Category: Life

General, Life

Whoever Said “50 is Fabulous” Was Delusional

Everyone keeps telling me it’s great to turn 50. But the honest truth is it’s sad to be a half-century old. I have to take daily medications now for gout and high blood pressure, and I can’t even read the pill bottles without my reading glasses. I can’t wear a swimsuit anymore. I’m far more willing to get dressed in front of the dog than in front of the mirror. I have mixed emotions about bacon: joy and gladness. I love it so much, in fact, that I’ve stipulated in my advance directives that it must be my last meal. If I’m being kept alive by a feeding tube it must be liquefied. If I can only have ice chips I want frozen bacon bits. You get the idea.

I used to have such a sharp mind. Then I was introduced to Google. I Google everything, which at least gives me the satisfaction of thinking I’m hipper, younger and more technologically savvy than I am. But all my gadgets have robbed me of my memory. Besides Google, I blame my memory loss mostly on my smartphone. It’s smarter than I ever was. It’s smarter than anyone I know. Because it accesses the collective smarts of human history, it’s the smartest thing in the universe. I hate it. I don’t even know my mother’s phone number. It’s just “Mom” in my “favorites” list. It’s my smartphone’s fault. It’s been said that the older you get the wiser you become, but why would I want wisdom if I can’t remember anything?

Nora Ephron described aging as one big descent—the steady spiraling down of everything: body and mind, breasts and balls, dragging one’s self-respect behind them. You reach a point where everything can no longer be held up with surgical scaffolding and the drugs of denial. I’ve reached that point. No investment of resources will stop the decline. I joined a gym, with great enthusiasm, hoping to slow the decline, but because I am equally enthusiastic about cocktails, the most I can hope for is to break even.

I hate that my gray hair makes me look distinguished but my jowls make me look disgruntled. The corners of my mouth droop. My forehead is permanently etched with horizontal lines. The bags under my eyes look like they’ve been packed for a long trip to the next 50 years. My legs are almost hairless; my ears, nose and throat have hairs popping out everywhere. My skin is pasty; my body, doughy. My muscle mass is decreasing; my stamina, ebbing. So far, getting older isn’t better—it’s fraught with peril. I’m shorter than I used to be; fatter than I ever was. Because I lack the dexterity I once had, I have to keep sharp objects at hand so I can open anything sealed in plastic packaging.

I still hate rap music, only now I hate it more than I ever did. I have no idea why I should care about Lindsay Lohan or Justin Beiber. I often repeat anecdotes and I’m grateful that most of my friends act as if they’re hearing them for the first time.

I wish I had something profound to say about reaching this “milestone,” but I don’t. After five decades, I’ve amassed the following bits of advice:

  • Be good to your colon and it will be good to you.
  • When in doubt, reboot.
  • Fresh vegetables are always the least expensive items on the grocery list.
  • You can’t be disappointed if you don’t get what you don’t ask for.
  • Everything’s better with bacon.
  • You know you’re old when everything is a problem.
Culture, General, History, Life, Love, Politics, Social Issues

History in the Making

Much has been said, written and blogged about the two same-sex marriage cases up for argument before the Supreme Court tomorrow and Wednesday. Regardless of where you stand on the issue, for Cliff and me it has been about the fundamental American value of fairness. We have always believed that, as American citizens, we deserve the same equal protections enshrined in our Constitution with the Fourteenth Amendment in 1868.

The amendment’s equal protection clause requires each state to provide equal protection under the law to all people within its jurisdiction. The meaning of the clause, according to its principal author, John Bingham, was that it conferred upon Congress the power to ensure that the “protection given by the laws of the States shall be equal in respect to life and liberty and property to all persons.” That’s all that same-sex couples like Cliff and I are asking: that we be treated equally under the law. Our marriage, although it took place in Vancouver, BC, is nonetheless recognized by a handful of states and jurisdictions but not by others. Is it too much to ask that we be treated equally throughout the land, that our lawful marriage be recognized and that its benefits be conferred. Equality is not a special right. It’s an American value.

General, Life, Religion, Spirituality

A Note From the Margins

It’s been barely two weeks since Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio took the name of Pope Francis, yet it seems like the whole world has entered a sort of time warp. Allow me to explain.

At first blush, it appears as though Francis is more a successor to John Paul I than to John Paul II and Benedict XVI. After all, his emphasis on the marginalized over the magisterium calls to mind some of the very reforms envisioned by the Second Vatican Council, which, despite decades of attempts to reverse them (first by Karol Wojtyła and, then, by Joseph Ratzinger), is apparently unstoppable. Score one for the Holy Spirit.

Attending Palm Sunday Mass this year, inspired by the new pope’s outreach to the marginalized (in what was a first attempt to re-engage the Catholic Church in two years), it felt as though I had stepped much farther back in time. The emphasis on ritual purity reminded me of the first post-Conciliar days of my youth, with the faithful clinging to the past while being forcefully (though pastorally) nudged forward. The stilted liturgical language, the pious expressions of the faithful, the surprisingly extensive use of Latin and Gregorian chant, the undeniable focus on the tabernacle, the kneeling to receive communion–all combined to make for a reverent, yet eerie, celebration of the Eucharist. This Mass was a hybrid from a bygone era. Like a scene from a movie, it was preternaturally clean. There were no “femi-Nazis” here, no adherents to liberation theology, no faithful dissenters of any sort. Only precise gestures, choreographed movements, neatly manicured environment, appropriately diverse congregants and impressive edifices. It was so disconnected from the theology I studied and the ministry I practiced that, for the first time, I didn’t miss the priestly ministry. In that moment, it seemed like a distant, even distorted, memory.

During my seminary and ministry years (1986-2001), I absorbed Vatican II, all the while witnessing John Paul II take it off the rails. Benedict XVI extended and calcified many of his predecessor’s efforts–all of which culminated in the bizarre experience of Palm Sunday. Hopefully, Francis will be able to redirect the Church’s attention to what matters most: it’s not about the branches, but the people holding them aloft.