RESOLUTIONS the 2024 VERSION

#1. ACT MY AGE. I'm pretty sure that when we hear this phrase we usually assume that the person is acting immaturely or pretending to be younger than they are. For me, with this resolution, I'm shooting for not acting older than I am. In a few days I'll be 73. When I have aches and pains, when I walk into a room and can't remember why, when my first instinct is to complain, I'll try to remember that I'm not 74 or more.

I'm not sure when the switch flipped for me--the change from a borderline Peter Pan Syndrome kind of guy to the stereotypical cranky curmudgeon. The point is I'm not sure I am, ever have been, or ever will be, self-aware enough to find reality, but if I ever do I'm going to get a firm grip on it. (If I like what I see that is. If not, I'll make something up,)

#2. MAKE A NEW FRIEND. Can we all agree that friendship is on a scale sort of like air temperature and humidity? There are those friendships that are long and intimate. There are those that if we met on the street we would recognize each other and maybe reminisce about shared experiences. I heard a radio program recently about the decline in friendships among men. There was a lot of speculation and presciptions, but the one thing that seemed to be true was that you have to make the effort. Friendships, like all relationships, seem to need some nurture, care and effort. Is this resolution worthy of being a resolution? For me it is, not because I don't value friendships, I'm just so strongly introverted (not shy) that friending is a challenge.

What am I looking for in a friend besides possible future pall bearer material? I suppose if I were posting something in a publication or app designed for friend-finding my list might look something like this:

• Good storyteller with good stories to tell.

• Has more than a passing interest in some form of the arts.

• Able to talk for more than an hour without getting into current politics. (Unless you agree with my worldview of course.)

• Has at some point in their past owned a turntable and a collection of albums that included at least two of the following:

The Beatles
Miles Davis
Blood Sweat and Tears
Bob Dylan
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and/or Neil Young or The Byrds or Buffalo Springfield or The Kinks
Marvin Gaye
The Beach Boys
Led Zeppelin
Eva Cassidy

• Has at some point shot a few rolls of B&W film.

• Regularly asks to see photos of my Grand Kids.

• Doesn't complain about the cost of the cup of coffee we're visiting over.

• Is near equal parts excited and afraid of AI.

And that's pretty much it.

#3. DEFY THE MAGNETIC PULL OF LETHARGY. In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Of course each of those are in the fabric of all of us and impact the other in a Newtonian way. Picture that little pendulum thing with the line up of steel balls hanging in a perfect row. Pull one back let it go and somehow the energy--both kinetic and potential--unleashed, transfers through each and sends the last in line swinging. I'm glad. Sometimes that first ball may be the Spiritual one. When I pull it back it impacts all the others, hopefully making me a better friend, steward, husband, dad and Pops.

I'm a full year into retirement now. We've done some traveling. We've been to basketball games, piano recitals, dance recitals, gymnastics meets, school programs, a wonderful vacation with all the kids. So far, so good. I had a friend named Grady Nutt who wrote a book where he turned that little phrase around and used it for the title, "So Good, So Far". I would rather use that version to describe this year. I had another friend named Gladys Lewis. She titled one of her books, "On Earth As It Is", obviously borrowing just enough of a phrase from the Lord's Prayer to invite us to take a realist view of life.

In that spirit, in this retirement thing, there's still been a lot of time that I haven't really known what to do with. That's fine with me. I can always read or write, listen to great music, watch an old movie, or take a nap. I start the day with peanut butter and strawberry spread, coffee and puzzles. Then I move to my little den with a second cup of coffee and read the New York Times online along with a few of my favorite writers. Often there will something there that will push me into a rabbit hole, clicking links, watching YouTube. Then, before you know it, it's time to ask My Amazing Missus, "What sounds good for lunch?" carefully avoiding a stupid question like, "What are you fixing for lunch?"

Back in the days leading up to retirement she would tell people that when I retired she planned to retire from cooking. I have actually done a good bit of that. I like to find a new recipe or spice up an old favorite.

Still. There are times when I'm like a lazy old dog just lying in the way. When my Apple Watch buzzs and tells me it's time to stand up and move around, I usually do. I meander around the house. Sometimes I'll stand in the doorway of her sewing room and ask her how it's going. For the first time in 50 years, we're here, together. I'm loving it. But I've crashed on her couch so to speak, and I'm here to stay.

Our taste in TV programming doesn't overlap much. The other day she came in and asked, "What in the world are you watching?" I explained that I was now eight episodes into something the kids call "Gilmore girls". I told her I was discovering much to my skepticism that it is some of the best writing of any series I remember. "Sit down and I'll start at the beginning." For a week now we've been watching a few episodes each night. Last night we watched Season 2, Episode 14, the one where Richard, the husband, father and grandfather to the Gilmore girls has just retired. Emily, the mother, is telling Lorelai, the daughter, how it's going so far.

"We've never really been home at the same time. He's always here. Watching me, and noticing when I move a vase."

My Amazing-Missus laughed too hard and too knowingly at that. I think I may have heard her whisper, "Amen, sister."

Later in the episode, after Richard has made himself a nuisance to each of the Gilmore girls, Lorilei, his daughter tells him to back off; he says,

"You know I never thought about retirement. I never thought about what I'd do or what I'd be once I wasn't working. I never once thought that I would go from being a productive member of the human race to a decrepit old drone sitting at the club at 3:00 PM drinking brandy and playing cards. I'm an annoyance to my wife and a burden to my daughter. Suddenly I realize what it feels like to be obsolete. I hope that you never have to learn what that feels like."

Here's my plan: when someone asks me what I'm doing in retirement I'm going to tell them that I'm defying lethargy. I'm gaining energy--both potential and kinetic: In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Then I will quote Whitman, and that should end the discussion.

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O Me! O Life!
Walt Whitman
1819 – 1892

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

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WORD

IF THERE ARE WORDS for this I'm not sure I can find them. Words are powerful. Words are peaceful. Words are honest and dishonest. They shape lies and truth. They heal and hurt. Whoever said, "Sticks and stones... but words can never hurt me," is full of [insert a couple of words here, or is it a compound word?]

How is it that for certain people, to be able to say: "what's-on-his-mind", it’s like a virtue or a license. "He just tells it like it is," seems to require that we let him off the hook for any affect the words might have.

Sometimes words can fall on deaf ears or they can be put into someone elses mouth. They can be misheard, unheard, misspoken, miscontrued or misunderstood.

Ever have to eat your words? On at least one occasion I had my mouth washed out with Lava brand soap by my grandmother for using a word that I'm pretty sure I had heard her use.

It's Christmastime. Time to remember Jesus was called The Word, that he existed in the beginning and that "the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son." John 1:14

That event actually happened. In flesh, bone and blood. It happened in a part of the world that is now strewn with flesh, bone and blood, in Gaza; less than 50 miles--away in a manger--where according to the song, the babe lay his sweet head.

When I think of the Nativity, the words of that heavy, heavy question in Lamentations comes to mind: “Does it mean nothing to you, all you who pass by?"

This is where it gets tricky for me. I am not one of those with a license to tell it like I see it. When I try, it seems I hurt feelings, alienate and infuriate. So I write these words cautiously and with trepidation. I should know how to do this. Back in school, I took and passed with flying colors a class called "Rhetoric".

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rhetoric
noun
--speech or writing intended to be effective and influence people
--the study of the ways of using language effectively

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This week, I went to the doctor for my annual check-up. I'm on Medicare now so the process is a little different. I had to complete a questionnaire. One section read something like: Do you ever feel sad, afraid, angry, etc.?

I started to impulsively check YES, but I was afraid my doctor might suggest a new pill, or support group. The tip of my pin drifted toward the NO square like a pointer pulling fingers across a Ouija board, but I couldn't mark NO. So, I checked YES and quickly prepared a sane and sensible explanation, words to ensure my doc and old friend that I had it all under control.

The fact is I do feel all of those things--not all the time, and I also feel happy, hopeful, courageous, and other good things. Maybe it has something to do with my age and emotional state, but I'm blaming most of the sad/afraid/angry stuff on the current state of things. I am so sick of cutural meanness, of dehumanizing speech, of the-end-justifies-the-means politics and religion. I'm depressed from the hostile takeover of christianity by far right fundamentalists. Their message of saving the soul of America while waving a banner stitched of their own power-greedy arrogance is demoralizing to me. They march lockstep behind people who demand loyalty to their ungodly authoritarianism. They claim to be doing all of this in answer to a call to follow the WORD-become-flesh, the one of whom the Apostle Paul wrote:

Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and compassionate? Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one mind and purpose.

Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.

Though he was God,
he did not think of equality with God
as something to cling to.
Instead, he gave up his divine privileges;
he took the humble position of a slave
and was born as a human being.

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Maybe this year makes next year seem particularly fraught and fragile. It seems like fascists are strikingly stirred up. Ukraine, the Middle East, the environment, political hard-lining here at home, the border, the sensitive and growing situation of homeless camped along Main street of the town where we live.

Maybe it's actually just another year. Maybe there's been worse. Surely there's been better. I remember well Christmastime 1971. My mom's heart was breaking from the weight of it. The war in Vietnam was dragging on and on. Student deferments from the military draft had ended and I had my draft lottery number. One day I got home and was met by my mom with a letter addressed to me from the Selective Service System. She was literally shaking. I opened it to find that my number, 116, from the 1970 lottery had come up. I was to meet a bus in downtown Tulsa just before Christmas to travel to OKC to take a physical for conscription.

It was a horrible Christmas for her, but 1972 brought better days. The war waned and I didn't have to go after all. In June 1972, I married my Amazing-Missus, whom Mom dearly loved. What a difference a day or a few make.

It's Christmas Eve, 2023. I am leaning on promises. The same promises born with that little baby so long ago. Promises for peace, for justice, for deliverance. To borrow a few words from John Lennon:

“You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one.”

Merry Christmas.

GRAND GIFTS

MAYBE YOU’RE HEARD the prescription for gift-giving:

Something they want
Something they need
Something to wear
Something to read

One of our Grand-Girls found a present, wrapped, with a tag bearing her name under our pitiful little tree. (So pitiful in fact that one of our Grand-Guys asked why we didn't have a Christmas tree. "We do." I said, "That's it right there." He looked at it, then looked at me and smiled as if I might be joking.) Anyway, the aforementioned Grand-Girl asked me if I wrapped it. No. Mimi does all the wrapping. I do the shopping.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked. I told her I did know because I'm the one who chose it. "Will I like it?"

I started to explain to her that is not one of the criteria of gift-giving. I googled and googled and couldn't fine any version of the list that said: "Something they like." That's too fleeting and subjective. I'm their Pops, not a mindreader.

I simply said, "I hope so. If you don't, there's probably a little girl somewhere who would love to have it."

She laughed and said, "That's kinda mean." What do you expect from a 70-something old man trying to guess what an 9-year old would want? [BTW: I went with something from Barbie world. I figure I can't go too wrong, right?] I hope each of the Grands will say, "This is just what I wanted!"

Next up: SOMETHING THEY NEED. We'll be taking the whole crew to my favorite Thai food place. Obviously everyone NEEDS food. They may not see it as much of a gift, but it is. The food there is wonderful, every single time. The people who own and run the business take such pride in the whole experience. We each NEED a memorable meal around a warm table.

SOMETHING TO WEAR. Check.

Each kid gets pajamas that match (whether they want to or not). And this year, there's an extra item in the category. Something everyone should have. Maybe I'll share a picture in a future post.

SOMETHING TO READ.

Traditionally this one has been my favorite. But there are no books under the tree this year. Not because I don't want them to read and read and read, but because I can't remember what books I've given them in the past. I'm pretty sure each of our kid's houses have a copy of the books I most want our kids to read and love. That list includes (in no certain order):

GOOD NIGHT MOON
THE CAT IN THE HAT
GOOD NIGHT, GORILLA
MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS
CORDUROY
THE MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK
MADELINE
STUART LITTLE
THE VELVETEEN RABBIT
WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS
THE GIVING TREE
CHARLOTTE'S WEB
THE LION, THE WITCH, AND THE WARDROBE
HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE
A WRINKLE IN TIME
THE OUTSIDERS
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Maybe it's time for them to choose a book themselves. One that intrigues them, something other than what's on Pops' list of classics. Sounds like we need to make a trip to the bookstore--something that should be on our list every year.

REMEMBERING AUNT BETTY

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Has a better opening paragraph ever been written? I've chosen to start this essay with it because it is in the spirit of what I want to talk about, but I don't have the ability or insight to craft a sentence like it.

A few days ago I stepped into a time capsule and whooshed back sixty years or so. In a little ghost of a town named Dubach, Louisana, we gathered with cousins to remember our Aunt Betty, Dan and Philip's mother and my dad's last living sibling. The night before her memorial service we gathered and told stories of childhood.

My cousin Dale said to me, "Do you remember that time we were playing Tag in the dark in Aunt Betty's backyard and you ran into the clothesline? It caught you right in the neck. Your feet went flying and you slammed on your back. We all stood around you, looking down to see if you were still alive."

I didn't remember it. Maybe I blocked that memory, but others seem as fresh as they did when we were just kids. Dubach was one of those places and the halcyon days of the late 50s and early 60s one of those times when we could run unfettered from morning to night with little to worry about; save a clothesline.

Remembering playing Tag? Did your version provide a homebase where you could be "safe" from the the pursuit of the person who was "it"?

Dubach, and more specifically, Aunt Betty's home, was a safe base. Aunt Betty took grace and eternal hope seriously. To a casual observer she might appear to have a side to her that seemed stern, strict, springing from a devotion to her faith. In reality she had higher aspirations for us all than we even had for ourselves. Make any sense? How about an example:

She was a fine musician. If you had the slightest interest in music (as I did), you would feel sort of a weird accountability to her to get it right. Dig in. Learn more. Practice, practice, practice because the art demanded it. For her, music was created by and was a gift from God. If you claimed to be a musician, you had a responsibility to honor that gift. I can't thank her enough for being my first and foremost teacher of music appreciation.

It was not just music, but in life that she expected the best. We were implored by her example to unrelenting devotion to family and faith.

Those priorities were the super glue that bound my father and his little sister. In the birth order of the six children of Chroley and Bernice Fuller of Dubach, Louisiana, Dad was fourth, Aunt Betty, fifth. Apparently, from stories we've heard many times, Dad saw himself as guardian and protector of his little sister. Later she became his spiritual and doctrinal guide.

Dad, being a Baptist pastor during a time before Baptist fell into the abyss of authoritarianism, sort of complied with the common beliefs and interpretations. One day years ago we were gathered. The subject of the role of women in faith came up. Mention was made of the current fad of religious leaders putting women in their subjective place. My Dad, who grew up with a mother who was a cornerstone in their local church and a sister who was the glue of that church, said, "I tend to agree with that view." His sister, my Aunt Betty turned from the kitchen counter where she was preparing a dish and said, "Brother! You know better than that." Turns out he did know better. He knew empirically and experientially that to view women as subserviant to anyone in the work of faith is untrue, unjust and ungodly.

A few years ago, My Amazing Missus and I were having dinner with my parents. Dad told us he and Mom wanted to talk with us about their last wishes. He said, "We've decided to be cremated upon our deaths." I was so surprised. This had never been mentioned in our many conversations on the matter. Where had this come from?! He continued, "We were visiting with your Aunt Betty on the phone the other night. She has been praying and reviewing scripture on the matter and has come to peace with a decision in favor of cremation for herself."

That settled that.

That's one of the things about homebase, that safe place from the "its" of life. There are trusted voices. People with high expectations for us but also a deep, abiding love that lets us try, and whether we succeed or not, they are there.

That's why even at 70-something, with the passing of my Aunt Betty, the ground feels a little less sure. The certain voices of my early life are passing. But we have their wisdom and spirits with us still.

After the service, a few of us cousins and spouses gathered at the cemetary in Dubach. There are so many headstones there with the "FULLER" name, that if that's your surname, you wonder how there can be any left. But, there we were, the kids who once ran around that little town, who ate at Aunt Betty and Uncle Steve's table. For a few moments, as the sun was setting and the mosquitos were beginning their attack, we were all at home base, safe, about to return to grown up life trying to outrun "it".