Friday, October 14, 2011

Birthday Present

It was my birthday the other day. I turned 48. It seems weird to see the number 48. In regard to my age anyway. 48 is usually my bank account balance. Cents. Are we old at this age? I used to think so and based on all the ailments I've experienced of late I think I may be. I said weird because I may feel 48 a lot of days in my body but in my mind I'm much younger, like 12. Looking at my check book you'd agree.

I stopped by moms house to drop off a check. Told her to cash it before the account got back down to...well, you know.  She gave me a birthday gift and a card. Do we really need to give a card with the gift? I said thanks and smiled and walked out holding my gift. I was disappointed as I walked to the truck because I had shaken the gift box. No noise. Remember when you were a kid and you got a box that rattled? Model airplane, Lego's, board game, a box of army men. All good stuff. Then you get this box that doesn't rattle or worse,  a package that goes limp in your hand.What is it with moms and giving clothes? Mine gives underwear, tee shirts and socks. Undergarments. And you have to open this stuff in front of your friends at the party. I'm glad I wasn't a girl.

I went home and complained to my wife. It fell on deaf ears- turns out she's a mom too. "Oh gee whiz Mark  grow up! What are you, 12?"

I like to get gifts though, whether it rattles or not. Don't know who invented the whole birthday gift thing but I'd like to shake his hand. What a wonderful invention that means something different at different ages. When you're 7 it's all about the mystery inside the box and all the fun you will have with it. When you're, say, 48, it's about the mystery outside the box. It really IS the thought that counts ( this is definitely NOT true when you're 7. Please, get 'em something to play with). The thought is love. You're special. And I really do feel special. Special enough to wear the underwear mom bought. Even though she still thinks I'm a 32....

I did get a gift a long time ago that I still hold special. It was from my Dad. It didn't come in a box I could shake or in fancy Batman wrapping paper with a big bow. It came in a shroud that was dirty and stained and bloody and laid on a cold floor in a dark cave. I never got to see this gift or hold it but it's my most prized possession and without it I am ruined. 2000 years ago a Man loved His Dad so much that He gave his very life for me and as I type this I cry and weep for I am so unworthy. I am wretched and foul and so undeserving but my Dad said "Mark, it is all that foul wretchedness I wiped away with that shroud and it is gone. Forgotten. You are my love, and you are my son and I'll love being with you forever. Happy birthday".

Forever. I like the sound of that. As it turns out, 48's not so old after all....


Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Making It

I used to love the Dollar Stores. How great is it to walk into someplace and EVERYTHING is the same price! No price checks at the register, no looking for the price tag or the label on the shelf. A buck. Even I could figure this out. Though I did have a problem when they had, say candy bars, two for a dollar. Ok, two I could figure out but if I were buying for a group and needed like 25 I started to panic a little. 25 is more than the fingers and toes I have AND it's an odd number so there'd be change involved. I sweat and start to shake when I do math and invariably the clerk would ask "Sir, may I help you?" and I would have to drop the candy and run away so as not to look like an idiot.

When my kids were little the Dollar Store was a great place at Christmas time. You could go in there with $30 and get ALL your Christmas shopping done. I took Terri in case there was math involved.  Good times.

Nothing you bought held up though. I mean, it's a dollar right. I remember trying to cut open a plastic bag with my dollar scissors. Nope. I tore open the bag and off came Barbie's head. Oops. Same with everything you got there. Nothing was made to last. Except the candy. I still can't get that off of me...

I like to make things. As a kid I loved to help my mom make cookies, help my dad make things with wood, with nuts and bolts. I guess that's why I work in the construction field- I get to make things. Hopefully things that'll last.

 I was watching a a show on Netflix the other day about how things are made. One of those shows that take you to the factory to show how cars, pants, computers and dollar store Barbies are made. Some things are so complicated with so many moving parts it's a wonder it ever all comes together and actually works! But they do and hundreds or thousands are boxed up and sent out every day. Simply amazing.

The thing that fascinated me the most were the car factory turning out thousands of such complicated machines. And not really the machines but the machines that MAKE the machines (is that confusing? I almost got lost). Who made these things? They are so complicated and precise, cutting metal, screwing screws, attaching and soldering tiny pieces in place, all at a blistering pace. It almost seems impossible. How creative these things are.

It makes me think what a wonder WE are. How we're put together and made.Not just out bodies but out soul and spirit too. Often we hear life is a process, a journey, and that God is making us into something wonderful. We're no dollar store Barbie but the real deal from Mattel. (well, I'm a Ken I think). The process is often loud and noisy and hot and dirty but that's how life is sometimes. Often it's not much fun but God has made these special sort of machines: situations, trials and tribulations really, to cut, grind, shape and polish you into this work of His creation. If we could just stand back from time and space and see Him working. We'd be so impressed.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Watch This...

I ask someone what time it was the other day. They searched their pockets for 30 seconds before saying "Sorry dude. Left my phone in the car." Doesn't anyone wear a watch anymore? I don't but then I never did. If you can't tell time what's the point....

I was 6 when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I don't think I was all that aware of what was happening or that it was a big deal. I was 6. For all I knew we landed there all the time. I paid more attention to Apollo 17 in 1972 and knew all about it. I was much more aware. After all, I was 9 now.

I never wanted to be an astronaut. It was much too dangerous and I didn't like Tang. But really, who did? It tasted like bland orange swill and the only reason we'd be caught drinking it was 'cause the astronauts drank it. I bet even THEY didn't drink it. They probably had a fifth of liquor in each of those space suit pockets.

No, I wanted to one of the guys behind the scenes. Like the engineers. Or the guys in Mission Control. You remember them. As the camera pans the room you see a hundred guys behind a hundred tv monitors watching who knows what through those black Drew Cary glasses. All of them had a white shirt with a loosened tie and a sports coat hanging over their chair, chain smoking cigarettes and rubbing they forehead. Way cool.

I was thinking about those guys today. They've all got to be retired by now right? Retired or dead from lung cancer. I want one of those jobs now. Not because of the work itself but because of the job security. Gone are the days I guess of starting with a company and sticking around for 40 years. Then they throw you a party, give you a gold watch and boot you out the door. That's livin'!

I always wondered- why a gold watch? Did it mean "times up, get out" or more like "now you have time, time in your golden years to do all the things you wanted to do (or should have done) when you were younger. I hope it's the latter.

Here's something else I hope. That I don't wait for the gold watch to start doing something with my time. It's not that having a watch magically GIVES you time but maybe it just helps you manage it better. To use it to love those around you. To give my time to make sure someone knows they matter is a great use of that precious resource God has entrusted me with. I hope I'm smart enough to do it.

Some day I get to retire from this life. I don't think it comes with a watch. I'll stand before my Dad and He'll say "Nice job son, welcome home."By the way, do you know what time it is?" I'll search my pockets (I never did get used to a watch) and come up empty. But that's ok. Who needs time when you have forever?

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Wasting Away

I dread getting older. I think I wouldn't mind BEING old, say, in my middle 60's. Upper 60's. Isn't it funny how the older you get your definition of old changes a bit. In college 48 was way old and now that I'm 48 (or will be next week) the middle 60's don't seen all that old. I'm sure that in a year or two the upper 60's will be full of spring chickens. Anyway, it's not the being old, it's the getting old. I mean, If we have to get there, being old that is, wouldn't you like Genie to blink her eyes and your magically 67 and enjoying the golden years?. Yes, I'm odd and it's ok if you stop reading now.

I have an abdominal strain I'm dealing with this week. A pulled muscle of some sort, according to Dr. Google. He's great isn't he? I don't know what I did, it just started hurting. Very sharp pains and spasms in my gut. I know it wasn't anything I ate as I've not strayed out of the 2 basic food groups. Doughnuts and cupcakes. But man! The pain is sharp and I almost double over. My wife said now I know what menstrual cramps are like. I'm sorry for every joke I ever told about that....

The thing about getting older is that this stuff happens more often. I said the other day that in the last 6 weeks I had a groin pull, threw out my back, developed tendinitis in my foot and now this abdominal thingy. Yikes! soon I'll be gaining weight and my hair will start  falling out. Wait.... . That's what I mean. If I could skip this getting older part and just be there.

Men are big and strong and can handle anything. Until they get sick. I'd say they act like a woman but have you seen a woman who is sick? She doesn't just quit, she just keeps going and getting it done. Me? Not so much. I whine and moan and am such a 3 year old. I guess I'm like that on a good day just more so when I don't feel well.

So I'm bent over yesterday in pain and I'm sure it's can't be a muscle pull. It HAS to be liver failure or pancreatic cancer right? This is where my mind goes every time. I'm gonna die. Tragically and before my time. sigh...

I thought about my last few months of life. What would I do if I knew I'd be gone in 6 months? I'd lament things the mistakes and missed opportunities of course. Then I'd do the things with my family I should have done more of, fishing and bowling, board games and walks in the park. Look my wife in the eyes and tell her I love her. I was in some guy's yard while thinking this. It must have been a sight for passer by seeing this burly (ok,fat) guy with a tool belt weeping in the front yard. It wasn't stomach pain.

I'm not gonna die in 6 months. At least according to Dr. Google. But I will be busy. Busy living this getting older process and doing the things I needed to be doing all along. Doing them well and not wasting the days. It's never too late. I hope....