Sunday, September 30, 2018

Morning Ritual




On working days and vacation days—one morning ritual. The face gets washed; hot water or cold water; soak the hair, brush it out. Small life-affirming ritual I’ve been engaging in for longer than I’ve been drinking coffee. More consistent than brushing my teeth.

Twenty bucks would buy me a new one! It’s a dark black, solid plastic piece that my dad probably bought from a local drug store. Or the Fuller brush man. I haven’t been parted from it—so to speak. Constant for forty-two years. It wasn’t mine. It was dad’s and it worked pretty good for what I needed. My sixteen years-old long hair needed training and dad’s brush was perfect. When he left the house, he left it behind. Must not have been important. Now I think maybe he knew? How do we lock onto these little things?  

In high school and college I carried a comb in my pocket. Always the brush in the morning. Combs disappeared but the brush traveled with me.  My mom’s pink bathroom to a summer in Chicago; the upstairs bathroom in a house full of guys to the strained and cluttered baths of my first marriage. High desert years alone with my daughter to beach side songs with my beloved. The brush has been along for all of it. In suitcases and toiletry bags; on hotel counters to permanent bathroom drawers. Recently I bought another brush for travel—so nothing happens to the good one.

Why this brush?  Does it feel perfect in hand and on hair (weight, smooth plastic, firm bristles that penetrate to scalp) because it is; or because I’ve used it so long. Is it that ‘one thing’ of my dad’s that I own? I don’t know all the answers.

I do know this. Tomorrow morning the sun will rise.  I’ll get out of bed. Pour a cup of coffee. The face will get washed. I’ll put my head under running water. Then I’ll brush it out with the ideal hair brush. Life goes on.


Monday, September 24, 2018

A Hopeful Call




There are two ways to argue.  The first is to use facts and principles to arrive at a solution.  The second is to degrade your opponent hoping that he will just cave under your attack.  For example in a marriage in the first solution you both are looking to solve the problem so you might say, “Going out to dinner isn’t in line with our budget.”  You are using a solid measure; the budget as a principle and trying to arrive at an agreement.  The second argument might sound like, “You are a stupid moron and don’t care about my hunger!”  In this instance the attack is personal and less concrete. I am dismayed in believing that individually and as a nation we are not principled unless the principal is me.

The John Adams quote, “A government of laws and not of men,” is often heard. We are girded under by law, by principles which find their precedent in the Bible. These are principles of truth and logic which have been held to for thousands of years. As a nation when we argue we should seek solid outcomes based on law. Not based on opinion or name calling. As individuals we should seek truth (and peace with all men) via solid basic facts. Our heart and our feelings are not rational determinants of the highest good for one or all.


The heart is deceitful above all things. As Solzhenitsyn says, “But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”  We dare not argue without compass or plumb line. Then we may see only our truth and be guided by our perception; not the highest good of other or outcome. We may sink to name calling; and it is difficult nay impossible to improve if you’re being called a dork—What does ‘not a dork’ look like?  Can we do that?

I hope for more. I think we can argue rationally; honestly, and with respect for each other. I have a friend that lives in Berkeley, CA. He believes it’s impossible to argue rationally because people will cite social media and tidbits. I think higher of my fellow man that this. We have the ability to listen to each other and to hear. It’s got to be more than ‘he said, she said.’ There is truth. 

Though constantly saddened by the evil that men do I still have hope. Hope that we will choose light over darkness. That in our striving and arguments we rest on principle, law and the highest good of the other. For law has as its outcome the highest good of man.







Sunday, September 16, 2018

The Antidote Is Community




Curled up; sorry for self. He lay in his bed. He’d blown through a red light in the company car.  Hit another car; wounded passengers. Put a teenage boy in the hospital. His fault, his mistake. Giving up. Then the phone call came. Somebody needed to talk; somebody else was hurting.  So, he got out of bed. Community gives purpose. Community motivates. Community heals.

Despite the evidence our proclivity is to hide. Like Adam we run from God, we hide from Eve, we hole up. We have so many options to run to. Writing on America’s opiate epidemic, Sam Quinones makes this point; “the drug…makes being alone not just all right, but preferable. I believe more strongly than ever that the antidote to heroin is community.” Studies of mortality consistently show that individuals with the lowest level of involvement in social relationships are more likely to die than those with greater involvement.  One study cites ‘compelling evidence’ linking a low quantity of social ties to physical healing. We must learn to step out when we want to stay in.

We walk into a messy humanity. In church, the local art class, or wherever you go. Community isn’t just rubbing elbows with others it’s going arm-in-arm. But we’re broken. Others more than us, others less. That’s where the beautiful mystery is revealed. When we come alongside each other in that hard season. I’ve had friends walk with me through addiction, through divorce and through parent’s sickness. Friends are there to share my baby’s birth, newfound love and quiet seasons where nothing changes. This is where the healing begins.

It’s been said that we should have as many close friendships as we will need pall bearers at our funeral. And “I’m being placed in an urn,” isn’t a valid argument against community. So that the funeral will come later, so that the wounds will heal faster, so that life will be richer---step into community.



Sunday, September 09, 2018

Slipping, Sputtering and Aging




Our mental gearing sputters and slips as we age. Things get muddled. A skinny old lady I know confuses the words genealogist and gynecologist. Granted they’re similar---one looks up your history and one looks up your...

A long life history gets condensed. “It’s from that great little store in the mall,” my 88-year-old Mother in law says.  “We used to pop in there all the time!”  She hands me the battery charger and has me read the product logo---Radio Shack. I inform her that Radio Shack has gone the way of the dinosaur.  Age old events merge with events from last week.

Time-lines shrink so there is only what was and what is---and they connect. A vacation taken thirty years ago is recounted like it was last week. Last week’s adventures have dropped off the time-line altogether. Whatever grey matter tethers time to memory dissipates.  The belts slip maybe or connections misfire.

RAM is disrupted. Roughly 40 per cent of people over the age of 65 experience some form of memory loss. Oddly enough professionals say this isn’t an issue unless you don’t think it’s an issue.  Being cognizant of loss is good. 

“Unfortunately, in most cases, there are no obvious signs a timing belt is near death; it will just break.” For cars you replace the belt before it blows.  We just fray. Experts say routine helps.  An investment in life helps. Both body and brain strengthening exercises.  Then the last seconds; power doesn’t come, engine seizes, body stops with a jar as hitting a wall. Cam, crankshaft collapse. “Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and terrors on the road…For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.”