There's Always Something...

Susanna...

Garrison Keillor adds so much to my daily life through listening and reading his wonderful blog.

Today's was especially poignant and I share a portion of the text with you.

Susanna by Anne Porter Nobody in the hospital Could tell the age Of the old woman who Was called Susanna I knew she spoke some English And that she was an immigrant Out of a little country  Trampled by armies Because she had no visitors I would stop by to see her But she was always sleeping All I could do  Was to get out her comb And carefully untangle The tangles in her hair One day I was beside her When she woke up Opening small dark eyes Of a surprising clearness She looked at me and said You want to know the truth? I answered Yes She said it's something that My mother told me There's not a single inch Of our whole body That the Lord does not love She then went back to sleep. "Susanna" by Anne Porter, from Living Things: Collected Poems. © Zoland Books, 2006. Reprinted with permission.

Old Folks Home...

When I was a young minister, I often got tapped to do services for Old Folks' Homes. As I enthusiastically tried to bring inspiring messages and decent liturgies weird things sometimes happened.

I once said "Let us pray..," and some fellow loudly said, "Alllll right..."

Then there was the time when, in the middle of a pastoral prayer, one elderly lady said, quite loudly, to her neighbor: "Why doesn't he say something? I can't hear a word."

If I had it to do over I would adopt the style of Zach Galifianakis. Come to think of it, I may not be far from that lifestyle right now. Think I may book him in advance.

Classmates...

As usual, Ronni comes up with one that had me chuckling still as I brewed up my Chili.

    My name is Alice, and I was sitting in the waiting room for my first appointment with a new dentist. I noticed his DDS diploma on the wall, which bore his full name. Suddenly, I remembered a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy with the same name had been in my high school class some 30-odd years ago. Could he be the same guy that I had a secret crush on, way back then?

    Upon seeing him, however, I quickly discarded any such thought. This balding, gray-haired man with the deeply lined face was way too old to have been my classmate. After he examined my teeth, I asked him if he had attended Morgan Park High School.

    “Yes. yes, I did. I'm a mustang.” He gleamed with pride.

    “When did you graduate?' I asked.

    He answered, “In 1975. Why do you ask?”

    “You were in my class!” I exclaimed.

    He looked at me closely. Then, that ugly, old, bald, wrinkled-faced, fat-assed, gray-haired, decrepit son-of-a-bitch asked, “What did you teach?”

Is There An Alternative to the Dr's Office Procedures?

Probably not.

But there are many times when we have a simple question or request that must be channeled through receptionists and nurses before arriving on the Dr's desk.  Then the channel reverses itself and eventually some kind of message gets back to us. Sometimes.

This tedious and time-wasting process could be simplified with simple exchanges of emails. It isn't that I don't enjoy talking to receptionists. Some of them are wonderful people. I would prefer a straight shot at a concerned physician who would get right back to me with a friendly and accurate two or three sentence response. ending perhaps with the phrase; "...if this doesn't work, please let me know."

Why not?

Frank at the End...

I'm a lover of things Sinatra. I stumbled on this piece this morning and was stunned by something I saw and recognized far beyond the music. Frank was an actor here. Not merely a singer. He attained a freedom and a power at the end, compromised somewhat by age.

The last few times I have preached, a rare occasion nowadays, I discovered a strange new power of unrestrained freedom. I used few notes. I paused, stammered a bit, didn't really give a damn about how it was going or being received, I just had something to say - and I said it.  And we all felt it.

This was a new Sinatra. But it was a new Roger too - and I recognized and felt deeply what was going on here. I put my hands over my face and knew exactly what and why Frank was doing what he was doing. I understood.

Surgical Pause...

Be back Monday. Double dental extraction and Endoscopy have me temporarily on the ropes. Keep those cards and letters coming!

Eating and Smiling When You Can't...

You don't want to know this, but I'll be undergoing a couple of dental extractions and an implant with all the fun that goes with such surgical goodies - a week from Monday. At least the first part takes place then. It involves a vital base for a long-standing bridge that exists now so I will be missing important teeth on both sides of my mouth. As I understand it, the construction and the healing process takes several months.

Which leads me to a few wry observations.

1. Do not ask me to do anything that costs money. Enough said.

2. Do not ask me to smile or talk to you. Don't ask me to substitute for your preacher. I never learned to preach with my mouth shut. Vanity will reign supreme.

3. Do not expect me to chew anything. We are even now looking for delightful recipes that can be enjoyed without any chewing.

4. Do ot invite me anywhere. I'm an introvert to start with, but for the foreseeable future I do not expect to be a social lion. I know. I know. Never was.

5. Pray for Jo Ann. Living with a martyr can't be fun.

Bah! Humbug! The photo? My mood, exactly.

Sex, Facebook and the Older Crowd...

I dabble from time to time with Facebook, an internet channel for impersonal "friendships", chiefly among young people, but often among the older crowd as well. Why? Well, I like to know what's going on in the world out there and there is no better way that I know of to keep track of the younger generation. I really don't like what I see.

I have a whole collection of granddaughters, nieces, step-boppers, etc. It is astonishing what they reveal about themselves - the language they use, the way they spend their spare time, their attitudes toward life in general. But most telling of all, the photos they put up for all to see. Mostly photos of themselves and their friends. It isn't a pretty sight.

The odd thing about it is how similar the photos are - though these are dramatically different girls in almost every way. The pictures are interchangeable. Lots of parties. Lots of drinking. Lots of suggestive poses. Most of all, lots of breasts.

Now I rather like breasts. Not so much on my grandchildren, but that's another story. One of my sons recently made the comment to me: "They dress like whores."  I would use a milder word, "sluts," but essentially we are on the same page - and his daughter was one of the objects of our concerned discussion.

If I were an employer considering hiring a young woman out of, say 40 applicants, I would assuredly look up her Facebook profile and photos before choosing. You can tell a lot about character by what a person allows to go out to the public on Facebook. And the public it is! These kids know full well that their parents, grandparents and other adults are aware of what they share of themselves. Doesn't bother them. I would guess there is a certain thrill in flaunting it.

Anyway, to get to my point, I came to a startling realization last time I was viewing some of my offsprings' revelations. There is nothing sexy about these pictures. Overtly, yes. Actually, no. The pictures reak of desperate immaturity. Do you suppose they are not old enough to know what sexiness really is?

I know, that sounds really dumb. But stay with me here. I read a blog this morning that put the whole question of what really is sexy into a new perspective. Or, better, an old perspective. "Old is the new sexy" is the title and it was inspired by a new movie that I can't wait to see. Emma Thompson and Dustin Hoffman in Last Chance Harvey. There is even a nice preview on the article's second page. Two elders really get it on in wonderful sexy ways.

The idea is pure counter-culture, as far as the contemporary youth worship ethos is concerned. But I'm 80 year old now, have 5 children and a 58+ year happy marriage going. I know good sexuality when I see it - and it has nothing to do with being young.

I Turn 80 Tomorrow...

Doesn't seem quite real. But it is. In so many ways I feel quite young. Don't kid myself about that. Little things remind one. Younger ones seem to drop like flies - and we go merrily on - even if compromised here and there.

But in some ways age brings deep satisfactions that never were before. I wouldn't want to go back. Forward is good enough for me!

Halloween...

I feel terrible telling you this.

One year my mother made me a Batman costume for Halloween. Long underwear. Ears. Cape. Black mask. Man!

I wore it with great pride. He was my hero. Detective Comics my favorite read.

Halloween-wise it's been downhill ever since then. 70 years ago. I was 10.

Well, stealing candy from my kids wasn't bad. In fact, that was rather good. I don't remember much since then. In fact, I can't remember anything Halloweenish since.

It was about that time that I began to appreciate Ebeneezer Scrooge as a Christmas hero.

There's a Halloween party for neighbors in our senior community. Supposed to wear a mask or something. They will have extras if you don't have one. I'm staying home and watching a movie. The English Patient. I've seen it before, but it does beat Halloween parties for seniors. At least I would guess it does.

If we had kids I would steal some tiny Mr. Goodbars or Snickers from them. But all 5 are long gone and out protecting their own broods from the terrors of this new age. Halloween has changed a lot. I think.

Bah! Humbug!