church of Tulsa, Oklahoma, when I was just weeks old. Last Sunday morning I sat in what could have been church service number ten-thousand-plus for me. (64 years times 52 weeks times three, for two service on Sundays and one on Wednesday, not counting revivals, camps and vacation Bible school.) I’m not complaining, bragging or expecting a medal of some kind; I’m just saying…

Some times it takes a 5 year-old, to say, “Look Pops! It’s Beautifuller.” And when I do look—she’s right!

I just finished a wonderful book by Wendell Berry, “Jayber Crow”. I highly recommend it. Maybe you won’t read it but at least read this excerpt. This is written in Jayber’s voice. He is the bachelor barber and church janitor in a small town in Kentucky: 

     In general, I weathered even the worst sermons pretty well. They had the great virtue of causing my mind to wander. Some of the best things I have ever thought of I have thought of during bad sermons. Or I would look out the windows. In winter, when the windows were closed, the church seemed to admit the light strictly on its own terms, as if uneasy about the frank sunshine of this benighted world. In summer, when the sashes were raised, I watched with a great, eager pleasure the town and the fields beyond, the clouds, the trees, the movements of the air—but then the sermons would seem more improbable. I have always loved a window, especially an open one.
     What I liked least about the service itself was the prayers; what I liked far better was the singing. Not all of the hymns could move me. I never liked “Onward Christian Soldiers” or “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Jesus’ military career has never compelled my belief. I liked the sound of the people singing together, whatever they sang, but some of the hymns reached inside me, all the way to the bone: “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” “Rock of Ages,” “Amazing Grace,” “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” I loved the different voices all singing one song.
     I thought that some of the hymns bespoke the true religion of the place. The people didn’t really want to be saints of self-deprivation and hatred of the world. They knew that the world would sooner or later deprive them of all it had given them, but still they liked it. What they came together for was to acknowledge, just by coming, their losses and failures and sorrows, their need for comfort, their faith always needing to be greater, their wish (in spite of all words and acts to the contrary) to love one another and forgive and be forgiven, their need for one another’s help and company and divine gifts, their hope (and experience) of love surpassing death, their gratitude. I loved hearing them sing “The Unclouded Day” and “Sweet By and By”.
     And in times of sorrow when they sang “Abide with Me,” I could not raise my head.

Thank you Karlee. You have made your old Pops see beautifuller.

"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives."  —Albert Einstein