BEHOLDER'S EYE

A FRIEND ASKED ME, "Do you think maybe you've already read your favorite book, heard the best song you'll ever hear, seen the best movie you'll ever see?"

At 70-something, I would say there's a good chance that I will never read a book better than those in my top 5 or so. I'm pretty sure the best music that can be written has been. Of course all of this is subjective and choice of best movie ever is even more a matter of taste and my tastes are apparently way outside the mainstream. For example, browsing through the list of the 100 Greatest Movies of All Time , you have to get all the way to number 43 to find one in my top 10. That one is "To Kill A Mockingbird". Then it's all the way down the list to number 83, "The Graduate", to find another of my all-time favorites, and those are the only picks of mine in that list of "greatest".

Music selections from Rolling Stones Top 500 confirm it: I'm out of touch, overly opinionated, and convinced that those under 20 have little idea of what really good music is, unless they are lucky enough to have a Pops that will play the greats for them, like Otis Redding's "Sittin On The Dock of the Bay"; The Beach Boys', "God Only Knows"; Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On"; The Beatles', "My Guitar Gently Weeps", Neal Young's, "Southern Man"; Crosby, Stills & Nash's, "Suite Judy Blue Eyes"; Bob Dylan's, "Like a Rolling Stone".

I'm not totally stuck in the 60s. For example, I'm pretty sure Diana Krall holds a place with the jazz greats of all time. Adele is magical. Brandi Carlile deserves a spot in the best of the best. Even two of my favorite Christmas songs are by young artists: "Snowman" by Sia and The Bahamas arrangement of "Christmas Must Be Tonight".

Can you believe that "White Christmas" didn't make the Rolling Stone magazine's list of 500 best songs ever? "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me didn't either.

Will a song like "Silent Night" ever be written again? Could it? Several years ago I wrote a piece for an online magazine called "The Curator". It was about my favorite story--one I've heard all of my life, and about that song and it's power. You can click on this title: A Fear Not Story, if you would like to read it.

Just for fun, let's talk about one of the favorite childhood Christmastime books of Baby Boomers: "The Sears Christmas Wish Book". It was our Amazon. Between the time it would arrive in our mailbox until Christmas Eve I would rifle through that book trying to decide between an Erector Set, Lincoln Logs, a Chemistry set, or Johnny Unitas football helmet.

As I "shop" for our Grandkids, I wonder, is there any thing out there these days that would bring as much happiness and fun as a Mr. Potato Head, or a Slinky, or a plastic egg full of Silly Putty? Have the best toys already been made? If they reached into their stockings and found an assortment of nuts, an orange and a few pieces of hard candy, would they look at me like I was playing some kind of cruel joke. I already have a book for each of them. Maybe a book, a warm hug and a round or two of UNO and hot cocoa will be enough. It will have to be. Just as I'm out of touch with current movies and music, I'm clueless about the kids' taste in toys. Anyway, I'll be retired in a few days and My Amazing-Missus and I will be on a "fixed-income". I'm sure that answer will satisfy our little wide-eyed flock in their matching pajamas.

50

50: IT’S NOT WHAT IT ONCE WAS..

That was our argument when we discovered our kids wanted to throw us a 50th wedding anniversary shindig. Speaking for myself, the real reason for my resistance to a golden celebration is that it's hard to imagine that we're old enough to be married that long. Don't misunderstand, I am grateful for My Amazing-Missus daily and for our 50 years of matrimony.

Growing up in church I can remember many occasions when we would go back to the church fellowship hall on a Sunday afternoon for a 50th Anniversary party for a lovely couple celebrated with pastel mints, assorted nuts, cake and punch. I remember thinking, "I hope they both make it to 51." When you're young, old people seem older than they seem to themselves.

In that spirit of denial, I like to view 50 as the new 40 or at least 49.

It seems like only yesterday I drove my VW Bus onto the beautiful farm where she lived to pick her up for our first date. Surprisingly, her father didn't run me off with a shotgun. As one who pokes fun at the absurdity of the idea of predestination, it seems a little hypocritical to say that it was a match made in heaven, but I can't explain it any other way. 50 years later, I still can't.

Now if you ask her she might concur that it was a match made somewhere; but... There are those days. Some days we've been Romeo and Juliet, some: Homer and Marge. Maybe once or twice we've had the misguided daring of Bonnie and Clyde without the crime and violence. We've certainly dreamed of the idyllic home life of mom, dad, and two boys of Ward and June Cleaver.

I guess our story is our own. And it's fifty years and counting. As I said at the outset, 50 doesn't seem like a big deal these days--my mom and dad celebrated 73. But, in a way 50 is a big deal these days when marriage seems to be like a contrivance of convenience more than a "for as long as we both shall live" kind of commitment.

Are there "keys"? I don't know. I do believe there is a certain amount of luck, a large dose of magic, a larger measure of miracle and an eternal source of love.

Our courtship was literally a whirlwind. Our first date was on New Years Eve. A few weeks later on Valentines Day I asked her to marry me. A few months later on June 16, 1972, we were wed. I'm sure there were those that suspected there might be an additional motivation for the rapid run to the alter. Why else would a lovely girl like Arlene Cox marry a poor college student/drummer-in-a-rock-band/long-haired/VW Bus driving pseudo hippie? Maybe it was the fact that he came from a good family or maybe it was his sense of humor. Yeah, that's probably it. Let's build a marriage on that foundation.

Our first child was born eight years, YEARS, after we married. I wanted to remove all suspicion from the old busy bodies in the church. If someone were to ask me the key for our 50 year marriage, I would say maybe it had to do with those early years: we became best friends. To this day she is my best friend. There is no one I would rather hang out with, be happy with, hurt with, and hope with.

So, if our kids want to celebrate that with us and some of the people who have been a part of our story, then LET'S PARTY! Here's the invitation that our oldest put together [without a doubt the coolest 50th Wedding Anniversary invitation I've ever seen]. Our kids have done all the planning: I don't even know if we'll have pastel mints and assorted nuts. I do know this: DRESS IS CASUAL and you're invited.

LASSOED

“Doing the right thing is never the wrong thing.”

— TED LASSO

I know Ted Lasso is not a real person. (He’s almost too good to be true.)

I know this sensational series is only on AppleTV+. (And, who isn’t subscription poor these days with Netflix, Hulu, Peacock, Paramount+, Discovery+, Disney+. All those pluses add up. But, get a free AppleTV+ trial and binge it.)

I know the narrative is profanity-laden. (It’s a shame because the writing is so good it’s clear the creative minds could have leaned less on that worn crutch.)

Otherwise:

We’re only a few episodes into the second season and I have already listed in it “Pops’ Top Eleven Ensemble Comedies, Post 1980”. (listed alphabetically to avoid a best-of-the-best debate):

Arrested Development
The Big Bang Theory
Frasier
Friends
Modern Family
Newhart
The Office
Parks and Recreation
Schitt’s Creek
Seinfeld
Ted Lasso

Look at the list and the recipe for success becomes apparent: great writing, rich character development, a stellar cast, an endearing storyline, plenty of silliness and enough tenderness to make it matter.

For those of us who grew up living deep in daydreams, where the line between real and fantasy was blurry, we tend to make these characters near-human. We care what happens to them. We value the experience we have with them as we sit in a corner of their world and watch and listen and laugh.

Ted Lasso himself is sort of a mix of Mister Rogers, Ulysses Everett McGill and Andy Griffith. It’s a fish-out-of-water story. Of course Ted would say he’s a goldfish. In an episode where one of his players has a particularly bad game, Ted says,

“You know what the happiest animal on Earth is? It’s a goldfish.
You know why? Got a 10-second memory. Be a goldfish, Sam.”

I know it’s not real life; but neither is the world portrayed on CNN, Fox News, MSNBC and that ilk. I tend to view politicians and fundamentalists as an ensemble cast in a show of their own, except theirs isn’t funny, hopeful, or humanizing.

Part of what makes Ted Lasso, the show, outstanding is its timing—it came along when we needed it most. It is the antithesis of what our national discourse has become. It is a breath of fresh air. A hope that there are still purveyors of good and kind and beautiful.

Let me say again: I know it’s a show, an ensemble of characters. But still it tells a story, one that makes people better.

And, hasn’t the power of storytelling proven to be a way to learn some of the most important life lessons? Who was it that told stories about mustard seeds, seed-sowers, hidden treasure, lost sheep and many, many more.

Real life is real though. Still it’s made up of chapters and verses, beginnings and endings.

Without a doubt the ensemble and episodes I love most and treasure deeply are the real ones; the ensemble of family and friends, and the episodes are the moments we share together.

Here’s one more from Ted:

“Be curious. Not judgemental.”
— Ted Lasso quoting Walt Whitman.

P.S.: At least be curious enough to watch the trailer on YouTube.

TOO SOON?

I WATCHED “The Crown” on Netflix. If it’s to be believed, the Queen and Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh didn’t have what we might think of as a typical marriage. Maybe he was no “prince”, but it strikes me that the Queen wasn’t ever what you might call warm and cuddly.

Now that she’s single again, could there romance in her future? I’m sure there’s probably a royal rule of decorum that dictates an appropriate time of mourning, but at 95, she doesn’t have long. And, her pool of potential suitors is drying up fast. Of course she is the Queen Mother. I guess she could pick a younger, healthier object—I mean subject.

Writer, David Sedaris, reflected in a recent essay in The New Yorker on the issue of how much younger a prospective mate can be than you:

“There’s a formula for dating someone younger than you,” my friend Aaron in Seattle once told me. “The cutoff,” he explained, “is your age divided by two plus seven.” At the time, I was fifty-nine, meaning that the youngest I could go, new-boyfriend-wise, was thirty-six and a half. That’s not a jaw-dropping difference, but, although it might seem tempting, there’d be a lot that someone under forty probably wouldn’t know, like who George Raft was, or what hippies smelled like. And, little by little, wouldn’t those gaps add up, and leave you feeling even older than you actually are?

---

For me that’s irrelevant.

The day of our 49th anniversary is fast-approaching. How is it possible? I think I understand and appreciate how wonderful that it is, but I don’t know that I can. The significance is too deep and beautiful. While My Amazing Missus and I are two individuals, for me at least the lines of individuality have blurred and I am totally fine with that. So my thoughts and views are colored by hers, so much so that I honestly don’t know how I would perceive the world had I not spent my life with her.

At 70, I’m not taking it for granted, but I’m resting in a fairly strong sense of confidence she’s not going to leave for some guy with more hair and less BMI.

I don’t want to experience the heartbreak of Washington Hogwallop (O Brother Where Art Thou?) when asked where his wife was:

Washington Hogwallop : Mrs. Hogwallop up and R-U-N-N-O-F-T.

Ulysses Everett McGill : She musta been lookin' for answers.

Washington Hogwallop : Possibly. Good riddance as far as I'm concerned. I do miss her cookin' though.

I have been the officiant of many weddings. Officiant: that’s a weird word. It is a person who officiates at a wedding—almost as if the he or she should be wearing a stripped shirt and a whistle, which might be appropriate in the upcoming days of the marriage.

Every time, as I’m meeting with the young couple to talk about marriage and plan their wedding, I wonder about their chances of making it. Sometimes the unions I’ve felt most confident about have dissolved, and then the ones when you hope someone saved the receipts for the wedding gifts, have endured to this day.

What is it that makes the difference? Can you see it in their eyes? Can you count the odds against or in favor? Is there something at work in it all: luck, fate, providence?

I have a friend who has counseled many, many, many struggling couples. He says that experience has taught him that if a person’s second marriage is a success, the first one wasn’t necessarily a failure. I have another sweetheart of a friend who calls her first marriage her “starter marriage” and highly recommends them.

For me, I’m happy with just the one.

Unless you were born into a culture where your marriage is arranged, and you choose to marry, you take the journey of finding, of discovering, of learning, of giving, of having, holding, of loving and being loved. You navigate things like: getting to know one another, differences, lust, passion, learning to like one another.

In most every wedding ceremony I do I quote C.S. Lewis, “Lovers are normally face to face, absorbed in each other; Friends, side by side, absorbed in some common interest.”

It takes both. Be lovers and be friends.

Is there anything more tragic than a loveless marriage, one where the two aren’t best friends?

Love is risky.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Recently, I’ve been looking through my folder of poems and writings about love and such. I found this one, called “Waiting”. Every time I read it, I am grateful again for my own marriage—to have found My Amazing-Missus more than 49 years ago.

WAITING
By Raymond Carver

Left off the highway and
down the hill. At the
bottom, hang another left.
Keep bearing left. The road
will make a Y. Left again.
There's a creek on the left.
Keep going. Just before
the road ends, there'll be
another road. Take it
and no other. Otherwise,
your life will be ruined
forever. There's a log house
with a shake roof, on the left.
It's not that house. It's
the next house, just over
a rise. The house
where trees are laden with
fruit. Where phlox, forsythia,
and marigold grow. It's
the house where the woman
stands in the doorway
wearing the sun in her hair. The one
who's been waiting
all this time.
The woman who loves you.
The one who can say,
"What's kept you?"