Hi.
It's a nice afternoon and I wanna go for a ride on The Bike, so I'm gonna skip all the fluffy crap.
If I stop caring about how you are, I'll let you know. I just don't have time to say it all again. OK?
Good.
***
Church
Went to church this morning. Heard my favorite preacher/example of Jesus tell us all to turn to "Ezra."
Thought ... Cool! That's the name of one of my four grandsons -- and one of the two I get to hold.
*
Back years ago, I had a Bible study on the radio at 2 AM. Yup, live. Five days a week. Used to preach a lot. Led Bible studies. Believed and preached every word of it.
Still believe it all.
Stopped preaching when the words were dishonored by my life.
Used to read and study the Bible two hours a day. Even with little kids around. That was the deal. Worked at a Bible bookstore in exchange for reference books. Read them. Cover to cover. Great big suckers. Knew Albert Barnes, Matthew Henry and William Hendriksen and John Calvin and Adam Clarke as friends and companions.
Heard that Billy Graham used to read 10 chapters of the Bible a day. Tried it myself for a year. Read through the Old Testament three times and the New Testament twice. Always read a chapter of Proverbs daily (and taught it on Sunday). I was "in the Word" as they say.
So today. Preacher says "Turn, if you will (why do they always SAY that?) in your Bibles to Ezra!"
Could not find it.
Yes, I was using the big black Bible that I don't use very much.
Usually I stick with the red one that elucidates on the Greek verb tenses and specific nouns used in various passages. It was a gift. Even has my name imprinted in gold on the cover.
Who gave it to me?
An unnamed totally conservative very Christian Bible school and radio network based in Chicago.
The occasion? I was invited to be on what they called their Affiliate Advisory Board because of my work in Christian radio. Quite an honor. And a free Bible too.
Christian radio is long gone but I still love that Bible ... and many of the friends I met through that ministry.
**
So, I went to the index of my big black Bible to locate what page Ezra is/was on. Finally found it. There, right before verse one, was a list of ten dates when I read Ezra, as I read through the Bible over the years. And I didn't always write the dates down. And I used other Bibles.
And today ... I could not find Ezra.
sheesh
Talk about erosion.
***
Joining
Been going to the same church for over seven years. Happily. I've only missed a few Sundays, except for times I've cared for Dad or been away.
Sit in the back row. Right in the middle. Try to be nice to people who visit The Back Row. Usually they're people who try to skulk in/out, unaware that The Token Hippie is gonna grab them and actually SPEAK to them and ask them WHO THEY ARE ... and that he'd like them to come back!
Mmmmuuuwahahahaha!
My pastor (MP) wants me to join the church.
But I'm not much of a joiner.
I pop the church a few bucks from time to time.
I narrate the annual fun thingy the men perform for the ladies.
I go to Sunday School and don't clog up good parking places with The Bike.
Hardly ever hit on the married women.
(Oh, lighten up. I'm just teasing.)
Believe it or not, part of why I love this church is because they DON'T have a singles group. Sure, there are a few single women here and there. But that's normal. Single women are everywhere. Even in churches.
Seriously.
Yes, even nice ones.
As pretty and smart as women in
SURPRISE
bars.
But what do I know? I don't go to bars.
**
sheesh
where was I?
Oh, yeah. Joining the church.
**
Told MP I really didn't wanna join.
Didn't tell him why.
Guess I can tell you. No one ever reads these blogs anyway.
I could even tell you about the time one ex-wife wore a garter belt to church and scrunched her leg up against mine, just to tease me. In church.
But I wouldn't write about that.
Probably get sued.
Even though GOD was there
and HE knows the truth.
**
Where was I?
Oh, yeah.
Joining the church.
**
The last time I joined a church it didn't go all that well.
OK. It went badly.
OK. A church went from growing and healthy to being transformed into a damn office building because of me.
Talk about shame.
*
I taught Sunday School. Preached there once in awhile. An ex (yes, I have flocks of them) taught Sunday School.
My at-the-time wife felt it was "God's will" to divorce me.
This is America. That's as good a reason as any.
To make a long story short (and to keep my ass from being sued), let's just say she and I ... and the leaders of the church ... and the pastor and his wife ...
well, let's just say that ...
we weren't of "one mind" on whether she and/or I should continue teaching Sunday School during our separation/divorce.
Yeah, let's put it that way.
Sounds WAY better than "all hell broke loose."
Even though that's far more accurate, imho.
**
The last time I saw the pastor from that old church was when he was a witness against me in that particular divorce.
The last time I saw the leaders from that old church was when they were witnesses for me in that particular divorce.
Oh .... God.
I. Wanted. To. Build. Churches.
Not destroy them.
But, evidently, God even forgives people like me.
He said, by faith.
**
Cannot see any way that joining my current church would result in the same annihilation, but why take a chance?
Y'know?
***
Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
Yesterday
Sucks.
Coming up on the seventh anniversary of losing my real job. Spent half the time since, working. Spent about half the time since, not working.
(That's called "logic." Cool, huh?)
Used to make about $5k/month. Four weeks regular vacation. Ten personal days. Probably another 15 days off annually when the office was closed. Sick days. Whatever days. And I traveled on business another four or five weeks a year. Nice job.
A "make a difference for eternity" job.
Not a "force more people to buy something they cannot afford and don't want" job.
That was then.
*
Today
I'm happy. Fed. Tremendously healthy. Money in the bank. A good enough citizen to be called for jury duty tomorrow. Not afraid to look a cop, stranger, ex-wife or child right in the eyes. Got nothing to hide.
Just don't have a job. Or many friends. Or the love of a woman.
*
Tomorrow
Sucks.
Gonna run out of money.
Health insurance is gonna run out.
Who's gonna hire a guy in his 60s?
Can't afford my big house.
Someday ... I'll get sick and need to see a doctor.
Someday ... Israel and [insert name of country that wants Israel gone here] will go to war.
Someday ... the American economy will melt down. There will be riots.
Someday ... I'll be weary of a loveless life ... and I'll miss not seeing my grandchildren ... and I'll wonder about the value of my life ... compared to my hopes and dreams.
Someday ... I might settle for [insert something I should not settle for here] and regret it. Again.
*
Today, Part II
But today...
today
I am well.
Better than I was in the past.
Better than I will be in the future.
So, I'm just gonna enjoy today
and do what I can do to make the future brighter
and tell the past to go to hell
because I cannot do anything about it.
Yup. Today, I'm gonna enjoy today.
And I plan to enjoy tomorrow too.
Because tomorrow will be better than the worst of the past
and better than the worst of the future.
That's the deal.
That's why today is pretty cool.
I choose to live life ... today!
Which means, it's time for a ride on The Bike.
Happy Trails!
And may all your todays be bright.
Adios
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Running Out of Gas
Hi.
Hope you are well.
Bob Dylan and I bring you greetings from The Deck ... on a magnificently sunny and warm Sunday afternoon in the great states of Georgia and contentment.
Yes, I "should" be on The Bike zipping & wiggling through the hills ... variously cussing and passing old people clogging my private speedways as they gawk at the leaves that oddly become more beautiful as they die.
Figured I pay an insane amount of money to live in a big home with a dandy deck overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest; I might as well use it. Maybe it's just old age, but today I'm just as happy here as I would be red-lining The Bike at the risk of flat-lining myself.
So, here we go a'blogging.
**
Out of Gas
[Pandora's Bob Dylan station is playing Jimi Hendrix's Red House]
The daughter (TD) of a dead friend spent her last evening at my friend's former house ... gathering up her mom's "things."
TD could tell you how long it's been since her mom, my friend, passed on to Glory. In an odd way, we all spent that day together. TD's step-father called me as soon as he discovered my friend was no longer with us. TD whisked her way to the funeral home, where we did the deeds that must be done by those not departed.
Tough, rough, brutal day. Pricing coffins a hundred minutes or so after getting The News.
Some people move on quickly. Some take longer. Some never do.
As with any life-shattering loss.
Some lives can be rebuilt. Some cannot.
Some would rather not.
But I digress...
TD's mom's house has been sold. TD's step-father, kind as always, offered TD her mom's stuff. TD drove 75 miles on the kind of night suitable for such a wrenching task. Cold. Darkly dark. Rainy. Spooky-sad as a night can be.
TD remembered what happened in each room as she went through the house. Good and bad memories. The last time to deal with them there. Not ready to do so. But there was no time for a Plan B.
TD sorted and sifted ... remembered and lifted.
Headed back home.
Drained. Alone.
After closing the door on her mom's home ... forever.
Driving home on a suburban freeway in ATL, TD ran out of gas.
Literally.
Posted the news on Facebook.
Called her ex, who, unlike some, quickly agreed to bring her some gas.
God bless him.
One of TD's newest FB pals, a lady she went to high school with,
[Bob Dylan, Trying to Get to Heaven Before They Close the Door]
responded to TD. Even though they haven't seen each other in years, the FB pal offered to help. (Not hugely hard because she lives near the highway where TD ran out of gas.)
Ready?
The FB pal looked out the door of her house. Saw a car on the side of the freeway. Flashers on. Yup. TD. Within sight of a friend. A couple of other friends offered to help TD. More would have, if they knew she had a need.
I told TD I was glad she ran out of gas.
[Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Falling Down Blues]
TD felt lost and alone.
Abandoned. Deserted.
Like a motherless child.
But she wasn't. At all.
Never out of the sight of the God who loves her.
Never out of the sight of friends ... new and old.
TD needed to know she will be OK, even if things go wrong.
You will be too, if you let God into your life.
He ain't dead.
He ain't goin nowhere.
He can take care of you.
Even if no one else cares.
***
Met A Lady, Part 37
Looked like she was 19 or 23. Certainly not 25.
Cute, but not childish.
Married. Nice.
Cowboy boots and tucked jeans.
Not a gimmick. Just a boots/jeans lady.
Mentioned her child.
A FIFTEEN-YEAR OLD BOY TALLER THAN SHE IS!!
whoa
I am the world's worst age guesser, but that blew me away.
She's 34 years old.
We enjoyed sharing the surprise that's very common to her.
I think you'd like her. If you didn't, I probably wouldn't like you either.
She's a friend of my daughter.
Understands being a woman, wife and mother.
And bills. Men. Kids. Jobs.
After a pleasant chat
she mentioned
she has
Crohn's disease.
God help her. Please.
This is why she needs God for healing [click here].
May the Lord heal her
and love her
and bless her.
[Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet]
There are problems and there are real problems.
But we all need God.
Sooner or later.
***
Da Noive uh Some People
[Bob Dylan, Hard Times in New York Town]
If I weren't so nasty, I'd handle stuff differently.
Take, for example, the nice people who annoy me so much when they come to me and say, "Oh! You're an editor!? Wow! Maybe you'd like to read something I wrote. Just to give me your opinion, you know. I don't have any money or anything. But I'd LOVE to have you read it and give me some feedback!"
At various times, I want to say:
** "What kind of work do you do? Oh! Roofing! How interesting! You're not going to believe this, but I have a roof on MY house! No, really! I'd love to have you come over some time and spend a few hours looking at it ... and repairing it while you're there. Only because I'd LOVE your opinion of my roof."
** "Really? You want me to do what I do best ... how I am trying to make a living ... for FREE ... for you ... even though I have never met you before? Really? Tell me. Does this work with restaurants and car repairs? Or just when it comes to asking for free editing?"
** "Sure! I'd LOVE to take a look at your writing. Tell you what: Write me a 250-300 word essay on "Why Robert Should Edit My Work for Free," and I'll take a look at it. If it's really good, I'll get back to you."
** "What do you do for a living? Cool. What do you tell people when they want you to work for free, instead of paying you for your work? [Wait for answer before responding.] Good. Tell that to yourself, OK? Buh BYE!!!"
**
Yes, I work for free at times.
Happily.
I have two clients right now who are men who have been significant influences in my life. One cannot pay. One can. One does. One doesn't.
But it's my decision.
My gift.
I can't tell my mortgage company, "The monthly payment? Oh, that. Well, you'll be really happy to know that I helped this really nice person create/edit/polish this really cool story about [whatever]. S/he couldn't pay me, but s/he would have ... if s/he had so much money s/he wouldn't actually miss any of it. -- Is there any way you'd give me $350 worth of credit toward my mortgage because I was so generous? -- I'm sorry. Did you say 'NO!'? Really? That's hurtful. I mean, I worked hard because s/he had no money and you expect ME to pay YOU? How fair is that? ... Hello? Hello? Are you still...."
[Bob Dylan, I'd Hate To Be You on That Dreadful Day]
I have some debts to people that are so great they cannot be repaid. They don't want me to get all freaked out about what I "owe" them. They were incredibly kind, giving and gracious when I needed it most ... and could not pay them.
There's a difference between needy and greedy.
***
It is Not Good For Man To Be Alone (certain restrictions apply)
I laugh and joke about women all the time.
Might as well.
Lived alone for more than seven years now.
[Peter, Paul & Mary, Don't Think Twice, It's All Right]
I can go the distance.
Not that much more to go, really.
(Struck me recently that I am so old, "Lifetime Warranties" are no longer worth the extra money.)
So, I've decided to have an ungirlfriend.
No more real girlfriends (as if I could find one) and certainly no more wives. (Trust me, it's easy to get married to a person after skipping the girlfriend stage altogether.)
*
Knew a woman who was "in love" with a man in jail.
Would've married him, given the chance.
Used to think that was insane.
Crazy.
Irrational.
Amazing.
The epitome of vapidity.
But ... as I have grown older and/or wiser
I see a commonality between many marriages/courtships
and women having a Boy in a Box somewhere.
Think of the upside:
You get to be goofy in love and write mushy letters and send money, with no snoring, clothes left on the floor or hairs on your toothbrush.
The last bottle of beer/pop/soda/wine/crancrap is always yours.
Nobody [fusses] when you want to watch a Chick Flick.
It's OK if your cat sleeps on your pillow or pees in your shoes.
You can fart at will.
You can wash your undies in the bathroom sink and not have to pretend that you don't. (Yeah, do I know women or WHAT?)
Seriously. You can come and go as you please. You can tell actual men who you are afraid will reject you that you have "someone special" ... without telling them they're in the can for 30-years-to-life for something you KNOW they COULDN'T do ... because nobody knows good-old inmate RN739472IN, like you do. And you KNOW you're right.
*
My ungirlfriend (MUG) is fine for me.
I love greasy, fattening food. I'm twice her size, to prove the point.
MUG had a physical this week. High cholesterol.
There go our dinners/lunches at Fred's House of Fat.
I made a joke about her getting her first mammogram.
She didn't speak to me for days.
She won't get on The Bike.
Wouldn't know Bob Dylan from that Beeber dweeb.
Probably can't tell Vivaldi's Seasons from Bach's Brandenburgs.
She's nine years younger than I am ... and more mature.
But we're still friends.
That's the deal.
We're just different.
That's not a bad thing.
What might be a deal breaker for a marriage is OK between friends.
We both want a dollar's worth of relationship, thank you.
Not the inconveniences or benefits of intimacy.
We can ignore one another's calls.
We can respond to texts if and when we want.
But MUG is one of the few people in my life who consistently asks, "How was your day?" and is willing to suffer through the mind-numbingly long replies that are both inevitable and incoherent.
We have someone to talk to, which is more than many marriages. She knows she can depend on me. We do one another good. And I appreciate her for it.
It's OK to be friends with your friends.
***
Work Or the Lack Thereof
Working with five men who need various degrees of assistance with their writing. Very fulfilling.
If I were rich, I'd do it for free. Thankful to be earning some money by helping them.
Still on a collision course with financial reality.
Denial isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Sources I respect say home prices will decrease another 20-25% in the next few years; maybe 40%.
I checked into getting Social Security when I turn 62.
That pays less than unemployment, which is running out.
I could rent out a room or two, I guess. Several, if I had to.
I dunno.
Life cannot continue as it has for the past several years.
Life will change, whether I like it or not.
[Bob Dylan I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)]
*
Wonder where I will end up?
Wonder how I will make a living?
Wonder who I will be?
Wonder who I will be with?
Life isn't like that for you, is it?
You know where you will be in five years, right?
You know where you will be working or how you'll make a living.
You know who you will be.
You know who you will be with.
You've made plans. What could go wrong?
Yeah, I used to be like that.
Until God and Life jumped out of the boxes I placed them in so neatly.
*
But change is nothing to fear.
Happens to all of us.
Things are going to change. But God will always be the same.
The Lord is compassionate and gracious;
slow to anger and abounding in mercy and lovingkindness.
God looks forward to hearing your prayers.
He enjoys listening to you speak with Him.
He'll always be there for you.
And He will never leave you or forsake you.
Even if your car ... or you ... run out of gas.
Hope you are well.
Bob Dylan and I bring you greetings from The Deck ... on a magnificently sunny and warm Sunday afternoon in the great states of Georgia and contentment.
Yes, I "should" be on The Bike zipping & wiggling through the hills ... variously cussing and passing old people clogging my private speedways as they gawk at the leaves that oddly become more beautiful as they die.
Figured I pay an insane amount of money to live in a big home with a dandy deck overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest; I might as well use it. Maybe it's just old age, but today I'm just as happy here as I would be red-lining The Bike at the risk of flat-lining myself.
So, here we go a'blogging.
**
Out of Gas
[Pandora's Bob Dylan station is playing Jimi Hendrix's Red House]
The daughter (TD) of a dead friend spent her last evening at my friend's former house ... gathering up her mom's "things."
TD could tell you how long it's been since her mom, my friend, passed on to Glory. In an odd way, we all spent that day together. TD's step-father called me as soon as he discovered my friend was no longer with us. TD whisked her way to the funeral home, where we did the deeds that must be done by those not departed.
Tough, rough, brutal day. Pricing coffins a hundred minutes or so after getting The News.
Some people move on quickly. Some take longer. Some never do.
As with any life-shattering loss.
Some lives can be rebuilt. Some cannot.
Some would rather not.
But I digress...
TD's mom's house has been sold. TD's step-father, kind as always, offered TD her mom's stuff. TD drove 75 miles on the kind of night suitable for such a wrenching task. Cold. Darkly dark. Rainy. Spooky-sad as a night can be.
TD remembered what happened in each room as she went through the house. Good and bad memories. The last time to deal with them there. Not ready to do so. But there was no time for a Plan B.
TD sorted and sifted ... remembered and lifted.
Headed back home.
Drained. Alone.
After closing the door on her mom's home ... forever.
Driving home on a suburban freeway in ATL, TD ran out of gas.
Literally.
Posted the news on Facebook.
Called her ex, who, unlike some, quickly agreed to bring her some gas.
God bless him.
One of TD's newest FB pals, a lady she went to high school with,
[Bob Dylan, Trying to Get to Heaven Before They Close the Door]
responded to TD. Even though they haven't seen each other in years, the FB pal offered to help. (Not hugely hard because she lives near the highway where TD ran out of gas.)
Ready?
The FB pal looked out the door of her house. Saw a car on the side of the freeway. Flashers on. Yup. TD. Within sight of a friend. A couple of other friends offered to help TD. More would have, if they knew she had a need.
I told TD I was glad she ran out of gas.
[Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Falling Down Blues]
TD felt lost and alone.
Abandoned. Deserted.
Like a motherless child.
But she wasn't. At all.
Never out of the sight of the God who loves her.
Never out of the sight of friends ... new and old.
TD needed to know she will be OK, even if things go wrong.
You will be too, if you let God into your life.
He ain't dead.
He ain't goin nowhere.
He can take care of you.
Even if no one else cares.
***
Met A Lady, Part 37
Looked like she was 19 or 23. Certainly not 25.
Cute, but not childish.
Married. Nice.
Cowboy boots and tucked jeans.
Not a gimmick. Just a boots/jeans lady.
Mentioned her child.
A FIFTEEN-YEAR OLD BOY TALLER THAN SHE IS!!
whoa
I am the world's worst age guesser, but that blew me away.
She's 34 years old.
We enjoyed sharing the surprise that's very common to her.
I think you'd like her. If you didn't, I probably wouldn't like you either.
She's a friend of my daughter.
Understands being a woman, wife and mother.
And bills. Men. Kids. Jobs.
After a pleasant chat
she mentioned
she has
Crohn's disease.
God help her. Please.
This is why she needs God for healing [click here].
May the Lord heal her
and love her
and bless her.
[Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet]
There are problems and there are real problems.
But we all need God.
Sooner or later.
***
Da Noive uh Some People
[Bob Dylan, Hard Times in New York Town]
If I weren't so nasty, I'd handle stuff differently.
Take, for example, the nice people who annoy me so much when they come to me and say, "Oh! You're an editor!? Wow! Maybe you'd like to read something I wrote. Just to give me your opinion, you know. I don't have any money or anything. But I'd LOVE to have you read it and give me some feedback!"
At various times, I want to say:
** "What kind of work do you do? Oh! Roofing! How interesting! You're not going to believe this, but I have a roof on MY house! No, really! I'd love to have you come over some time and spend a few hours looking at it ... and repairing it while you're there. Only because I'd LOVE your opinion of my roof."
** "Really? You want me to do what I do best ... how I am trying to make a living ... for FREE ... for you ... even though I have never met you before? Really? Tell me. Does this work with restaurants and car repairs? Or just when it comes to asking for free editing?"
** "Sure! I'd LOVE to take a look at your writing. Tell you what: Write me a 250-300 word essay on "Why Robert Should Edit My Work for Free," and I'll take a look at it. If it's really good, I'll get back to you."
** "What do you do for a living? Cool. What do you tell people when they want you to work for free, instead of paying you for your work? [Wait for answer before responding.] Good. Tell that to yourself, OK? Buh BYE!!!"
**
Yes, I work for free at times.
Happily.
I have two clients right now who are men who have been significant influences in my life. One cannot pay. One can. One does. One doesn't.
But it's my decision.
My gift.
I can't tell my mortgage company, "The monthly payment? Oh, that. Well, you'll be really happy to know that I helped this really nice person create/edit/polish this really cool story about [whatever]. S/he couldn't pay me, but s/he would have ... if s/he had so much money s/he wouldn't actually miss any of it. -- Is there any way you'd give me $350 worth of credit toward my mortgage because I was so generous? -- I'm sorry. Did you say 'NO!'? Really? That's hurtful. I mean, I worked hard because s/he had no money and you expect ME to pay YOU? How fair is that? ... Hello? Hello? Are you still...."
[Bob Dylan, I'd Hate To Be You on That Dreadful Day]
I have some debts to people that are so great they cannot be repaid. They don't want me to get all freaked out about what I "owe" them. They were incredibly kind, giving and gracious when I needed it most ... and could not pay them.
There's a difference between needy and greedy.
***
It is Not Good For Man To Be Alone (certain restrictions apply)
I laugh and joke about women all the time.
Might as well.
Lived alone for more than seven years now.
[Peter, Paul & Mary, Don't Think Twice, It's All Right]
I can go the distance.
Not that much more to go, really.
(Struck me recently that I am so old, "Lifetime Warranties" are no longer worth the extra money.)
So, I've decided to have an ungirlfriend.
No more real girlfriends (as if I could find one) and certainly no more wives. (Trust me, it's easy to get married to a person after skipping the girlfriend stage altogether.)
*
Knew a woman who was "in love" with a man in jail.
Would've married him, given the chance.
Used to think that was insane.
Crazy.
Irrational.
Amazing.
The epitome of vapidity.
But ... as I have grown older and/or wiser
I see a commonality between many marriages/courtships
and women having a Boy in a Box somewhere.
Think of the upside:
You get to be goofy in love and write mushy letters and send money, with no snoring, clothes left on the floor or hairs on your toothbrush.
The last bottle of beer/pop/soda/wine/crancrap is always yours.
Nobody [fusses] when you want to watch a Chick Flick.
It's OK if your cat sleeps on your pillow or pees in your shoes.
You can fart at will.
You can wash your undies in the bathroom sink and not have to pretend that you don't. (Yeah, do I know women or WHAT?)
Seriously. You can come and go as you please. You can tell actual men who you are afraid will reject you that you have "someone special" ... without telling them they're in the can for 30-years-to-life for something you KNOW they COULDN'T do ... because nobody knows good-old inmate RN739472IN, like you do. And you KNOW you're right.
*
My ungirlfriend (MUG) is fine for me.
I love greasy, fattening food. I'm twice her size, to prove the point.
MUG had a physical this week. High cholesterol.
There go our dinners/lunches at Fred's House of Fat.
I made a joke about her getting her first mammogram.
She didn't speak to me for days.
She won't get on The Bike.
Wouldn't know Bob Dylan from that Beeber dweeb.
Probably can't tell Vivaldi's Seasons from Bach's Brandenburgs.
She's nine years younger than I am ... and more mature.
But we're still friends.
That's the deal.
We're just different.
That's not a bad thing.
What might be a deal breaker for a marriage is OK between friends.
We both want a dollar's worth of relationship, thank you.
Not the inconveniences or benefits of intimacy.
We can ignore one another's calls.
We can respond to texts if and when we want.
But MUG is one of the few people in my life who consistently asks, "How was your day?" and is willing to suffer through the mind-numbingly long replies that are both inevitable and incoherent.
We have someone to talk to, which is more than many marriages. She knows she can depend on me. We do one another good. And I appreciate her for it.
It's OK to be friends with your friends.
***
Work Or the Lack Thereof
Working with five men who need various degrees of assistance with their writing. Very fulfilling.
If I were rich, I'd do it for free. Thankful to be earning some money by helping them.
Still on a collision course with financial reality.
Denial isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Sources I respect say home prices will decrease another 20-25% in the next few years; maybe 40%.
I checked into getting Social Security when I turn 62.
That pays less than unemployment, which is running out.
I could rent out a room or two, I guess. Several, if I had to.
I dunno.
Life cannot continue as it has for the past several years.
Life will change, whether I like it or not.
[Bob Dylan I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)]
*
Wonder where I will end up?
Wonder how I will make a living?
Wonder who I will be?
Wonder who I will be with?
Life isn't like that for you, is it?
You know where you will be in five years, right?
You know where you will be working or how you'll make a living.
You know who you will be.
You know who you will be with.
You've made plans. What could go wrong?
Yeah, I used to be like that.
Until God and Life jumped out of the boxes I placed them in so neatly.
*
But change is nothing to fear.
Happens to all of us.
Things are going to change. But God will always be the same.
The Lord is compassionate and gracious;
slow to anger and abounding in mercy and lovingkindness.
God looks forward to hearing your prayers.
He enjoys listening to you speak with Him.
He'll always be there for you.
And He will never leave you or forsake you.
Even if your car ... or you ... run out of gas.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
For Better or For Worse
Hi.
Hope you are well.
I'm a bit surprised that it's been a month since my last blog. Then again, I'm not. I haven't wanted to share much with you recently. So I didn't.
To quote an ancient and remarkably unremarkable Rolling Stones song [click here for the YouTube video), "There've been good times. There've been bad times. I've had my share of hard times."
(Yes, that song was released 47 years ago. Back when I first saw The Rolling Stones in concert. Yes, I am ancient too.)
My month has been full of life. Like yours.
Ups and downs. Highs and lows.
Nothing too remarkable.
Just a matter of whether we let it freak us out or not.
That's all.
**
Work -- Or the Lack Thereof
I'm thankful for quite a few freelance writing and editing gigs, but nothing like a steady income.
No, I don't have a job.
I'll pretend to be all optimistic and say "yet" -- even though my hope is fading.
Not that it's an emotional thing, mind you. Not a "poor, poor, pitiful me" whine. Just the realization that the days of walking into a great high-paying job are dead and gone, in my humble opinion (imho).
Could I get another good job? Sure. Probably not the one I saw on the Internet today [click here for link] that pays a $5.00 for a 250-500 word story about Broadway musicals. Five dollars for polished writing that cannot be a rewrite of previous material. ["What? We cannot plagiarize other works? <gasp>"] The employer wants a six-month commitment to write two new pieces daily. Fifty dollars a week for ten new stories (and all the glory you can eat because you can tell your friends you are a professional writer).
My goal is to land more work that pays $50/hour for creative advertising or promotional copy writing.
****
Not sure what to expose to you about the last month.
I make it a goal in life to at least *attempt* to encourage others.
I try to give more than I take.
To offer kind words and friendship.
Help, when I'm able.
***
The Good Times
My daughter brought forth a beautiful little boy a couple of weeks ago. We're all thankful for ten new fingers and toes, and a happy healthy mom.
This is the season that she and I usually lay aside old battle wounds and stroll the grounds of Burt's Pumpkin Farm together. We help The Princess choose pumpkins for everyone. We go on a hay ride -- sometimes twice -- looking for deer and the lone waterfall in the distance. Then we part.
Not this year.
Have I met my grandson? Not yet.
Will I? Sure. Someday. Right?
Life goes on.
For better or for worse.
**
My "best friend" is all in love. Sold his old house. Bought a new one 50 or 60 miles away. New church. Engaged to be married. Happy in his new life.
Joy that he deserves.
Marrying a nice lady. Nothing fancy or spectacular. A lady he loves. A lady who loves/enjoys him too. (Not enough, imho, but that's none of my business anymore.) I'm happy because they're happy.
That's the deal.
**
Dad is in the third hospital in a little over a month. No surgery on his broken right arm. While he was still in hospital #1, the dox figured it was best to pop a pacemaker into Dad to regulate his otherwise healthy heart.
Quickly afterward he was in a rehab hospital, learning to care for himself with only his left hand.
Tough. For anyone. But Dad does not whine.
He's in a longer-term facility now. Not permanent. Just another halfway house before returning to my brother's home, where Dad is loved, honored and cared for in a most magnificent and magnanimous manner.
**
Reminds me of the time my former boss was dying of cancer.
We used to take turns going to his home to spend nights with him.
To attempt to return a minimal portion of the love he showed us.
Helped him pee one night
... as he tried to stand ... all wobbly ...
into a small sink in the power room in his basement
that would not accommodate his wheelchair/walker.
I didn't mind.
Any more than the time I held a bottle for my own dad, post-surgery.
Hands can be washed.
People come first.
I found it so disturbing that The Boss was in such ignominious straits. Spoke to one of The Leaders where I worked.
The Leader was dumbfounded that I would have the gall to assert that he or anyone at The Ministry was responsible for The Boss's bathroom facilities.
That was clearly the domain and bailiwick of The Family ... I heard loudly, passionately, angrily, clearly and finally.
That was a Thursday.
On Friday, I lost my job of 15+ years.
My time was up. This was only one additional straw.
Was I a victim? Nope. Not at all.
More than 150 others were blown out afterward.
One-by-one, in spurts, flocks and, finally, one vast herd.
I wasn't the first. Wasn't the last.
Got laid off again a year or two later, after being out of work for many months.
Got laid off again a couple of years later, after being out of work for many months.
Who knows? Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to get another job.
After being out of work for many months.
(I'm only at 111 days today.)
I'll get a job.
Sooner or later.
Might as well look on the bright side.
**
Donna the Honda hit 329,000 miles the other day.
The Bike hit 54,000 miles yesterday.
My savings took huge hits in the past 30 days.
I am just like America.
My financial situation is unsustainable.
But I was happy living in a tent in Alaska.
I've had nice apartments smaller than my first little house.
People tell me I am a survivor.
Yup. They're right.
But it takes a toll.
Everything does.
Some things suck the life out of you.
Some people pump it back into you.
Like grandchildren.
Giving and encouraging gives life to others ... and ourselves.
It just works out that way.
**
The Hard Times
How stupid of me to inflict pain upon myself by being jealous/covetous.
A skilled writer and I are working on the skronked manuscript of a mutual friend. We've gone back to the rudiments of writing.
What is a sentence?
What is a paragraph?
How do you develop an outline for a book that's already written?
How do you stick to an outline?
What is a chapter?
How do you develop the theme of a chapter?
What is a key point within a chapter?
What is the purpose of a chapter?
How do you recap a chapter?
What is the application of a chapter?
My associate, it turns out, is a rather famous writing instructor.
More than 6,000 people follow his Twitter account.
More than 1,000 people "like" his Facebook business page.
He makes a living writing and editing.
I don't.
Pisses me off.
:-)
(Hey, do you want Openness and Honesty or don't you?)
This gentleman is half my age and has twice as many official qualifications. He deserves to be well compensated.
Love the line in The Princess Bride (even if it's not a worthy illustration of my point), "There's not a lot of money in revenge."
**
Used the Department of Labor (DOL) website to apply for a job that I have the experience, skills and talent to do quite well, thank you.
If you meet the stated qualifications, your request to have your application forwarded to the employer is granted.
One job demanded a four-year degree. I applied anyway. Tried to flash my resume and blind them with the brilliance of my writing. DOL rejected my request to forward my application because I did not meet the stated requirements.
Took a shot at a second prospect. This time a degree was "preferred," as compared to required. DOL saw no difference and rejected my request to forward my app.
Am I a victim? Nope.
There are thousands of qualified applicants.
There are bazillions of people like me who believe we are qualified.
Ya gotta follow the rules.
**
A friend asked if I have ever done grant writing.
"No, I haven't."
Never heard back from him.
Bought three books on the topic.
(Something I've wanted to do for years.)
They arrived yesterday.
I'll study and I'll study.
By God's grace, I will learn a new skill.
But I will remain -- as the New Testament apostles were called -- "agramatta." A man without letters, such as BA, MBA, PhD or MDiv.
I did not complete my degree, after studying Business Administration for two years at a community college, and several other courses at two additional colleges. My fault, no one else's.
**
Looking into getting Social Security in a couple of months, right around the time my unemployment will run out.
SS pays less than unemployment, which doesn't pay much.
With savings depleted by then, keeping my house will not be an option.
If all I have to live for is this house, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is devoted kids, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is to be loved by a faithful wife, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is to be successful in business or art, my life will end in defeat.
I'm glad that isn't the case.
There are other pleasant places to live. Plenty of them.
You cannot control your kids. We cannot even control ourselves much of the time.
Perhaps you have learned the secrets to being loved and lovable.
I have not.
Perhaps you are a smashing success in your professional life.
I am not.
Yet, I will survive.
Employed or not.
In my current home or not.
With my best friend or not.
In the company of my children/grandchildren or not.
In the arms of a loving wife or not.
With money in the bank or not.
That's the deal.
For better or for worse.
**
Won't tell you where I heard this, but I was among a crowd of young people early one morning. One cheerleaderish chicklet was locked in mortal combat with a bagel.
She fussed and clucked as if she were miserably failing to push a car out of a mud bog.
I'll bet I heard her say a half-dozen times, "This is SOOO HARRRD!!!"
(Which meant, of course, "Do this for me or I'll make even more noise!")
Here was a pretty young girl who could not surmount the obstacle of cutting a bagel open with a plastic knife. My harsh judgement is she was used to having others (parents? boyfriends? siblings?) immediately rescue her from all such horrid tasks lest she bear them -- and defeat them -- all by herself.
Pity the girl.
She will not survive.
Unless others bear her "burden/s."
Or unless she changes.
Which do you think is more likely?
I shall survive.
And you will not have to bear my burdens.
I haven't asked you for help yet. Have I?
Not gonna.
All you have to do is read about me whining
and fussing and clucking
about my life being oh, so very, very hard.
Ha!
I have a great life.
God loves me.
My children are well.
My grandchildren are well.
I have the time, toys, and opportunity to write this blog.
When I am finished writing this, I will earn actual money writing for a paying client. Afterward, I will meet friends for dinner.
I am blessed.
I will be blessed.
In good times
in bad times
and in my share of hard times.
By God's grace, I will be thankful for whatever transpires
for richer or for poorer
for better or for worse
in sickness and in health.
As long as I shall live.
Hope you are well.
I'm a bit surprised that it's been a month since my last blog. Then again, I'm not. I haven't wanted to share much with you recently. So I didn't.
To quote an ancient and remarkably unremarkable Rolling Stones song [click here for the YouTube video), "There've been good times. There've been bad times. I've had my share of hard times."
(Yes, that song was released 47 years ago. Back when I first saw The Rolling Stones in concert. Yes, I am ancient too.)
My month has been full of life. Like yours.
Ups and downs. Highs and lows.
Nothing too remarkable.
Just a matter of whether we let it freak us out or not.
That's all.
**
Work -- Or the Lack Thereof
I'm thankful for quite a few freelance writing and editing gigs, but nothing like a steady income.
No, I don't have a job.
I'll pretend to be all optimistic and say "yet" -- even though my hope is fading.
Not that it's an emotional thing, mind you. Not a "poor, poor, pitiful me" whine. Just the realization that the days of walking into a great high-paying job are dead and gone, in my humble opinion (imho).
Could I get another good job? Sure. Probably not the one I saw on the Internet today [click here for link] that pays a $5.00 for a 250-500 word story about Broadway musicals. Five dollars for polished writing that cannot be a rewrite of previous material. ["What? We cannot plagiarize other works? <gasp>"] The employer wants a six-month commitment to write two new pieces daily. Fifty dollars a week for ten new stories (and all the glory you can eat because you can tell your friends you are a professional writer).
My goal is to land more work that pays $50/hour for creative advertising or promotional copy writing.
****
Not sure what to expose to you about the last month.
I make it a goal in life to at least *attempt* to encourage others.
I try to give more than I take.
To offer kind words and friendship.
Help, when I'm able.
***
The Good Times
My daughter brought forth a beautiful little boy a couple of weeks ago. We're all thankful for ten new fingers and toes, and a happy healthy mom.
This is the season that she and I usually lay aside old battle wounds and stroll the grounds of Burt's Pumpkin Farm together. We help The Princess choose pumpkins for everyone. We go on a hay ride -- sometimes twice -- looking for deer and the lone waterfall in the distance. Then we part.
Not this year.
Have I met my grandson? Not yet.
Will I? Sure. Someday. Right?
Life goes on.
For better or for worse.
**
My "best friend" is all in love. Sold his old house. Bought a new one 50 or 60 miles away. New church. Engaged to be married. Happy in his new life.
Joy that he deserves.
Marrying a nice lady. Nothing fancy or spectacular. A lady he loves. A lady who loves/enjoys him too. (Not enough, imho, but that's none of my business anymore.) I'm happy because they're happy.
That's the deal.
**
Dad is in the third hospital in a little over a month. No surgery on his broken right arm. While he was still in hospital #1, the dox figured it was best to pop a pacemaker into Dad to regulate his otherwise healthy heart.
Quickly afterward he was in a rehab hospital, learning to care for himself with only his left hand.
Tough. For anyone. But Dad does not whine.
He's in a longer-term facility now. Not permanent. Just another halfway house before returning to my brother's home, where Dad is loved, honored and cared for in a most magnificent and magnanimous manner.
**
Reminds me of the time my former boss was dying of cancer.
We used to take turns going to his home to spend nights with him.
To attempt to return a minimal portion of the love he showed us.
Helped him pee one night
... as he tried to stand ... all wobbly ...
into a small sink in the power room in his basement
that would not accommodate his wheelchair/walker.
I didn't mind.
Any more than the time I held a bottle for my own dad, post-surgery.
Hands can be washed.
People come first.
I found it so disturbing that The Boss was in such ignominious straits. Spoke to one of The Leaders where I worked.
The Leader was dumbfounded that I would have the gall to assert that he or anyone at The Ministry was responsible for The Boss's bathroom facilities.
That was clearly the domain and bailiwick of The Family ... I heard loudly, passionately, angrily, clearly and finally.
That was a Thursday.
On Friday, I lost my job of 15+ years.
My time was up. This was only one additional straw.
Was I a victim? Nope. Not at all.
More than 150 others were blown out afterward.
One-by-one, in spurts, flocks and, finally, one vast herd.
I wasn't the first. Wasn't the last.
Got laid off again a year or two later, after being out of work for many months.
Got laid off again a couple of years later, after being out of work for many months.
Who knows? Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to get another job.
After being out of work for many months.
(I'm only at 111 days today.)
I'll get a job.
Sooner or later.
Might as well look on the bright side.
**
Donna the Honda hit 329,000 miles the other day.
The Bike hit 54,000 miles yesterday.
My savings took huge hits in the past 30 days.
I am just like America.
My financial situation is unsustainable.
But I was happy living in a tent in Alaska.
I've had nice apartments smaller than my first little house.
People tell me I am a survivor.
Yup. They're right.
But it takes a toll.
Everything does.
Some things suck the life out of you.
Some people pump it back into you.
Like grandchildren.
Giving and encouraging gives life to others ... and ourselves.
It just works out that way.
**
The Hard Times
How stupid of me to inflict pain upon myself by being jealous/covetous.
A skilled writer and I are working on the skronked manuscript of a mutual friend. We've gone back to the rudiments of writing.
What is a sentence?
What is a paragraph?
How do you develop an outline for a book that's already written?
How do you stick to an outline?
What is a chapter?
How do you develop the theme of a chapter?
What is a key point within a chapter?
What is the purpose of a chapter?
How do you recap a chapter?
What is the application of a chapter?
My associate, it turns out, is a rather famous writing instructor.
More than 6,000 people follow his Twitter account.
More than 1,000 people "like" his Facebook business page.
He makes a living writing and editing.
I don't.
Pisses me off.
:-)
(Hey, do you want Openness and Honesty or don't you?)
This gentleman is half my age and has twice as many official qualifications. He deserves to be well compensated.
Love the line in The Princess Bride (even if it's not a worthy illustration of my point), "There's not a lot of money in revenge."
**
Used the Department of Labor (DOL) website to apply for a job that I have the experience, skills and talent to do quite well, thank you.
If you meet the stated qualifications, your request to have your application forwarded to the employer is granted.
One job demanded a four-year degree. I applied anyway. Tried to flash my resume and blind them with the brilliance of my writing. DOL rejected my request to forward my application because I did not meet the stated requirements.
Took a shot at a second prospect. This time a degree was "preferred," as compared to required. DOL saw no difference and rejected my request to forward my app.
Am I a victim? Nope.
There are thousands of qualified applicants.
There are bazillions of people like me who believe we are qualified.
Ya gotta follow the rules.
**
A friend asked if I have ever done grant writing.
"No, I haven't."
Never heard back from him.
Bought three books on the topic.
(Something I've wanted to do for years.)
They arrived yesterday.
I'll study and I'll study.
By God's grace, I will learn a new skill.
But I will remain -- as the New Testament apostles were called -- "agramatta." A man without letters, such as BA, MBA, PhD or MDiv.
I did not complete my degree, after studying Business Administration for two years at a community college, and several other courses at two additional colleges. My fault, no one else's.
**
Looking into getting Social Security in a couple of months, right around the time my unemployment will run out.
SS pays less than unemployment, which doesn't pay much.
With savings depleted by then, keeping my house will not be an option.
If all I have to live for is this house, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is devoted kids, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is to be loved by a faithful wife, my life will end in defeat.
If all I live for is to be successful in business or art, my life will end in defeat.
I'm glad that isn't the case.
There are other pleasant places to live. Plenty of them.
You cannot control your kids. We cannot even control ourselves much of the time.
Perhaps you have learned the secrets to being loved and lovable.
I have not.
Perhaps you are a smashing success in your professional life.
I am not.
Yet, I will survive.
Employed or not.
In my current home or not.
With my best friend or not.
In the company of my children/grandchildren or not.
In the arms of a loving wife or not.
With money in the bank or not.
That's the deal.
For better or for worse.
**
Won't tell you where I heard this, but I was among a crowd of young people early one morning. One cheerleaderish chicklet was locked in mortal combat with a bagel.
She fussed and clucked as if she were miserably failing to push a car out of a mud bog.
I'll bet I heard her say a half-dozen times, "This is SOOO HARRRD!!!"
(Which meant, of course, "Do this for me or I'll make even more noise!")
Here was a pretty young girl who could not surmount the obstacle of cutting a bagel open with a plastic knife. My harsh judgement is she was used to having others (parents? boyfriends? siblings?) immediately rescue her from all such horrid tasks lest she bear them -- and defeat them -- all by herself.
Pity the girl.
She will not survive.
Unless others bear her "burden/s."
Or unless she changes.
Which do you think is more likely?
I shall survive.
And you will not have to bear my burdens.
I haven't asked you for help yet. Have I?
Not gonna.
All you have to do is read about me whining
and fussing and clucking
about my life being oh, so very, very hard.
Ha!
I have a great life.
God loves me.
My children are well.
My grandchildren are well.
I have the time, toys, and opportunity to write this blog.
When I am finished writing this, I will earn actual money writing for a paying client. Afterward, I will meet friends for dinner.
I am blessed.
I will be blessed.
In good times
in bad times
and in my share of hard times.
By God's grace, I will be thankful for whatever transpires
for richer or for poorer
for better or for worse
in sickness and in health.
As long as I shall live.
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