60

Today, I am 60 years old.

That means that 60 years ago today, in an Air Force base hospital in Tarrant county, Texas, my saintly mother popped me out like a fat turkey from an oven. I was born at a very early age, as my favorite high school choir teacher used to say.

It has been a good life. In fact, it has been a truly great life. Not that I plan to die right away, but if I were to die right now, I could not complain that I didn't get enough experience while I was here.

My memories of childhood are very, very dim. (I usually complain about excessive use of the word "very," but now that I'm an old fart I figure I can break the rules a little. I will now allow myself to say "fart" in public, for example.) I remember swinging on a rope and board contraption over what seemed at the time to be a raging river, but which was actually a small creek in Savannah GA. I remember returning again and again to volume five of our encyclopedia, because I was five years old, and because it contained the letter D, which meant that there were pictures of dinosaurs.

(I briefly googled for dinosaur images hoping to find one that had been used in that encyclopedia, but instead I found a photo of John McCain).

I remember a visit to Disneyland, and being confused that the castle in the distance didn't look quite right on that little ride. I didn't understand about miniature scale modeling, and I was so near-sighted that I couldn't really get a firm grip on distance.

I remember walking to school in the snow in South Dakota, and discovering that if the snow wasn't too new, I could actually walk on the surface without leaving prints, if I was careful enough. It was an Air Force school, and the mascot was Jets. They would often make snow jets instead of snowmen out in front of the school. It was in Rapid City, and my greatest joy in those days was the occasional trip to Dinosaur Park, where they put cement dinosaurs up on a nearby hill. You could see the brontosaurus from Rapid City:

The brontosaurus. We didn't call them brachiosaurs back then.

The T Rex. Looks cartoon-ish, doesn't he?

Finally, the stegosaurus. You'll see them better portrayed in Jurassic Park II.

The photos are actually of GA's family with the dinosaurs, because I don't have any of me there. But the point is that the dinosaurs are up there on that hill, and they allowed kids to climb around on them. And I still love them today, though I haven't been back to Rapid City in a half century. (For a followup visit to Dinosaur Park, see this)

There was a point to all this, now what was it? Oh, yes.

Back when I was a five year old kid, I couldn't even imagine being 60 years old. Old people were a type - you could be fat or skinny, old or young, mean or nice. I was a kid, and the fact that I could someday become old never occurred to me. There was no reason for it to.

In the next couple of decades, I spent my time learning, without really meaning to. It just kind of happened. A lot of it was just satisfying my curiosity, a lot of it was a matter of survival, and a small minority had to do with passing tests at school. The years went by, and my political views changed in all directions, along with my religious views. At some point, I started thinking in terms of principles, rather than what seemed good or made sense at the time.

They don't call the Libertarian Party the "party of principle" for nothing. And once you start taking stands based on actual principle, and you have to define the principle, it becomes awkward and sometimes silly to try to defend things like socialism. I mean, try to articulate and defend an assertion like "nobody should own anything and we should all be forced to share." If "feed the poor" is a principle, follow the reasoning to socialism and see how sloppy your logic has to be. Define your principles, force yourself to test them.

Once you begin holding fast to the principles as you prove them (if you can't prove a principle, it may be bad and you should discard it), it becomes easier to understand what government is: sheer force. You understand that freedom isn't just a pretty word you can use to justify starting a war, but rather a concept that involves responsibility and real independence, and something that nobody talks about: self ownership. You almost have to arrive at the understanding that certain good, desirable things cannot be achieved by simply having a government do something for you. You have to make things happen by your own effort, or by persuading your neighbors to your point of view. If you want to feed the poor, then feed them. Figure out why they are poor. Figure out how to help. But handing  your responsibility to the government, letting them force other people to do it, is not the answer - it only gives more power to corrupt people.

Here's a clue: the original Constitution of the United States was about limiting what government could do. The purpose was stated in the document itself, more than once, and the ninth and tenth amendments were added just in case anyone didn't get it on the first reading. There was nothing in the Constitution limiting what we could do until Prohibition was adopted - and it quickly proved to be a huge mistake.

But I digress. I was going somewhere with all this. Something to do with becoming an old man. No worry, I'll remember before I hit the publish button.

It has been humbling to consider what I have learned along the way. You know how I learned that people and relationships are more important than stuff? My house was blown down by a mile wide tornado in April of 1979 in Wichita Falls TX. Granted, I had insurance, so I didn't really find myself with nothing, but if I truly found myself with nothing, I know that I would have a difficult time climbing back to my wealthy status, so that I could cavort in my money vault, sliding down my piles of coins. I am not anxious to be broke again. But I am less afraid now of losing all the material goods, than I was on April 9. And since, after the tornado, I shortly lost my wife to divorce, and came close to losing my two daughters, the comparison wasn't close. It's your loved ones that matter, not your stuff.

Since that time, I was given a replacement wife, a much nicer model, one with common sense and integrity. And together we have explored caves, and cleaned them, and we've enjoyed sitting quietly in them during rest periods when nobody is yelling at us to hurry because we're running out of time. We've been in places underground that most people don't even know about, and couldn't visit even if they did know, no matter how much money they have.

We've been to Mexico, Wales, England, Scotland, France, Spain, Portugal... and I've been to the Dominican Republic, though it isn't exactly a garden paradise, except for the awesome coffee beans. Sure, anyone could go to those places, but most people don't, except on carefully controlled tours. GA and I have wandered the streets. See if you can find out what mondango is. And have you ever eaten haggis in Scotland? Well, I have.

I've been on stages in several cities, playing various roles in comedies and dramas and melodramas. I've had the thrill of singing to a crowd that was so loud and appreciative that I couldn't even hear my own voice. I've written an award winning play. I've trusted, and been trusted by, more theatre people than I can count. I have friends that I love so much that I would risk dying for them - seriously.

And in my own limited way, I know God. Now... I hesitate to even say that, because there is knowing God and then there is Knowing God. But I think I do. And I hope I don't arrive in front of the Throne of Judgment™ and hear: "Know Me? Are you kidding?" That would be bad.

On your Facebook page, you can type in all sorts of information about yourself. Most of it doesn't show up anywhere, and I have only recently figured out how to see what other people put, other than the basic stuff like your home town and high school (it's the "info" button). But for religion I put that my God is YHWH, and my Lord is his son, Jesus Christ. People make such a big deal about the mystery of the Trinity. Come on people, there is one God, and he is the Father, YHWH is his name and he created all that there is, including you, which proves he has a sense of humor. Jesus is his son, and he has all the authority of God because it was given to him. You obey the son just as you might have obeyed the King in the person of somebody he sent in his place. Holy Spirit is the comforter, who dwells in us by that same delegated authority. (No, the Catholic Church is not the Holy Spirit! I don't even know if they still teach that heresy.) They are three in one, yes, the Trinity, but it does not violate the principle that there is only one God, I don't care what your local muslim may say. Besides, muslims worship Mohammed with more fervor than the average Christian worships Jesus - so if I have three gods, they have at least two.

By the way, to "worship" means to ascribe worthiness to. It is not idolatry.

But there I go again, getting off topic. Where was I?

When I was in high school, I was terrified of girls. They were mysterious and desirable and completely out of reach. I have sometimes said I had a crush on most of them, which I guess isn't exactly true. I did have crushes on most of the women in a capella choir, though. For some reason, the best girls were in choir. It was a moot point, though, because I was scared of them.

I got a scholarship in choir, and could have gone to a college over in north Texas. But I didn't because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pay for the rest of the tuition, or make ends meet, or whatever. I made too many decisions based on fear. That is probably the single greatest regret I have about my life - that too much of it, too many opportunities, were wasted because I was too afraid to take risks.

I outgrew that in time, and it's a good thing, because so much of what has made my life wonderful could never have happened if I had not learned to accept some risks. Caving? Risky. Getting on stage with a hundred pages of lines memorized? Risky. Opening my heart and caring about people who might very well reject me? Very risky. Most people never do any of those things, and only secretly wish they could.

So I've reached the age of 60, or as I like to put it, level 60 in the Game of Life™ - and no free plays left. My eyes are getting weaker, and my hearing is getting worse, and I run out of breath a little sooner and with less exertion. The caving is pretty much done. It's possible that I've memorized my last play - but you never know.

But I love a lot of people, truly love them, and I like to think that some of them may actually love me back. And that, my friend, is what makes life good. Well, that and home grown tomatoes.

Noises, off and on and from cats

When I moved away from Wichita Falls some years ago, I thought I would never be able to do another show at Backdoor theatre again. That's my home theatre, where I learned anything I know about acting or being in a show. In 2004 I moved to Midland TX, where I learned to treasure Midland Community Theatre and the friends I made there. Now I live in the Houston area, and while I won't sell the theatres here short - they do set high standards - it's really hard to do theatre when you have to drive 45 minutes each way for rehearsals because the theatres are so far apart here.

But thanks to my best friend still trapped in the Falls, who allowed me to live in his home for a couple of months for rehearsals and performances, I was able to audition for, and have a role in, the funniest play ever written, Noises Off! (The title is supposed to have an exclamation point, you see).

I did that show twelve years ago, playing Freddy/Phillip, but the part I always wanted more than any other was Lloyd, the director, who speaks such lines as "No, Freddy, we have several minutes left before we open." This time, I got the part I wanted most. But beyond that, I was privileged to work once again with my favorite director, Gare Brundidge, and with my best friend, Dave. The downside was that I had to drive between Houston and Wichita Falls once the show went up. But then, I did some calculating, and I think I actually drove fewer miles doing that than by making the round trip for every rehearsal in Houston.

An added benefit was that Dave served as my personal trainer. When I stood on the stage for the audition, I was offering 235 pounds of mass to the gravity of this planet. I now weigh around 200 pounds, give or take a kilo here or there. Granted, when you perform in Noises Off!, you do get your exercise - I learned that twelve years ago - but most of it was improved diet and my 90+ minute walk each day.

So now I'm back home, and glad to be here, and the Houston heat and humidity is beginning to return. The real heat is actually in July and August, but June is at least warm, though not as warm as Wichita Falls.

******



Our cat, Pearl, is dying.

Some of you know about Pearl, having met her. We named her Pearl because she was born on the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, and because she is sort of pearl-colored, or cream. You can see by the picture she is one pretty cat -or she was when she was younger and healthier. Age robs cats of all but their inner beauty, too, just like most people. Yes, there are exceptions.

We have been trying to deal with a thyroid tumor (some cream in the ears apparently keeps that in check), impending renal failure (which has been impending for about ten years, and which I suspect we never really had to worry about), and some inconvenient seizures (they had something for that, too), but the last week or so she has quit eating and excreting - that means pooping, for you non-medical types out there. We took her in to see if there was some blockage that could be removed, but it turns out that her lack of appetite has more to do with the fact that she has cancer. How's that for irony? We move here to work for M. D. Anderson, the cancer center, and our cat gets cancer. So now she's on steroids to improve her appetite, and to make her feel generally better, but we are now considering her to be in Home Hospice for kitties - she is dying, and we have to figure out when the right moment is to have her put down. At what point is starvation far enough along to end it all? When is her life no longer worth prolonging? If she were human, the answer would be more clear - you keep people alive as long as you can, as comfortably as you can. But with a cat? A cat who can't even tell you if it hurts? I don't want to make that choice.

We have already decided not to have any more pets. Life without a pet is going to be radically different - beyond the expenses we will be relieved of, from vet bills to food and litter, there will be the things we did or didn't do solely because we had to accommodate the cat. We don't use actual bath mats because cute little Pearl peed on them when we did. We don't use floor mats just inside the front door for the same reason. We carefully check before we open a door to make sure she doesn't get out and get eaten by an alligator. We keep three litter boxes throughout the house to make sure she doesn't have to suffer any inconvenience when she needs to empty her little kitty bladder. Until recently, we couldn't eat without saving some for the cat, especially if chicken or tuna is involved. We are agreed that life without Pearl will be better and more convenient. Yet there is still the fact that we have had that cat for over 17 years, and we expect her to jump on the bed at night time and get in the way, we expect her to follow us into the kitchen and beg for food and get underfoot, we expect her to try to kill us as we go up or down the stairs.

It's going to be a different life. But for now, we have to keep that cat as comfortable and happy as we can, because it's either that or have her put down sooner. And we want to postpone that as long as we can.