Consider the Lilies

This has been a week. Work pressures have been rising to a boil. Yesterday I had my first migraine in probably six or seven years. Last night I hardly slept. All week I’ve been pondering something my Pastor said in his message Sunday. Then today, we had the Federal Reserve Chairman Show which whipsawed the market while I was on the road between turning down money from a client and a doctor’s appointment. Like I said, its been a week.

So I walk out onto the patio late this afternoon amidst all of the tumult that life has become these past few days and am astonished by this…

Don’t ask he what kind of flower it is. All I know is that it is part of one of those overpriced plant and flower arrangements they sell at Strange’s. I paid a ridiculous amount of money for it back in April or May to Pam’s great delight, then sat it out on the patio and neglected it all summer. While we were in Maine, the kids next door were charged with watering it along with everything else we wanted to keep alive while we were away. Despite our indifferent care, it thrives still in mid September. This particular bloom is nearly five feet high, and caught my eye as I walked down the deck steps. I took a closer look, examining all the rich detail of the thing, and was mesmerized by the intricacy, the vibrant, glowing color and the symmetric artistry. All the while, life has been speeding by, buffeting us from all sides, but out in my back yard, this lonely plant has not been deterred from becoming what it was created to be…a work of art. It matters not if we gaze upon it, whether or not we even acknowledge it doesn’t have the slightest effect. This flower has been out here night and day, under blue skies and darkest night, withstanding rain, hail, drought and neglect. And it has done it all just so this thing of astonishing beauty would spring forth and catch the eye of a besieged 64 year old man feeling sorry for himself. I stood there for several minutes, then snapped this photograph to remind myself of the moment. As I did a verse from one of the Gospels writers came to mind, the words of Jesus:

…Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither labor nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all of his glory clothed himself like one of these. Now, if God so clothes the grass of the field which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more will he clothe you? Oh you of little faith…

Get Over Yourselves!

Is this even real? Never in my entire life have so many obsessed so much over something so moronic as the British Royal family, especially the two biggest grifters in history—Harry and Meghan. Of course, I suppose I should be grateful. At least somebody finally managed to knock Donald Trump off the front pages.

Commercials Today…

I suppose that this particular Blog post should come with a warning of sorts like… Mature content…or…some of what follows might be inappropriate for certain audiences. Its not that I will be telling off-color jokes or talking about pornography or anything. Its more like…well, I’ll just start and see how it goes.

So, a few weeks ago Pam and I found a really good show to watch called The Split. Its on Hulu and stars Nicola Walker, one of our favorite actresses. 

The show is about dealing with divorce and marital betrayal and everything that goes with it. It’s terrifically written and brilliantly acted and features a long list of characters who go about making hash of their lives while desperately needing Jesus…but this blog is not about the show. Its about what Pam and I have had to endure while watching the show.

I mentioned that this show was on Hulu. Well that means that about every 12 minutes we have to watch 2 minutes of commercials. As has always been the case with Hulu, that means we see essentially the same six commercials over and over and over again. Whatever. I guess something has to pay the bills. And yes, we can mute the sound every 12 minutes and sometimes we do. But once you’ve seen some of these ads they are forever etched in your memory’s hard drive, and  impossible to erase. What commercials am I referring to, you’re probably wondering? Here goes…

The pharmaceutical industry has identified and sat out to eradicate the plague of Peyronies Disease, an ailment about which I knew nothing before seeing the ad. But now I will always and forever know that Peyronies Disease is a deformation of the male sex organ which results in odd and uncomfortable looking shapes down there…illustrated by a bent carrot.

 I’m not sure I will ever look at a carrot in the same way, having seen the laughably absurd use of the formerly innocent vegetable as a prop for their new miracle cure. The first time the spot aired, Pam and I looked at each other with a mixture of horror and embarrassment, unsure which of us should be more embarrassed. With each successive viewing of this ad, we just roll our eyes and laugh.

Next, we are informed that studies show that our nether regions, even after a proper shower return to their odiferous selves 75% faster than they would have had we simply used the brand new Butt Deodorant by Lume. In case confused viewers might have been wondering where and how this bum cream was to be applied, a smiling actress shared the directions to us with helpful hand motions. I sincerely believe that had I been eating anything at the time that I watched this ad for the first time, I might have spewed it across the room. The thing I can’t get out of me head is…who has the job of verifying just how good or bad the test bums smelled in that study they referred to. I mean, what would you call that job??

Then there are two other ads which I can never really keep apart since they both are pharmaceutical commercials featuring various treatments for HIV related issues, so half the ad is some guy droning on and on about all the ghastly side effects with images of gay and lesbian couples canoodling while performing a series of routine household chores.

Sometimes while watching these ads I think about the kinds of commercials that dominated television when I was a kid. The most embarrassing ad I ever remember was stupid old Mister Whipple imploring his customers not to Squeeze the Charmin. I’m sure there were other embarrassing ones too. But, I’m pretty sure that this bent carrot thing or the hand tutorial for the butt cream ad would never have made their way on to television screens back then. Thank God in heaven. I can’t imagine the horror of being in the same room as my parents watching Gunsmoke when either of these ads came on. I would have died from embarrassment.

Then it occurs to me that there is probably an algorithm that determines which ads are sent to which homes at Hulu. If so, who do these people think we are? What are they trying to suggest to us? Hmmm….

The Adventures of Running in the Neighborhood

Ok, since my son roped me into signing up for the upcoming Richmond Marathon in November, I have begun training in earnest. First of all I should point out that I am only running an 8K—because I am not an idiot—but even that requires preparation. So, there I was yesterday morning heading out for a 4 mile run. My plan was not to run through the neighborhood loop, but to venture out to a track I have come up with that takes the sidewalks surrounding Wythe Trace. I made the turn onto Center Ridge, then the left onto Hazel Tree. That’s when it got crazy.

I’m trucking along, mind racing with suicidal thoughts—my default thought pattern while running—when all of a sudden a black shadow darted out from behind a trash can to my left, right in front of me. It was making a grunting sound and nearly knocked me over. Since I had my cell phone in my hand, I somehow had the presence of mind to snap a photograph…

I have never seen a black pug in the neighborhood before. There are two white ones who live next door to me, Van and Rookie, but this guy I had never seen before. He seemed thrilled at the sight of me, running like a maniac all around me as I continued my pace forward. This was a timed run after all, and I wasn’t about to let this mutt stop me. So as I ran I offered several verbal commands to the pup ordering him to cease and desist. But he was having none of it. He continued to run circles around me as fast as his little stubby legs would carry him. But there was a problem. I was rapidly approaching Pump Road. Surely this dog would turn around and head back where he came from soon. Not a chance. When I turned onto Pump, Killer came with me! He would run ahead maybe 30 feet or so, then turn around and race back towards me darting this way and that like some sawed off whirling dervish. Since Killer was showing zero interest in going home, I had a decision to make. If I continued my route there was an excellent chance that this pup would get hit by a car. Since I didn’t want a dead Pug on my conscience, I abruptly bailed on my scheduled track, reversed course and heading back to the relative safety of the neighborhood, Killer in tow, all without once breaking stride! This is clearly illustrated by the following…

At this point I reasoned that when we both passed by the trash can from which he had introduced himself, Killer would peal off back into his yard and that would be that. Nope. He was just having entirely too much fun. He stayed with me, tongued flapping wildly out of his grinning mouth, all the way to Summer Stream Drive when fortunately he was distracted by another runner heading in the opposite direction. I never saw him again.

I suppose that the lesson is, keep a sharp eye out for Killer if you decide to run early in the morning in Wythe Trace. 

Fresh Worry

My day began at 4:25 am. At least that’s what the clock across the room said as I got close enough to see it on my way to the bathroom. It was a fitful night. The number of things racing through my mind lately seem almost infinite. As a result sleep has been very hit or miss. Whenever I wake up after 3:30 or so there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. Good thing I have this blog.

During the day, the pressures of my profession ebb and flow. During times of high “flow” I have grown accustomed to taking short diversion breaks, no more than a minute or two in duration to distract myself. One of them is the game Words With Friends, which I play with only one other person, an old friend from my Grove Avenue days. I’ll pull the game up on my cell phone and fire a word at her, then put the phone down and get back to my work. Whatever gets you through the day.

Yesterday was another friend’s birthday, or so I was informed in the wee hours of the morning. This provided me with another distracting coping mechanism for the rest of the day. At regular intervals throughout the day I would pause and think of old age jokes, then post them on Facebook…

You’re so old you knew Burger King when he was just a Prince.

You’re so old, the key on Ben Franklin’s kite was to your first apartment.

You’re so old you sat behind Jesus in 2nd grade.

You’re so old you’ve used Preparation A thru G.

You’re so old when you were born the Dead Sea was only sick.

Between these time-wasting side shows I managed to get some things accomplished. I completed my entire 2022 Firm Element Compliance regime between 11:00 and 3:30, managed to calm the fears of two clients, compose and edit a client letter for submission to legal for review, and eat lunch at a new-to-me Greek joint near Staples Mill and Broad where I discovered the epicurean delights of a Gyro Pizza. 

Then I arrive at home only to discover a fresh source of angst, a difficulty which one of my adult children is going through, and about which I am powerless. Honestly, this situation is worse than any work-related anxiety because it involves one of my kids. One of the things nobody ever tells you when you’re out there having babies is that one day thirty-plus years later you’ll still be losing sleep worrying about them. You desperately want to swoop in and save the day, but you can’t. It’s not your fight anymore. Well…it is but you no longer have jurisdiction. So you go to bed with something new dancing around in your head thinking of how you would fix it if you were King. But you’re not King.

You’re not even a Prince.

My Latest Role

Like all human beings, I have been asked to perform many roles in my life. I have been a child, a teenager, and an adult, each of which carried its own set of expectations. I have been a son, a brother, an uncle, and a friend. I have been a husband and a father. I have been a student, an employee and an owner of a business. Each of these required a specific skill set. Some of them came natural to me, others stretched me.  Over the years I have excelled at some of these roles, and failed miserably at others. More often than not I have excelled and failed at the same role over a matter of days. Life can be hard to carry off without mistakes. I have made my share.

For a long time my primary role, the one that dominated my thoughts and energy was that of businessman and provider for my family. It was the last thing I thought about at night and my first thought every morning. It shouldn’t have been that way. I should have lived a more balanced life in those days. A faith and trust deficit was largely to blame. I worried too much, about things that in hindsight I had no control over anyway. Those periods of stifling anxiety were all wasted moments that I will never get back. But, you move on.

Now I feel like I am entering a new phase of life, one which will require a new and challenging set of skills I’m not sure I possess. At some point soon I will begin winding down my business life, not retiring—that pathetic and terrifying word—but more a reordering of my schedule which will yield an abundance of free time. This will require a change in lifestyle. I hope I’m ready. One day I will take on the role of grandfather. I have been shamelessly auditioning for this role for several years now. Hopefully I will one day get the call. I’m sure that when the time comes I will be delighted, however, my children might be terrified by my grand-parenting style which I’m sure will be wildly out of compliance with all modern grand-parenting protocols. I plan on making up for any mistakes with lavish financial gifts.

Throughout all of the roles I’ve played in my three score and four years, some personality traits have remained in tact. No matter if I was 16 or 60 I have always been a sarcastic, trash-talking, practical joke-pulling, inappropriate joke-telling man child. I have been accused of such by enough people to be forced to admit that it is true. In addition, especially in the early days of trying to establish myself in business, I have often had to battle a blunt, aggressive, forceful style of communication. You will notice the lengths I have gone to trying to avoid the word rude. Although this is something about which I am not proud, neither do I spend a lot of time beating myself up over it. The fact is, I have gotten better with age. It is a flaw I have battled to temper, if not fully eliminate, from my personality. But, some things are just a part of your DNA. Anyone who ever spent thirty minutes with my mother on a bad day will understand the cruel power of genetics.

But life is about making transitions. The great thing about human beings is that we have the astonishing ability, unique in all creation, to transform ourselves from one kind of living to another kind literally overnight. A human being can live a certain way for forty years then one day wake up and say, “I’m tired of this,” pick up, pack up, and move somewhere else and start over. I heard a speaker talk about this one time. He said, “Suppose you were a tree. If you had sucked up all the nutrients in the ground where you were planted and were tired of the view you couldn’t change location.  Because you’re a tree. You’re stuck! Not so with human beings!” I’ve never forgotten that illustration. Which brings me to the point of this post…the changing roles of life.

I think I know what I want to be for the rest of my life. I mean, I’m still going to be sarcastic. I’m probably still going to blurt out inappropriate things at times, and I’m sure I haven’t pulled my last practical joke. But I want to spend the rest of the time I have left being an encourager. There aren’t enough encouraging people in the world. Everybody’s a critic because its easier to be one, especially with the anonymity of the internet. But being an encourager takes intentionality, the ability to follow through. How many of us have had the thought pop into our head that “that person did a really nice job with that presentation”, or “that was awfully nice of her to do that.” The hard part is the follow through…letting the words come out of your mouth, taking the time to write the note or send the email. And it’s so stinking easy! What does it take…a minute? A mere word of affirmation has incredible power to transform someone’s day. We have no idea what the people around us are going through at any particular time. Someone might be at the end of their rope when you come along with a box of donuts and an iced coffee. How cool is it to think that you might have inadvertently been someone’s life line?

Here’s something I’ve learned about this encouraging thing. It is tremendous fun! Seeing the smiles on people’s faces when you show up with treats, reading their replies to your notes, sometimes seeing the tears, is truly a beautiful thing. It makes you feel like you’re doing God’s work…because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Being a blessing to someone is about as wonderful as life gets in this crazy screwed up world. And yet, too often I’m so caught up in myself I miss opportunities. Either I’m distracted or lazy. When this happens everyone loses. If I’m going to do it, it can’t be a part time gig. But, like every other role I’ve gotten to play in my life, I’ll get better with practice.

Here’s Some Great News!!

Want some good news? How about this??

This is about the best thing I’ve seen on the news in quite some time. How many times in life do the good guys win? Seldom. You could look it up. And yes, the Ukrainians qualify as the good guys in this conflict if for no other reason than they were the ones attacked by an overwhelmingly superior force. They are the ones who suffered the brief but barbarous occupation, they are the ones who had their civilian centers ravaged by the tools of war. But now, 7 months after the invasion, their inspiring forces have gone on the offensive, and the Russian war criminals are fleeing back to Mother Russia. Vladimir Putin is suffering a profound humiliation, and lovers of freedom around the world should be celebrating. In every conceivable way this is a win for the world. Although the fight isn’t over, on this Sunday afternoon, I will rejoice in these pictures of jubilant Ukrainian soldiers atop personnel carriers waving their flag in victory. Well done!