Are We Younger At 50 Than Our Parents Were?

A friend of mine is beginning his teaching career at age sixty. To me he doesn’t look sixty. That maybe because I am in my early fifties. At fifty, do we look old to our children? Do we look as old to them as our parents looked to us when we were young and they were fifty?


When I look at pictures of my parents or their parents (circa 1970) I note that they look old even when they were younger. Perhaps it is because we’ve had it easier growing up in this generation. We are more aware scientifically and anecdotally of how to stay healthy and look better. Many of us had babies later and changed careers later in life as well. My daughter was born when I was 36. That seems more acceptable, even normal, for my generation than for the generation of my parents.

There was a time when people were expected to retire at age 55. I will just be getting my second wind at fifty-five with an expectation that I will have to work to age seventy. Oddly enough this may work in my favor. I believe that my dad began his downhill slide in part because he retired early. He did not take on a hobby, other interests or add or deepen any personal friendships. He slowed down and hung out at his house. His body slowed and his mind followed. Had he kept working he may have fared far better.

I will have to ask my daughter if we are old to her. It is hard to measure since it is impossible to be objective in this regard. I know for certain is that at fifty-five Carrows allows me senior dinners. I don’t know when polyester begins to look like stylish comfortable clothing or at what age my wife will allow me black socks with my sandals.

The Lounge Singer

I felt awkward. Not because I was in a bar. I’ve been in bars before though rarely alone. Let me clarify. The bar has an excellent reputation as a burger place. I had time and hunger to kill. So I walked down to the local burger joint. One of the owners recommended the guacamole burger. I sat down with my coke.


“He’s a fan of mine, he loves it when I sing Sinatra,” said the musician. At a table in the corner the owners interviewed him for a job. The musician got up from the table. He walked over to the table nearest me and muttered something to her about being interviewed. I guessed that she was upset at having to sit by herself waiting for him. His hair was black but didn’t fit the age indicated by his face.

Glenda from Sysco foods walked in carrying a laptop. She hugged the woman at the bar. The woman at the bar hugged back. She spoke caringly and stroked Glenda’s exposed shoulder. Having exchanged pleasantries Glenda began leaving. The woman at the bar said, “…we have to be strong.” She continued to sit there with her manicured legs and nails. Sitting, her body swayed to the music. She said hello to an older man within range of her at the bar. He had a Telly Savalas haircut and drank something straight up.

The musician was saying that as part of his contract he wanted to make sure he could get a free drink or two for his buddies. The way he talked everybody was his buddy. He could get them all to come in and do spots during his gig. He knew lots of people. He’d just got back from the Riviera where, “I played with all those guys. All the guys I play with are class acts….” Then I heard him talking about a guy that’s quiet unless he’s on stage—then he’s funny.

I wouldn’t have hired the lounge singer. He was trying too hard. I had the impression that he would do a bad version of Bill Murray doing a bad version of a lounge singer.

Microsoft Terrors

If Microsoft Word were a physical object I would have already tossed it across the room. I am in the process of updating a document which I did not originally create. The problem is that I am not Word savvy. Sure I can navigate around other more difficult programs but I don’t know how to use Word; same is true for Excel. Like a three year old I can color inside a coloring book but if I have to go outside the lines it’s an aggravating chore.


I blame it on my learning style. I am a tactile learner. I need somebody or something (a learning video or simulation) to show me the steps necessary to solve the problem. Fortunately my wife has some experience with word and so is able to show me the correct menu to access.

I am able to figure out InDesign, Facebook and Pinterest but programs that we all use often have me stymied. Perhaps my frustration hearkens back to my math anxiety. In elementary school and junior high math (literally) brought me to tears. Meanwhile in a galaxy far away my daughter is taking pre-calc this year and physics next.

Woody Allen once wrote a story in which he was being chased by the verb ‘tener.’ I hope any terrors in tonight’s sleep do not have Bill Gates laughing an evil laugh in dark caves of silicon.

Holding The World In Wonder

Desensitization is a good thing for humans in stressful situations, not so much for frogs in boiling water. Like any sense or adaptation that is hard-wired in us being desensitized can be either good or bad. For the janitor cleaning the bathroom or the patient with the toothache it is a good thing. The problem is that we can also be desensitized to beauty or brutality.


On your first date with your wife you were in awe of her every breath and her every move. You could not stop staring. After a while her beauty doesn’t hold your attention. Not because it doesn’t exist but because you’ve become desensitized.

As a teenager everything was magical; nature was stunning, girls were incomprehensible and your first paycheck meant you could one day own the world. Years later God’s providences are lackluster, the paycheck isn’t enough and women are still incomprehensible---but now it’s a problem and not a wonderful mystery.

The dark side of the same coin is that we can become immune to brokenness around us. Violence doesn’t stun us the way it once did. Sexualized violence is now a marketing tool. When we see it we barely blink.

The challenge to us in our humanity is to choose newness. That is to say to hold the world in wonder though we’ve seen a sunrise more than two-thousand times. We must find a way that works for each of us to see people as amazing. Seeing my wife in the light of morning I look beyond the out-of-place-hair to that shine in her eyes. We can either be thankful and amazed at the world around us or lose all sensitivity like the frog in the pot.

Customer Service: Serving Angels Unawares

In customer service, they say, you rarely know the customers’ story; who they really are or what they are really going through. An example of this would be the Dr. that came into our store after having a patient die on the table; the customer service he received helped him face the day. The most ordinary people we serve may have amazing backgrounds.


I saw Joey Covington’s picture in the paper today. Sadly he died by car crash at the age of 67. I knew him as the funky musician that came in and ordered a coffee and a latte. He usually came by in the afternoons as he often played gigs til two or three in the morning. I had no idea that he was a drummer for Jefferson Airplane or that he co-wrote Jefferson Starships’ “With Your Love.” He played locally and will be largely missed on the local music scene.

One of my older customers took over a hardware store from his father in Alaska. According to the free library, “During World War II, a period of growth throughout the territory, the fledgling company entered into a contract with the U.S. Army to produce sleeping cots. The Army job gave the building supply company a steady source of income and provided the catalyst for product diversification and expansion.” In the 1970’s, …”Because of continued market growth in Southeast, he opened a new store in 1974, directly across from the downtown location. Sparking the company's expansion was construction of the trans-Alaska oil pipeline, which fueled another economic boom and drove up the desire for both commercial- and private-sector projects throughout the state.” He used to come in regularly for latte’s until his wife put him on a budget citing the current administration as the reason.

His new show opens soon on the Bravo network. His bio states that he ‘is a hotelier, designer, art historian and television host with a wealth of knowledge in architecture, the arts, design, people and travel gleaned from 17 years spent abroad and working in different fields, running his own businesses and immersing himself in different cultures.’ He has opened a hotel in Morocco, a business selling furniture and objects from around the world as well as renovating and developing properties in England and abroad.

We have no idea whom it is we serve. They may be well to do hardware store owners or accomplished rock musicians; they may be the maid from the hotel across the street. The idea is that we serve them well. C.S. Lewis once said that we would be overcome if we saw people as glorified or ruined as they will be at their end. One never knows, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. “

A Cooling Breeze

The good news today was that there was a breeze. Cycling in temperatures over ninety-five is difficult. It’s tough to push hard and it’s tough to stay hydrated. I started out early but it was still to warm to be comfortable. Around ten in the morning a cooling breeze came out of the East. It brought no rain and no clouds but it cooled the air a couple of degrees and dried the sweat as it poured down my face and arms.


We need cooling breezes in life too. Balancing children and finances and work and personal issues gets overwhelming sometime. A breeze coupled with a raging fire isn’t a good thing; but when you’ve spent all week putting out fires a breeze can bring just enough relief to keep you going.

Breezes come unannounced; a talk with a friend, a compliment from a stranger or a personal goal you’ve finally met. God may temporarily remove an obstacle or He may give extra help; financial or a sister or brother, to make the fire manageable.

The good news is that today there was a breeze. They can’t always be counted on but when they come upon us gently it’s a welcome surprise.

Hat Tip To The Old Coyote

I looked at him and he stared at me; each one wondering what we would do if the other gave chase. He was one large (waist high), mangy, old and graying coyote. He sauntered past me; we were the only ones on that highway in the national park. He stood still, turned his neck and looked behind him. The movement and the tilt of his head gave the impression he was waiting for someone. They never came.


Here he is sauntering down the street mid-morning in temperatures near one-hundred degrees. Makes me wonder. Was he waiting for the mate that never showed up? Did he expect an old friend hoping to reconnect with the past? He’d come down from the hills around Barker Dam but there were no easy meals out that way today.

Barker Dam is a natural reservoir which Mr. Barker damned up to collect water for livestock runs early last century. Certainly a coyote could have found a stray sheep to munch on back then. They haven’t run livestock that way for a good long time. Currently there’s no water there either it being a dry year. A good summer can bring sixty percent of the regions’ water with the monsoons; here’s hoping for a good season.

I read that coyote’s are one of nature’s best diggers. They dig deep holes for water both for their pals and in hopes other animals will come for the water as well and end up prey. I couldn’t see anyplace to dig that would yield water. Perhaps rabbit and cacti provide enough liquid sustenance?

He looked to be a loner. Mangy and craggy looking he was majestic too. There he stood walking toward the mountain, turning his head from looking behind to move on toward today’s goal. Thinking on it now I should have tipped my hat to him. I do it now, hat tip to the old coyote.

Cutting One's Losses

The pair were stuck in a very bad situation. Simpson could not climb up the rope, Yates could not pull him back up, and the cliff was too high for Simpson to be lowered down. They remained in this position for some time, until it was obvious that the snow around Yates' belay seat was about to give out. Because the pair were tied together, they would both be pulled to their deaths. Yates made the decision to cut the rope in order to save his own life. Ironically, doing so may very well have saved Simpson's life as well, as he would have died of exposure if he had been left to hang in the strong freezing wind for much longer. -Touching the Void

Cutting a rope to save oneself in the Peruvian Andes is rare. Cutting one’s losses in the course of a normal life is a much more common experience. The process involved in both is the same. You survey the situation. You evaluate the pros and cons. You make the decision in the context of the immediate because you can not know the full extent of the consequences once you’ve severed the line. You take a deep breath, pull back your arm, swing down and slice.


The last slash in my life was my divorce. Fifteen years of marriage incorporated significant time and finances invested in the relationship, various financial investments, sundry furniture and a start-up business. At the end, after the affair and in the legal process of divorce, I looked into the abyss and made the decision. No amount of haggling would make it worth it and hanging in the wind was killing me.

To date the ex-wife and I still own a property which we rent. Its value took a significant hit when the housing market blew up. The mortgage and the investment have been bleeding me dry for the last ten years. I am attempting to get approval for a loan modification; which is similar to being on belay with your enemy. The process is arduous and requires tenacity. The bank’s decision will determine my next step. Letting go of the investment may be the prudent move.

The decision to cut rope and save life flies in the face of all we hold to and all we’ve known. Nerve and sinew, mind and mindset are exposed, fully raw, in the face of the decision. Standing on the precipice the choice must be made. You can only hope that crevasse or Creator catch you when you fall.

Photo courtesy of Mahatma4711

Nor Is There Any Rock Like Our God

Now there was a certain man…and his name was Elkanah….He had two wives: the name of one was Hannah and the name of the other Peninnah; and Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.


Her rival, however, would provoke her bitterly to irritate her, because the LORD had closed her womb. It happened year after year, as often as she went up to the house of the LORD, she would provoke her; so she wept and would not eat.

Hannah’s trial was lengthy and deeply personal. The text says, ‘year after year,’ which to us would mean many Christmases and many New Years Eve’s coming and going with no change in the situation. It also meant that Hannah watched Peninnah’s children growing up while her womb remained closed. Every birthday meant cake for Peninnah’s kids and taunts and barbs for Hannah.


There are those that would have ceased going up to the Lord’s house. They would have caught church on television initially perhaps then slowly any memory of trekking to worship would be forgotten. So too would any deep hope of change in the situation.

One can only respond to, “So, when are you going to have children with Elkanah,” so long. Worst case you will grow bitter but not if you have hope and that hope is built (as Jesus said) on solid ground.

That’s the twist in the story; isn’t it? Peninnah had two children and was caustic and bitter. Hannah was heartbroken and ached but her perspective was fixed on the one who gives hope and changes circumstance. The contrast between the two is drawn in citing Hannah’s heart and God’s focus in the story.

The Lord remembers Hannah and she conceives. God pulls through for Hannah in the end. Not that He’ll do the same thing in the same way for everyone. It’s more about God faithfulness to Hannah and her perseverance and hope. As she sings in her song of thanksgiving, “There is no one holy like the LORD, indeed, there is no one besides You, Nor is there any rock like our God.”

Why Would Anybody Move To The Desert?

Renault: And what in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?

Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.

Renault: The waters? What waters? We're in the desert.

Rick: I was misinformed.

Jennifer moved to Palm Springs to begin her new job. The first day she arrived the temperature was 121 degrees Fahrenheit. For the next month after work she spent every evening crying at a local bar. Where we live is often determined by the career we choose and the city we opt to live in.


Some come not for the waters but for the lack of them. Though modern science has made significant improvements in medicine there is still a lot that can’t be cured. “The clear air and hot, dry climate continued to attract people seeking relief from lung problems or arthritis. June LeMert Paxton and Elizabeth Campbell wrote of its benefits in their books, ‘My Life on the Mojave’ and ‘The Desert Was Home’. The Pearce and Gehr families opened a rest home for tubercular patients in Pipes Canyon.” I know some that came here with severe arthritis or significant lung issues. The heat and dry air make living for them easier than cold and damp climates. So they come to work or retire in better health and lower pain and discomfort.

My wife came to the high desert because she fell in love with me. I came to the high desert in an effort to save my first marriage. Some move to the desert because it’s two hours from Los Angeles and they can telecommute for part of the working week and drive in for only a couple of days.

We reside near Joshua Tree, the gateway to Joshua Tree National Park. As it is on the edge of the park the area initially attracted a large mix of artists and types that love the outdoors. The Morongo Basin has over one-hundred artists in residence; enough to promote a Morongo Basin artist showcase for two full weekends each October.

Jennifer just spent her sixth year in Palm Springs, I’m going onto year number eight. We come for many reasons. We stay because we put down roots, we get comfortable and we adapt. Would some of rather be on a plane to other cities? We think so. The reality is that contentment isn’t dependent on where you live but rather who you are.