Love and Compassion Most Unexpected

Tea Time
Written by nicki sooter wilcoxson and jami wilcoxson wilmarth


When we think about 14 year old boys, love and compassion are not the nouns that usually spring to our minds. Neither are loving and compassionate the most thought about adjectives used to describe these strange creatures. If you have a 14 year old boy in your life you know what I mean when I say that. Because of growth spurts and hormonal changes we can hardly recognize them from day to day. Most of the time we feel lucky to get a smile or a response other than "fine" to any question. Happily, we love them despite their quirkiness and fondly remember them as huggable and cute little boys and we hang on to the knowledge that someday they will grow to be the fine young men they were raised to be.

All spring we have watched our 14 year old grandson play baseball with his teammates who make up the Amarillo Rockies. The Rockies are a select travel team that not only travels out of town to play, but they also regularly play other teams here in Amarillo. All of the Amarillo teams are made up of 14 year old boys from schools in Amarillo and Canyon. Most of them have played together and as opponents since they were 5 to 7 years old so they know everyone. All are very competitive and most of them like each other, but bickering, name calling, and hurt feelings are not uncommon with parents and coaches having to smooth over the bumpy waters.

Over time as the boys have played baseball, basketball, and all the other sports, they have gotten acquainted with all the parents. They are quick to recognize that all parents are not created equally and they hold certain parents in high, but perhaps unspoken esteem. These would be the loving supportive moms and dads who are quick to support not only their own sons, but the other guys--no matter the teams on which they play. They are parents who come to all the games and they are the ones who are quick to congratulate each player by name. They are the moms or dads that we the fans look for each time and we miss and worry about them when they aren't there. Over the past few years, one of these moms who is a special mom, a special lady, and a special human has fought cancer and it hasn't been pretty or easy. Despite all she has gone through she has struggled to be at each event-coming with or without her hair-coming in her wheelchair and always supported by her family and greeted with joy, by her friends and acquaintances. Any news concerning her condition spreads quickly through this community making up Team JoAnn--those who know her and pray for her. She is held up as a woman of courage and strength, a woman who loves her family beyond measure.

As it turns out the game today was like no other game and will not soon be forgotten. As luck would have it, I missed the game choosing instead to take care of errands that I needed to run. When Jim called to tell me what had transpired I was both heartsick and so touched by the events that I have spent the rest of the day with a heavy and yet so very proud heart. I am sad by what has prompted what I consider a priceless show of love and compassion, but I am so proud of Jordie and his teammates as well as the opposing team and of all their coaches.

Our daughter, Jami( Cat's Meow) who is Jordie's mom was there and she has shared what happened much better than I ever could so I am sharing her post with each of you. It is a story that deserves to be shared.

Posted by Jami Wilcoxson Wilmarth

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Love shows up in unexpected places sometimes

Even 14-year-old boys can get outside of themselves sometimes.

I know, because I saw it happen this morning at Jordie's baseball game.

Jordie's team, the Amarillo Rockies, played the Venom, another local team it has played twice before and easily beaten.

Today wasn't any different, in that respect. The fact is, Jordie's team has been together for many years, and all of the boys have played since they were 5 years old. That is not the case for the Venom.

By the end of the first inning, the Rockies already were in position to run-rule the Venom. And, by the end of the first inning, everyone on both teams had noticed an SUV parked directly behind the field, behind the fences; its occupants were watching the game.

The vehicle belonged to the parents of Seve (pronounced Sevee), who is a player on the Venom. Seve just completed his 8th grade year at Crockett Middle School, while most of Jordie's teammates went to Bonham M.S. Each team has players from both schools; basically, either because of school, sports or both, everyone knows everyone else on either team.

Seve's mom, Jo Ann, has been battling cancer for what seems like forever. She had a bout with lymphoma several years ago and had been in remission for four years before it came back with a vengeance last year.

Just last week, Jo Ann was sent home from M.D. Anderson, where she is now on home Hospice. According to JoAnn's good friend, Erin, who also is my friend, Jo Ann wanted to just go home and finish out her life with her family.

We had all heard Jo Ann is in an extremely weakened and fragile state, so I suppose we were somewhat surprised to see her at the game. I know I looked out over the field to their car, and choked up because I thought, "She knows she has very little time left, and she's giving all she's got to watch her son play ball."

I sought out my friend, Erin, whose son also plays for the Venom, to see how she's holding up these days. She put on a brave face but cried because she's losing her friend and is watching her son's best friend lose his mother.

"It's just not right," she said. "I don't understand why God won't allow her to stay on this earth longer when she's such a good person and has so much to offer."

She went on to praise Jo Ann's attitude through the ordeal. She said Jo Ann doesn't complain and is at peace. Erin called Jo Ann an "example" for us all.

As I was talking with Erin, trying to console her and having no answers, we watched Jordie's team gather together with their coach, Dennis, on the pitcher's mound.

Erin and I looked at each other and said, "They're going to make sure Seve gets on base so Jo Ann can see."

We watched two players for the Venom get up to bat and proceed to be walked, including Erin's son, Colton.

Then it was Seve's turn. As he stood at home plate, ready to swing, parents from both teams, as well as players from both teams, were cheering him on: "C'mon, Seve! Hit the ball! You can do it!"

And, man, did he.

He sailed it out to right field, just inside the foul line.

Everyone from both sides yelled, screamed, cheered and cried as Seve and his teammates ran the bases. Erin and I bawled together as we watched Seve cross home plate.

I'm not sure anyone kept a dry eye, including all the 14-year-old boys!

The game ended shortly after that, due to the run-rule. Normally, I call these games boring.

Today, I'm thinking it's the best baseball game I've ever seen.

I asked Jordie after the game what Dennis said to them. He said the first two batters were supposed to walk, and Garrett, the pitcher, needed to throw the ball right down the middle for Seve to hit.

I asked Jordie if Seve and his teammates knew what was going on. He said, yes, that Seve had purposely been moved in the batting line-up by his coach so he had another chance before the game ended.

"So, everyone got together and did it for Jo Ann?" I asked.

"Yes, for Jo Ann," Jordie said.

Wow. My heart is heavy for the family in this time, but I'm also feeling incredibly blessed to have witnessed such a special display of love among friends and rivals today.

In Memoriam ... Worse Than Death....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston




Inconsolable Grief, 1884, painting by Ivan Kramskoy (1837-1887)

Today is Memorial Day ... surely a day for families and friends to come together in joy and love, in tacit acknowledgment that they are able to join once again, in sometimes unspoken appreciation of one another's company. But of course conceptually and intrinsically, this is a day to remember and honor those who served and those who paid the ultimate price to sustain our country and its ideals. Secondarily perhaps, I believe the day also fosters memories of all those we remember who have left this life and no longer grace us with their presence.

Some people feel that the death of a loved one is the worst tragedy that can befall them. While we each have our own views and beliefs of death, and of life, I must respectfully disagree, at least as far as I am concerned. To me, the worst that can happen is to witness the mental and/or physical deterioration of a dearly beloved friend or parent or partner without being able to alleviate or assuage, let alone halt, the terrible decline.

If you have not guessed by now, this is one of those serious posts; there is little humor to be found in an inherently somber subject. Indeed, some might call this post a "downer" ... and they would be correct to some extent in that assessment. But it also is an acknowledgment, an address and evocation if you will, of fears and questions and problems that some of us will face, or have already confronted and struggle to comprehend, as we age and continue this life's journey through what are often ironically referred to as "our golden years."

By this point in our traverse of time, we've all likely been touched by at least one person whose joy in life and living ... and speaking honestly, our own joy in knowing them ... has been crippled and/or crushed; someone whose light of the mind has been permanently diminished, if not completely extinguished, or whose repository of the soul no longer functions as it was intended. Many (most?) of us may prefer not to think of these things; yet in actuality, looking determinedly away, or looking frantically over or past or beyond, eventually becomes impossible ... and ultimately a denial of life.

IMHO, and notwithstanding my belief that our souls will go on when this life is ended, the diminution and decline of a life and all its many facets is indeed a demise worse than physical death. It is beyond terrible, almost unspeakable, to witness the extinction of a nimble, sometimes brilliant, loving mind ... or the dereliction of a body which refuses the commands of a still questing mind ... because the soul is incapable of leaving its devastated dwelling. In my mind, the destruction of an intimate, intense relationship which may (or may not) have lasted decades ... the death of the spirit which makes each of us unique, sui generis, which reduces those afflicted to quotidian (or less) lumps of clay, mere bits of hair and skin and bone without the spark of animation and coherent thought ... are horrors almost beyond apprehension, and yet we are sometimes left with no choice but to struggle for understanding and empathy and resolve.




The Scream, 1893, painting by Edward Munch (1863-1944)

What is left when a beloved friend or partner is no longer the person who was so dearly cherished? When nothing remains of the humor, and the courage, the love and caring, the loyalty, and the keen mind once possessed? How do we continue to love when the object of and inspiration for our love ceases to exist in any meaningful or relatable form? What must we do, how can we go on:

★ When bittersweet, ash-cold memory is all that is left of vibrant, glowing incandescent love?

★ When the voice that thrilled your soul and fired your senses inspires instead a dawning dread and an insidious, radiating, numbing chill?

★ When the promises and professions of love become querulous, accusatory, unanswerable and insatiable demands?

★ When one fears the approach of the person whose footsteps once sent our souls soaring in anticipation of ecstasy?

★ When eyes whose opening gave benediction to the rising sun now fix us with a confused, angry glare, or a stark unspoken supplication to lead them back to reason?

★ When no coherent or discernible speech passes a mouth that once "drew with one long kiss my whole soul thro' my lips, as sunlight drinketh dew," as Alfred, Lord Tennyson wrote in Fatima?

Does something of love and memory remain in the ravaged recesses of a failing mind, faint and indistinct and without voice, yet incessantly calling calling calling in a boxed canyon where there will never again be an echo or an answer? Does the sight of a girl in a summer dress, or a child running over grass, cause an uncomprehending flicker of recognition? Do the notes of a song call forth visions of remembered rapture?

For those who are "left behind" ... in reality if not in finality ... duty and obligation, and compassion and empathy, and the memory of love and life and even brief moments of transcendent joy urge us to carry on ... to act well our parts for there all the honor lies, as the epitaph of Mrs. George Reece (referencing the poet Alexander Pope) in Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology adjured. Most of us will act as we should, as we must, in the reflection and remembrance of what once was. But what a terrible, soul-rending irretrievable loss to squander the blessings and fealty of love where nothing lovable or loving remains except perhaps vestigial memories of brighter days and better times.

And sometimes, eventually and ultimately, despite our better natures and best intentions, we may come to that fork in the road where we know we must go on alone; that we cannot in fact remain utterly selfless in our devotion; that time and life and others we love call us back to life and to living. That decision must surely be among the hardest we will ever make, yet we must finally realize the necessity for making it. I have known people who refused to give up even in the face of all the facts, all the evidence, who caused their own health and mental capacity to dwindle, who sometimes brought on their own deaths in their valiant but futile attempts to finesse the hand of aces and eights they have been dealt. In the end, they ended up helping no one ... particularly those they longed so desperately to succor.



Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet and writer, wrote for his dying father: Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. But what happens when the mind no longer comprehends that its light is waning, indeed dying ... and one is left with only baseless, unfocused, incomprehensible and sometimes incoherent rage and confusion and pain?

Thomas' poem And Death Shall Have No Dominion posits:

And death shall have no dominion
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon; ...
Though they go mad they shall be sane ...
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

But in the ending of this life, in the termination of this existence before we pass to another plane, what a blessing to lie down to sleep while still healthy and with all one's faculties, and simply never awaken, as my Father did. Of course there is no time to settle old griefs, or reflect on magnificent, magical memories, or to once more tell someone dearly beloved how much they meant to you in this life. But there is also no dread, no fear of what is to come, no long, protracted tortuous speculation on trials which lie ahead; no complete and utter failure of a spent body encompassing a sharp but impotent mind; no mental tabula rasa on which nothing "written" will be recorded or retained again.

I do believe there are things worse than death, more bitter than the cessation of physical existence in this place and time. I wish for all of you that this is one experience which you may be spared ... or alternatively, that you find peace and wisdom and spiritual growth if you are not reprieved. And for all those I love, and you know who you are ... those of you whose light and spirit have lifted and enriched my life ... I do love you more than I can ever say. And finally, I write this, as Dylan Thomas wrote in My Craft or Sullen Art:

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write ...
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages....

And I remember....

)O(

Like No Place Else: Zack's Club 54

Tea Time

written by nicki sooter wilcoxson

In an earlier post I wrote about Barnes and Noble and bookstores in general as being “Like No Place Else” for me. I explained that for a place to be designated as “like no place else” it had to be a place that evoked an emotional response that pulled me to return over and over. In other words, I have to love going there. Now, so that we are all on the same page, let me explain that for you to visualize “Zack’s” (unless you live in Lubbock or Amarillo) you have to know that Zack’s Club is a fitness center, so you can substitute in Curves, Gold’s, Yoga Class, Pilates, or whatever fitness/health club or class that you belong to or enjoy doing. We just happen to belong to Zack’s. If I lived in the Dallas area, I might join Life Time Fitness.

I have always been one of those “strange” adults that really likes working out. Over the years I have taken Jazzercise, Aerobics of all kinds, and Yoga lessons, but it wasn’t until the last few years that I became interested in working out with weights and strength training, along with cardio. I suspect that it is because I have the beginnings of osteoporosis and I realize now how important it is to engage in weight bearing activities for that very reason. As I have said before when Jim and I both retired we made a deal with one another to become work-out partners to encourage each other to continue doing what we need to do to be healthy “seniors”. Happily we have maintained our work out schedule-going to Zack’s 3 to 5 times a week. As a coach, Jim was very interested in strength training for his basketball players and had increased his knowledge of the various exercises, routines, and workout plans to maximize muscle building, flexibility and strength training so he is able to guide me with a plan for weights, and I encourage him to do more cardio.

While we realize that we could work out at home because we have some of the needed equipment, the fact is that working out in a gym or fitness center has more benefits for us and we have grown to love Zack’s—the site for our continuing fitness workouts. It goes without saying that at Zack’s we have all of the equipment that we need at our finger tips as well as trainers and experts who are there to help when needed. In fact Jim has become a trainer himself, working with kids on strength training and basketball skills. We get up and go in the mornings so we have become pretty well acquainted with the group that I will call the AM crowd. It is amazing how static this group of people has remained over the years. Many of them are seniors like us who are dedicated to maintaining healthy bodies. Though we don’t know everyone by name, we know faces well enough that if someone is “missing” for an abnormal period of time, he/she is missed. We have even made a good friend or two as a result of being part of the AM crowd.

Being a member and coming to the gym regularly has served to allow me to engage in one of my favorite past times as a people-watcher. I am convinced that the membership at Zack’s like most other gyms is a microcosm of Amarillo or any community. We see all ages of adults, all races, and certainly both genders. We see doctors, preachers, lawyers, teachers, contractors, stay at home moms and dads, retirees, and a huge range of other jobs and careers represented. Of course, there are ALL body types from the most in shape to the most out of shape. There are the young men and women with the perfectly in shape bodies and the “bare” minimum of the cutest work out clothing and, of course, the requisite blond pony tail or cap. These guys and gals never sweat! There are lots of us regular types who struggle with our weight and work hard to stay in shape. There are a few of us who sweat A LOT. We see the obsessed body builders with huge muscles and the young women who spend hours on the machines engaged in cardio to the point of obsession. Additionally, there are all ability levels, coordinated and uncoordinated. Thankfully, there is an unwritten and unspoken code that no matter the age, size, shape, or ability level of each person he/she is supported and encouraged for whatever exercise or activity being done. Happily there is a wide range of activities from swimming to weight lifting, to spinning classes and other group classes. There is something for everyone!

I truly believe that our fitness clubs and activities are an integral part of our overall well-being. They meet the physical needs of most of their members and as an added benefit the social needs of many of the individual members are met. There is plenty of time for socializing and interaction between work outs and after working out the coffee pot is always there for a quick cup and a few stories before heading home. (No tea there yet, but I am working on it!) There is a fitness place that will meet the needs of every person. If you haven’t found yours yet, get up off the couch and get going! Truly the first step is the hardest.

As for the sweat that rolls down my face, my hair, and soaks my clothes, I say, BRING IT!

There is nothing like it and for Jim and me; Zack’s is “Like No Place Else.”

The Sounds of Silence ... Silent Blessings ... and Sweet Intoxication....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston





















Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho, Bangkok, Thailand
Photograph by Yahn Smith, June 1999

Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains,
Within the sounds of silence.

Paul Simon wrote those words in 1964 in the wake of the John F. Kennedy assassination, and recorded the song with his singing partner Art Garfunkel in September 1965. It hit number one on the charts in 1966. It's another of my favorite songs (as are others in the Simon & Garfunkel oeuvre) and always puts me in mind of the classic Zen koan: "Two hands clap and there is a sound; what is the sound of one hand?" (Attributed to Hakuin Ekaku, 1686-1769, and frequently rendered erroneously as "What is the sound of one hand clapping?") The obvious answer would seem to be that there is no sound. But Zen Buddhism uses koans, defined as paradoxical anecdotes or riddles, to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical, linear reasoning.

Thus, while it may be true that one hand moving by itself may encounter only air, making no sound, the equation changes if that one hand is clapped against a knee or a thigh ... or as fictional private investigator Jim Rockford (The Rockford Files, 1974-1980) put it (metaphorically knocking the principles of Zen Buddhism for a loop): "The sound of one hand clapping is the sound of a slap in the face." (grin) But I digress....

Every time I hear (!) The Sounds of Silence, I find myself reflecting on the myriad "sounds" ... seeds and visions and memories planted in my brain which remain to intangibly resonate and manifest unbidden at diverse cues. I frequently find many evanescent, meaningful "sounds" playing silently in my often unquiet mind, such as:

★ the figurative sound of one hand slapping (grin) you on the back in the thumbs-up gesture when people sense and silently "share" your joy on some momentous occasion;

★ the awful rending cry of a heart broken by separation or death;

★ the silken sussurous of a heart mended by a saving, healing, transcendental touch;

★ the silent screams conveyed by soundless tears;

★ an evanescent whisper of perfume;

★ a wistful, ethereal mandolin spurring spectral dancers to stir a candle flame;

Lunation animation by Tomruen, Released
to public domain through Wikipedia Commons

★ the preternatural resonance of a sultry, seductive sempre saxophone magically accompanying the first glimpse of a pregnant, translucent moon;

★ the gentle glissando of a discreet harp greeting a golden sunrise;

★ the effervescent but inaudible shhhh of champagne bubbles in a crystal glass;

★ the sometimes indiscernible soughing of leaves in hypnotic, metronomic tall trees blowing in a breeze, conjuring in the mind the lines ("Tick Tick Tick") from Edgar Lee Masters' epitaph of Petit the Poet in Spoon River Anthology;

★ the aurally imperceptible but insistantly existent sibilant slither of a snake sinuously traversing grass;

★ the bold tantalizing question, or tacit note of approval, in an uplifted eyebrow;

★ the menacing tocsin of jack boots emanating from a "White Power" sign or the sight of a swatsika (a long-time religious symbol, but corrupted forever by the Nazis);

★ the explosion of joy in the crescendo of hearts beating together;

★ the "little cat feet" of fog, heard so clearly and uncannily by the American poet Carl Sandburg (1878 - 1967);

★ the still, numinous murmur of rushing water;

★ the incandescent supranatural "pop" of magic in the fastness of the heart conjured by sustaining memories of love;

★ the Lovers' Concerto and fugue of eyes and lips ... fortissimo in meeting, tremolo in joining, pianissimo in parting;

★ the plaintive vibtrato violin of a yearning, sanguine heart calling to its absent partner;

★ the pastoral piccolo notes of honeysuckle and roses and jasmine on a summer night;

★ the muted fantasia of a flute giving rhythm to butterflies (butterfly lovers perhaps?) dancing on currents of air;

★ the nascent illusory fanfare of the herald trumpets of Spring;

★ the haunting accelerando trill of a piano played in treble clef in the white hot heat of Summer;

★ the singing scherzo of a cello, so like a human voice, underlying golden, dappled Autumn sunlight;

★ the contemplative reflection of a low, exotic etude by a mystical oboe floating over Winter whiteness and softly falling snow;



Lightning animation by DocWoelle
Released to public domain through Wikipedia

★ the sweet acknowledging applause in smiles from strangers when lovers long-parted come rapturously together in an airport or some other public place;

★ the soft harmonious dulcet chimes in the glances between loving twindred souls, often more meaningful than any exchange of words.

Hamlet (via Shakespeare) said in reflection as he lay dying: "All the rest is silence." But I think a hopeless, abject "silence" is the purview of and the onerous price paid by lazy, unimaginative or fearful minds. Like the "silent" (without amplification) beating of your own heart, there are sounds in all the things around us ... if only we have the courage, the desire, the will if you will, to apprehend them.

I must note (with so much appreciation) the silent but lyrical blessings in e-mails from old friends, beloved friends, and new friends like Ana Saulic, from Belgrade, Serbia. Ana and I met through Facebook in Dog World, which is dedicated to saving and ameliorating the conditions of shelter dogs. Dog World is partnered with the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and interaction with others in Dog World generates benefits for unfortunate animals who have no home, have been abandoned, and mistreated, who don't have enough to eat or a warm place to sleep.

Ana asked me to become her Friend on Facebook (in addition to our "conversations" in Dog World), so we've been able to exchange numerous messages; it has been so nice getting to know her. Ana is lovely, 21 years old, in university majoring in management ... and although I've never heard Ana's voice, I believe I know something of her soul from our silent e-exchanges. I feel certain her voice is lilting and happy and as beautiful as she is. She has also read a bit of our blog, and had wonderful things to say about it. Ana would like to visit the U.S., and I hope to be able to meet her face to face one day and prove my theory about the timbre of her currently silent "voice."



My friend Ana

In addition to Ana, and literally thousands of others with whom I've interacted in Dog World, I am so pleased that Yahn, Driscilla, Sharon Wadley and Sue Yager are also part of Dog World and we would be happy to welcome any others who are supportive of animal rights. It is a lot of fun, and you can spend as much (or as little) time with it as you like. I hope to "see" some more of you giving your silent blessings to the animals.

Finally, I urge you to learn to listen to the sounds of silence, particularly the music of the night and its spellbinding sweet intoxication (with a nod to Andrew Lloyd Webber and his Phantom) in your own hearts and minds, for I believe redemption and resonance and hope and love reside there....

)O(

I wish I had said that!

Tea Time
written by Nicki Sooter Wilcoxson

Shortly after I turned 50, I received an invitation to join AARP so that I could receive all of the benefits and information that were a part of this process. I remember feeling a bit insulted and certainly not excited to be invited to become a part of this “elite” group of in my mind, “old people”. After all my mother was a member of AARP and that alone would squelch any desire that I might have to admit that I was old enough to join in. Of course at that point I tossed all information pertaining to AARP in the trash and continued to remain in denial until I was almost 60. By that time, Jim and I had begun to enjoy the benefits of getting senior discounts on movie tickets, hotels, and coffee. Additionally we had retired from the work force and could no longer hide from the aging process. In fact we had even forgotten why joining up with people so like ourselves was such a terrible thing to consider doing. Therefore, when my next invitation to join came in the mail, I sent my application fee with no qualms at all.

A few week later my first issue of AARP: The Magazine arrived in the mail and since I am such an avid reader, I began to explore the current issue. To my delight I was instantly hooked on the articles and information that I read. Surprise, Surprise! So many of our best writers, artists, authors, and other literary contributors are among the aging and seem to be more than willing to share their experiences, advice, and humor with the rest of us. There is rarely an issue that I read that I don’t stop at least once and admit to myself with more than a twinge of jealousy that darn it, “I so wish I had written that, or done that, or said that!” This was the case last fall when the September/October 2008 issue arrived. As I scanned the cover bearing Sydney Poitier’s handsome face (I loved To Sir With Love so much!) I was immediately intrigued with an article entitled “50 reasons to Love Being 50+.” Naturally, my first thought was, “Wow, this would make a great post for the blog.” I put aside the magazine thinking I need to make my own list before I read what others have written so I can be original, as well as clever and funny in my own right! Ha! Maybe I could have been all of these things when I was nearer to 50 than way past the + part. I thought; I stressed; I asked Jim for help, and I was totally brain dead when it came to thinking of reasons to love being 50+. Frankly, beyond the senior discounts and retirement, I couldn’t think of any reason to love being old, much less 50 reasons. I admitted defeat, but I couldn’t get past being curious so recently, I pulled out the issue and settled down to discover what I was missing.

First of all I now realize that I was in need of a serious attitude adjustment! After all we might be old, but we aren’t dead! I am now convinced that there are really terrific reasons to love being 50+ and yes, once again I admit that darn it, I so very, very much wish I had thought of at least ONE of these great reasons! Perhaps some of you read this article. I do hope so and that you were able to recognize some of these examples of good reasons in your own life. If you haven’t read the article, grab a pen, paper, and, of course, a cup or glass of tea and see if you can come up with some of the reasons on your own. I am sure you can if you can pull yourself off the pity pot which is what I really needed to do so go for it.

Okay, compare your list with some of my favorites that I read in the magazine and then I hope you will go online and read the whole article. I promise that you won’t be sorry.

Reason One: “Because you can spoil the grandkids with sweets”

This one was written by Abigail Thomas who writes about her love of cooking/baking and the hazards of baking sweet things for one person. When the grandkids come she celebrates by baking and sharing. She wrote, “I was allowed three desserts in a row at my grandmother’s house. I like traditions, and I am passing it on.”

Wow, this is one of my favorite things to do for my grandkids, too. I don’t dare bake for just Jim and myself. We would eat it all and love every bite, but I love baking when the grandkids come and they love it, too. Baking and decorating dinosaur cookies with Cole was a joy and baking chocolate cake for Jordie’s birthdays and other family events always reminds of how he used to literally role his eyes back in his head when he took his first bites. It was bliss for him and remains so even today.

Reason Eight: “Because Sex Gets Better With Age” (written by author Elizabeth Benedict)

You’ll get a “no comment” from me! LOL

Reason Ten: “Because men can use “midlife crisis” as an excuse for any embarrassing, highly questionable activity.” Given examples are body piercings, bad toupees, love-handle surgery and more.”

Reason Twelve: “Because You Get Better At Crossword Puzzles”—we’ve lived longer and have larger vocabularies and we know all of those obsolete words like “Phonograph” and “mimeograph”

Reason Eighteen: “Because Our Music Rocks”

Jennifer has convinced us this is really true and reminded us of all the good old songs.

Reason Nineteen: “Because you’ve been embarrassed so much, you’re all out of chagrin” Written by David Bradley who recounts some of his embarrassing moments and then he states, “it struck me , now that I am fifty-something, that the most embarrassing thing I’d ever do was probably something I’d already done. So I checked my fly and I stepped onstage in a state of grace beyond disgrace, beyond chagrin.”

Reason Thirty-seven: “When you get older, hopefully you’ve developed the smarts to know that if you wake up in the morning and you’re vertical and your kids are healthy, that’s 90 percent of being happy. That’s It!” Written by Judge Judy.

Reason Forty: “Because you actually enjoy going to High School reunions” Written by Bill Newcott

He writes “And yet these later reunions are somehow more pleasant than those in years past. The smoldering one-up-manship has pretty much quenched itself; you’ve filed away a lot of the old jealousies and insecurities that dogged your younger years. At last you’re free to enjoy those fleeting connections with your youth.”

Hey, I wish we had discovered this before October, 2008! Be sure to read this one. He is telling our story!

There is no way that I can include all 50 of the reasons so I have touched on a few of them. The other reasons are equally wonderful. Truly it is impossible to read this entire article (and it really isn’t too long) without experiencing a burst of optimism and pleasure and even pride that we 50+ people are special, capable and not finished yet because we have so much going for us and so much to share! I needed to hear this very badly!

If you can’t find your issue of this magazine, happily you can access the article online. I encourage you to take the time. It will make you laugh as well as give you hope and confidence in the future.

At the risk of being redundant, I just wish I had “written all of this myself”!

Commemoration ... Remembrance ... and Truthiness....

The Looking Glass
by Jennifer Johnston


Photograph of Oklahoma City National Memorial
by Dustin M. Ramsey, with Mr. Ramsey's stated permission

I had planned to write this post in April, because there were several dates worthy of commemoration and remembrance which fell during that month. But then Susan Boyle caught the imagination of the world when she sang on Britain's Got Talent, and inspired me to write Chances ... Choices ... and Phoenixes ... which was followed by posts from Raenell and Driscilla. So now we are in May ... but still, I think this post is worth writing ... and the dates worth commemoration and commentary. There are also certain assumptions which have been made, incorrectly in many cases, over the years since these events occurred, and I believe that the record should be set straight before falsehoods become fixed as misleading "truthiness" (to borrow a word coined by the wonderful Stephen Colbert of The Colbert Report).

First, April 19th marked the 14th anniversary of the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, which claimed 168 innocent lives, physically injured more than 800, and left uncounted numbers of families and friends devastated in the wake of a cowardly "statement" by American terrorist Timothy McVeigh and his accomplice Terry Nichols, although there may have been (were likely) others involved. After his arrest, McVeigh asserted that his evil act was itself a (perverted) commemoration of the Waco Seige which ended on April 19, 1993 when a lunatic would-be Jesus impostor named David Koresh, who had been defying the federal government since February 28 of that year rained death on his followers, including numerous children, in his warped version of Gotterdammerung, rather than submit to the laws, and law enforcement officers, of our country.

Prior to his execution for his heinous crime, McVeigh (a self-styled Libertarian, though he has been disowned by many who consider themselves Libertarian) made many statements which he apparently considered exculpatory of his deed. Surely one of his most reprehensible utterances was what he said with regard to his murder of children: "I didn't define the rules of engagement in this conflict. The rules, if not written down, are defined by the aggressor. It was brutal, no holds barred. Women and kids were killed at Waco and Ruby Ridge. You put back in [the government's] faces exactly what they're giving out."

Generally I am opposed to the death penalty because it is often inappropriately and prejudicially applied, and because we keep finding out years after an incident that DNA evidence now exonerates someone who was convicted on circumstantial or frequently erroneous eyewitness testimony (notoriously unreliable). However, in McVeigh's case, I believe it was entirely appropriate. And if there is anyone reading this who considers that McVeigh's actions were justified in any way, shape or form ... then I urge you to seek psychiatric help immediately.

April 20 was the tenth anniversary of the Columbine High School massacre of 12 children and one teacher by the psychopathic Eric Harris and the deranged Dylan Klebold, who weren't even sure themselves of any "statement" they might make by their actions ... they just knew they wanted to kill as many people as possible. If their plans had worked as they desired, the death toll would have been much higher.

In the immediate aftermath of Columbine, and in the years since, there are certain "myths" that have grown around both the killers and some of their victims. I've recently read a book, Columbine by Dave Cullen, a journalist who was present in the Denver area at the time of the occurrence, and who has since gained access to the available documents and witness testimony in the case. One of the myths is that Harris and Klebold were loners who had been picked on by their fellow students, primarily jocks, and that this was the reason for their killing spree ... if such a thing could be considered reason. But Cullen makes evident that was not the case. Both Harris and Klebold, despite being mentally disturbed, were actually well-liked and had quite a circle of friends. The explanation for this terrible occurrence lies quite simply in the psychopathy of Harris and the sycophancy and obsessive depression of Klebold. I think there may be a natural tendency in the wake of such acts to try to find some larger reason, some meaningful pattern ... but it just isn't so in this case. They (particularly Harris) were just crazy ... and vicious ... and filled with their own importance and sense of God-like justification for killing those they considered "inferior" to themselves. Talk about deluded....

Another myth debunked by Cullen was started by ABC News, which promulgated the theory that the Columbine killings were the result of dark plots by a subculture of "Goths." Again, not true. And yet it took the recent book by Cullen to actually call ABC to account and expose this canard.

One of the most widely bruited untruths about Columbine is the story of Cassie Bernall, a girl who supposedly stated unequivocally that she believed in God when one of the killers posed that question ... and that she was shot to death because of her answer. With all due respect to Ms. Bernall and her family, again this is simply not true. According to the testimony of witnesses who were present in the library during the carnage, including Emily Wyant who was crouched under the same table as Ms. Bernall and heard and saw everything, Ms. Bernall was not asked any question(s) and was not given a chance to speak. Eric Harris looked under the table, said "Peekaboo" and fatally shot Ms. Bernall in the head. For whatever reason, he did not shoot Ms. Wyant. The girl who professed her faith in God in response to a question from Klebold was Valeen Schnurr ... and Klebold walked away from her without firing and let her live. But despite the facts which have emerged over the years, there are some who cling to the ersatz portryal of the incident, perhaps because in some way it advances their own agenda.

The book is well-written, thoroughly documented, and is as clear an explanation for this tragedy as will ever likely be given. I urge anyone who is interested in the truth, in what actually happened at Columbine, to read it.



The Hall of Names at Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial, Jerusalem

April 21 was Holocaust Remembrance Day, Yom HaShoah, in memory of and mourning for the horrors of the Holocaust, which took the lives of an estimated six million Jews, as well as millions of Poles, Russians, gypsies, homosexuals, those with mental and physical handicaps and disabilities and others ... including hundreds of thousands of Allied servicemen who made the ultimate sacrifice to stop the madness brought upon the world because of the megalomaniacal, lunatic fantasies of "racial purity" spun in the sick minds of Adolf Hitler and his followers, including a large number of the German population.

About a week before Yom HaShoah, I received one of those pass-around, forwarded to millions e-mails that urged remembrance of the Holocaust because of all the Christians who were persecuted by Hitler for their faith. And again ... this is simply not true. Oh there were millions of Christians who were murdered by the Nazis ... but it was not as a general rule because of their faith. There was no wholesale persecution of Christians, and most of those who were killed were marked because they opposed the Nazi regime in one way or another. Further, a large number of Poles and Russians and others who were annihilated by the Nazi death machine were simply considered "sub-humans" by the Masters of the Third Reich, who envisioned a world dominated by an Aryan (read "white" and preferably blond and blue-eyed) super-race who would exploit, work and starve the vast majority of the untermenschen to death in furtherance of their "vision." It is worth noting that although the Nazis were shrewd enough to play upon Christians' fears of the Jewish religion, their attempt to totally eradicate the Jews was grounded on racial theories as much or more than on Jewish religious practice.

And yet ... after all the horrors, all the almost unbelievable scenes of the death camps and the children and families being taken to their deaths, there are significant numbers of people in this country who espouse Hitler's racist theories, and rant and plot and scheme against those who do not physically meet or otherwise measure up to their warped ideas of "purity." These people are despicable and dangerous. Period. Paragraph....

It is arguable that all of these milestones ... and the resulting commemorations of these unspeakable events ... were achieved primarily because of fear and loathing of those who are "different" or don't conform to some psychologically suspect idea of how the world should be. It also seems we have lived with one fear or another throughout our lifetimes ... some more justified than others perhaps, but fear nevertheless. We grew up with the fear of nuclear annihilation (remember "Duck and Cover"?), the Red menace, various flu and other health scares, with the most recent being the fear-mongering assault from a mostly over-heated media about the dangers of the swine flu (now H1N1, so as not to offend swine). Schools have been closed, proms have been canceled, people are panicking ... and panicky.... And fearful and fear-driven people do foolish and sometimes reprehensible things.

I honestly find myself wondering: Where does all this fear come from? Why is it such a motivating (and dividing) force? Why are so many of us so eager to believe the worst ... the end is near ... at the drop of a shibboleth? What does it say about ourselves, individually and as a nation, when the glass through which we are trying to "see" is so dark as to be almost opaque? At what point does genuine interest and concern for our future devolve into unreasoning, unreasonable fear? How did we let the horrendous and indelible events of September 11, 2001 drive many of us to abandon with unseemly haste long-settled Constitutional principles and rights? Why are so many so willing to be terrorized??? I wish I knew the answer ... but as the saying goes, that's apparently above my pay grade....

Scary Statistic: A recent survey by the Pew Forum on Religious and Public Life (as reported by CNN) found: "More than half of people who attend [church] services at least once a week -- 54 percent -- said the use of torture against suspected terrorists is often or sometimes justified. [emphasis added.] Only 42 percent of people who seldom or never go to services agreed...." Sort of begs the question: What Would Jesus Do??? Or better ... what would a rational, educated, compassionate, "involved with mankind" person do???

David Brooks, conservative op-ed columnist for The New York Times wrote in his column today (speaking of some Libertarians and far right-wing Republicans, although Democrats are certainly not without their own faults) that he believes the image of the self-reliant man has been warped and distorted over the past few decades, to our detriment. That the vision promulgated of a small-government, everyone for himself society has perverted the ideal of "John Wayne-style heroes who are rugged, individualistic and brave." Brooks goes on to say:

But the greatest of all Western directors, John Ford, actually used Westerns to tell a different story. Ford's movies didn't really celebrate the rugged individual. They celebrated civic order. ...Ford's 1946 movie, My Darling Clementine ... isn't really about the gunfight and the bravery of a heroic man. It's about how decent people build a town. ... [It's] really about ... education, science, culture, etiquette and rule of law -- the pillars of community.



Poster for John Ford's My Darling Clementine,
printed under "fair use" provisions of U.S. Copyright Law

Thankfully, it's not (it mustn't be) about the Timothy McVeighs, the Eric Harrises and Dylan Klebolds, or paranoid, inflated theories of ubermenschen and sub-humans. It is about community ... and the supportive, sustaining communion of ethical, compassionate, concerned men and woman who want to build a better world for themselves and their children through their own growth and enlightenment ... and not on the backs, or the lives, or the denial of rights of others. It is an idea with which we sometimes seem to have lost touch ... though I must say that I am beginning to see glimmers of hope out there amid the gloom. Truth and understanding can help those glimmers become bright rays of light ... but self-serving people (including much of the media and most of Fox News) must not be permitted to disseminate "truthiness" ... and poison ... to their own ends.

The great Viktor Frankl, himself a Holocaust survivor, wrote: Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

So with great hope, but with profound sadness for all those whose hopes and lives were truncated in Oklahoma City, and Littleton, Colorado, and across Europe and Asia and the Pacific during the 1930s and the early-to-mid 1940s ... for all those who lost their dreams and their chances and their choices to caprice and/or evil in the years before and since...

A stone (Jewish tradition) and a candle (Judeo-Christian, Buddhist, atheist, agnostic and others) for commemoration and remembrance ... and prayers and wishes for their souls, and for ours, that we will learn from these atrocities and continue to seek and receive and build upon truth as we continue our journeys in this life....

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