Happy New Year

Jim is dying.

He probably only has a few days left since he stopped eating about a week ago. He has been in hospice for a couple weeks now.

The victim of a glioblastoma, a very aggressive type of brain tumor, Jim had most of it surgically removed at first diagnosis. Then he attempted drinking hydrogen peroxide as a therapy recommended as a cancer cureall by its proponents.

Jim opted out of chemotherapy and radiation treatments as they would only add a few months to his life. The peroxide seemed a viable alternative to him that would leave him far less debilitated.

It didn't work.

The blastoma returned with a vengeance.

From Thanksgiving on until Christmas, Jim was given steroids to help reduce swelling in his brain and give him an extra month or so of quality life. But the tumor has now overtaken that treatment.

When the inevitability of death is near, people become philosophical.

They say that Jim has lived a good, long active life. It has been full and rich.

They are right, of course. Jim was a missionary in Eritrea, in the horn of Africa, for many years. He has built buildings, been a craftsman and spent his life as an independent jack-of-all-trades. But I suspect if you asked him if he was ready to leave it all, he'd say no. Prior to the tumor, Jim was healthy and strong, even in his 70s.

It is this one wild growth that is taking it all away from him.

When a person enters hospice, it is not with the intent of medical care. It's not like going into a hospital for treatment. The goal of hospice is to make the patient as comfortable as possible as he or she approaches the end.

It is difficult to accept this notion. Jim hadn't taken any liquids and family members inquired as to an intravenous drip to forestall dehydration.

The hospice nurse had to spend some time explaining that Jim's lack of eating or drinking was all part of the dying process. Even now, it's still hard to envision a medical facility that doesn't fight to extend life, but rather enables it along in the opposite direction. But that's what hospice is meant to be.

Jim, I have been blessed to know you. You have always been a pleasant person to be around, and you have helped us out with some projects that required a craftsman's touch. Your willingness to give of your skill and time was appreciated more than you know. Your faith and service to the Lord has been inspirational.

When you finally step through the door we all must face one day, it will be with the welcoming words, “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I shall set you over much; enter the joy of your Lord.”

God bless.

Merry Christmas

It's been a while since I last visited my thoughts upon this page. This time of year is usually less geared toward creative pursuits, and it's not just because of the imminence of Christmas. The truncated days, the cold air, the entrapment of snow and ice all seem to conspire to make me want to just sit on the couch and watch Seinfeld reruns while munching on granola cereal.

Call it the winter blues. Call it SAD. Call it whatever you want.

It all leads to the same thing.

It would appear that we are an angry people growing angrier every year.

The recent shootings in Connecticut would bear witness to that. To call the young man who perpetrated that heinous act disturbed would be to damn him with faint praise. He was totally self-absorbed; he committed a crime of absolute selfishness and depravity.

He was evil because that's what evil is.

People are blaming it on guns, video games, mental illness, bad parenting. The arguments have gotten shrill in some corners.

I suspect there are people in this country who view the evil one (I refuse to mention his name) as some sort of conquering warrior who broke with convention and marched to his own dark, glorious drumbeat. Can there really be any disagreement with my suspicion?

Four elements comprise humans; the physical, the emotional, the mental and the spiritual.

The intertwining of these four elements is complex and varied. Each one requires stimulation, exercise, growth, and the lack of proper stewardship of any of the elements leads to problems.

Atheists will deny this vehemently, but because we are spiritual beings, our inmost self cries out for a god. If that need is not fulfilled by God, then any other god will do. It may be money, power or celebrity.

It may be self.

But we all have something we worship because we are spiritual beings.

That was the whole point of what the serpent in the garden of Eden was trying to do to the human race through Adam and Eve - get them to take their focus off God and place it on themselves through temptation.

It's really amazing that the human race has lasted as long as it has given that its utter focus on self leads to utter chaos. How can it be otherwise?

When all that matters is ourselves, then it changes our view of the world and all our fellow travelers.

You can call it sin; I do.

And what we witness on a regular basis, not just with massacres of innocent children, but through the daily headlines of war, crime, debauchery, greed and self-absorption is the result of the entropy of sin.

Mankind, on its own without the power of God, will always settle down to its lowest common denominator. The laws of thermodynamics, though originally conceived to describe the physical world, work well within the spiritual realm also.

We are on a direct course to our own destruction.

Maybe with a bang. Maybe with a whimper. But unveering, nonetheless.

God help us.

Misty Water-Colored Memories

I pulled out my high school yearbook in order to look up some folks who have become friends on Facebook. They weren't necessarily friends in high school, but you know how this social networking stuff works.

I wanted to see what they looked like 34 years ago and try to establish a context for them with regards to who I knew and interacted with back in those tumultuous teen years.

Leafing through the book I, of course, recognized many names and fewer faces. There were quite a few pictures where I know I knew the person, but wasn't sure how. A good number of the memory connections have apparently long since evaporated over the three-plus decades.

This isn't astounding to me as I realize that my memory circuits aren't in as good repair as they used to be. My recall at my current age of 53 isn't as quick and effortless as it was even five years ago. Maybe my mind has grown lazy. Maybe it's just a natural result of aging. I sometimes wonder if I've accumulated too much over my life and have run out of brain room to store it all.

I was looking through some team pictures in the yearbook and reading the names in the caption below the picture in order to match them with the faces. Then when I moved to one particular person, I said to myself, "Oh, that's Brenda Aceto." What's strange about this is that she wasn't a friend of mine, and I don't remember having much interaction with her at all over those three years.

Browsing through the senior pictures, I realized that there weren't very many attractive girls in my class. I guess the butch look was in at the time, for there were a lot of very short hair styles to the point where I couldn't tell if the picture and name were mismatched. Some of those girls were decidedly guyish in their looks.

Come to think of it, there weren't many good-looking fellows, either. I include myself in this.

Maybe it was the high school atmosphere. Maybe it's because it was Maine and not southern California or Florida. Maybe it had something to do with the 1970s. Whatever the reason, few in my class would have been admitted to beauty contests.

Does this statement make me shallow? Hey, I'm an artist. I notice esthetics.

It's all irrelevant now anyway, and I won't even mention the male teachers with plaid pants.

Speaking of teachers, a few years ago I ran into an old high school biology teacher at a Little League game. I was there to watch my nephew play, and he was there to watch a grandson.

We talked for a while, and he insisted that he remembered me. I think he was just being congenial because I can't think of a single reason why he would remember me. Anyway, I asked him about wearing ties with rugby shirts in class because I recall that about him. He said no, it wasn't him and maybe it was one of the other science teachers.

I let it go, though I'm fairly certain it was him.

We both remember it differently, and who's to say who's right?

Probably me, but I wouldn't bet on it.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

The older one gets, the more time seems to slip away unnoticed.

Many people my age and beyond have made the statement that time just goes faster and faster. It's as much a lament as an observation, for time is a constant. It really comes down to how we perceive it.

I was looking through some ads the other day going over what had been done in the past when I saw a reference to a dealership my employer used to own. That ad was dated 2004 which startled me a little. Eight years have elapsed since those days of selling Chevrolets, then turning around and selling the franchise to a competitor.

Eight years doesn't seem like much unless one is eight years old. But it's a significant portion of time and much has happened since then.

My wife and I met with an old college friend and his wife last weekend to pick apples. When Bob asked me how long it had been since we last saw each other, I told him thirty years. We fell silent for a minute contemplating that. There was no wringing of hands and teary-eyed statements about time flying by. However, we both seemed to be struck by the magnitude of it. After all, thirty years is ... THIRTY YEARS!
 
We picked up with each other as if it had only been a few weeks and had a good time.

I know that my father-in-law passed away four and a half years ago, but it still seems somewhat fresh even if I contemplate everything that has happened in the time since. And I see people post regularly on Facebook about loved ones dying knowing full well that there will come a day when they will move beyond the mourning only to look back and say, "Has it really been that long since Nana died?"

Yes, the time warp will stun them as well.

I liken it all to building a skyscraper. Every year of one's life is a story. The more stories that are built, the further away from street level one gets making it all become indistinct.

The irony, I suppose, is that aging seems to make even more recent years become blurry much faster than they did before.

Perhaps that's because we've built our skyscrapers into the clouds.

That would explain this fog that seems to fill my mind more often.

Where has the day gone?

What's in Store?

I like the grocery store.

Is this strange?

Many aisles of all sorts of wonderful packaged, fresh and frozen foods, it's a veritable panoply of colors, textures, design and choice. Some stores even have a darker decor in the produce section creating something of a dramatic presentation under cannily placed specific lighting.

The frozen food section is slightly chilly as is produce. And the whole store is air conditioned on hot days, so it can be an escape from turgid outdoor temps.

It can't be just any grocery store. For instance, the grocery section of the Wal-Mart SuperCenter is fine for shopping, but it doesn't have the cachet I prefer. I'm also not talking about "warehouse" stores like BJs Wholesale Club or Sam's Club, or small, small-town grocery stores, though some of the IGAs or A&Ps (if they still exist) can be something of a throwback in time.

No, I'm talking about the modern major chains, the Hannafords, Krogers, Food Lions, Shaws, etc.

I know there are others, but I haven't seen them. I'll assume they are all similar to a certain extent.

This isn't to say that I always look forward to going to a grocery store. There are times it's just another errand, rushed and tiring. And it's not something I want to do every day.

But now and then, if I'm not rushed and the store's not crowded, it's sort of nice to wander the aisles in a relaxed manner and chat with whoever is with me.

I know a grocery store that has fake trees 'growing' up out of the floor in the produce section. Isn't that sort of cool?

The Food Lion in the town where my wife's parents used to live was a Winn Dixie before it was sold. Food Lion remodeled the whole store and it's much nicer now. It also brings back some pleasant memories of the times we made grocery runs there when visiting.

The Hannford's that was built about four miles from our home is much more convenient than the small grocery we once frequented in the neighboring town. Now that there's a choice of stores, we can opt for the advantages of either. Hannaford's usually wins out as it carries much more inventory, and it's a larger, more pleasant store.

Modern marketing has created a rough template of store layouts with necessity items placed well behind more impulsive purchase products. Even so, different stores are designed a little differently with each one establishing its own flavor, so to speak.

Most grocery stores now have their own bakeries, though I have to say that a small independent bakery usually produces a better product than the grocery stores create.

I don't know. Reading through this... I don't really think I've made a strong case as to why I like grocery stores. Guess I'm not really sure as to why this is, and maybe it doesn't matter anyway.

Some things really don't need explaining.

Yooooouuuuuukkkkkk!

With yesterday's trade of Kevin Youkilis to the Chicago White Sox, there remains only one player from the 2004 World Series winning team still on the current Boston Red Sox roster.

That player is designated hitter David Ortiz.

The players that made up the team of "idiots" which stayed loose enough to excel in the post-season have slowly attrited since due to trades, free agency or retirement.

Here is how the list breaks down on when the players left the Red Sox.

Nomar Garciaparra traded mid-2004 season.

2004 last season with Sox:  Scott Williamson, Orlando Cabrera, Derek Lowe, Doug Mientkiewicz, Pokey Reese, Dave Roberts and Pedro Martinez.

2005 last season with Sox: Alan Embree, Bronson Arroyo, Mark Bellhorn, Bill Mueller, Johnny Damon, Kevin Millar and  Dave McCarty

2006 last season with Sox: Trot Nixon, Gabe Kapler and Keith Foulke

2007 last season with Sox:  Curt Schilling and Doug Mirabelli

2008 last season with Sox:  Manny Ramirez and Mike Timlin

2011 last season with Sox:  Tim Wakefield and Jason Varitek

And now, in 2012, we say goodbye to Kevin Youkilis understanding that this may also be the last year of the sole remaining member of the historical 2004 team.

As with all good stories, there's a wistfulness that comes at the end, for the desire really is for the story to continue indefinitely. Major League Baseball and the player's union put an end to indefinite stories years ago with the advent of free agency. Prior to that, it wasn't uncommon for players to spend their whole careers with one team.  Now it's highly unlikely.

Carl Yastrzemski started his baseball career in 1961 with the Boston Red Sox. He retired from baseball in 1983. For all of those 22 years, he played for only one team.

There was a a time when you could purchase the shirt of a favorite player and pretty much expect to keep it for his whole career. Now when one purchases a player shirt, it may only be relevant for the next three years. It sort of makes me wonder how many people opt to update the shirts of favorite players as they move around from team to team. Not many, I suppose.

Kevin Youkilis was a homegrown talent, coming up through the Sox' farm system. He played eight and a half years with the Sox, the first couple years seeing irregular playing time. In 2006, he agreed to move from his third base position to cover first base and became a regular.

The last few years have seen Youkilis missing significant amounts of playing time due to injury.

And now, with very little fanfare, Youk is donning a Chicago White Sox uniform.

He's still in the game, but an era is definitely winding down. It was an era that finally shook the much-referenced Curse of the Bambino, and did so in wildly dramatic fashion, particularly in the American League Championship Series.

The band of "idiots" sang together, played together, drank together and seemed like a throwback to an age when players actually enjoyed the game. Now it all seems so business-like so much of the time that I sometimes wonder if it has any soul left.

All good stories come to an end, and the characters move on.

Fans of the Boston Red Sox were privileged in 2004 to witness one of the greatest stories ever told by Major League Baseball. Now it's almost time to turn the last page and put the book up for good.

Threads of an Old Life

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold.

~ Frodo, The Return of the King

Eastern Nazarene College of Quincy, Massachusetts is my alma mater. It was my school - my home - for four and a half years thirty years ago.

I was there yesterday for most of the day.

My wife and I drove down for a regional Bible quizzing tournament in which our youngest son was participating.

May has always been a most pleasant time of the year to be on campus. It usually means very fine weather, the buzz of seniors graduating, the silencing of the educational halls so busy during the year - a time for reflection and rejoicing and the simple appreciation of a beautiful environment in full throes of new birth.

The tournament was held after students and graduating seniors had already vacated the school, so the only denizens were the quizzers and their organizers. Even without the normal complement of college co-eds, the campus was alive with activity for a few days as teenagers from Virginia to Maine gathered for this major event of their competitive year.

When we weren't actually observing the competitions, my wife and I walked around the campus and I pointed out various items of interest. It occurs to me that everything I said was meaningless to her, but I dowsed us both in remembered lore and trivia. She was patient.

I kept looking around for familiar faces from my era that would ignite the whole nostalgia launch; maybe Dave and Karen, Frank or Sherrie - I had seen them all at tournaments in previous years. But they were strangely absent this time around. So I took pictures of buildings and landscapes - pictures I had taken before. I guess maybe I thought I needed more of the same.

We ate lunch with Ed and Kelly, both of whom attended ENC a few years after I graduated. In the course of conversation I asked Ed what he thought about being there, and he gave me a knowing smile and made a few comments about how it was sort of strange. I agreed and said that it was foreign, but familiar.

As I walked through the student center later, past the mailboxes, into the Dugout and Fish Bowl, I could hear the sounds of teenagers hanging out and chatting or watching television as they lounged between quiz meets. But I couldn't hear even the faintest of echoes from the past of the activity I knew when I attended ENC no matter how hard I tried to mentally construct it.

The building faces, with few exceptions, are unchanged over the decades, though the interiors may have been remade to someone else's mad design dreams. But where walking back from work late at night usually brought a quickening at first sight of a hummingly lit student center, now there's only a blank stare.

What I once knew as a community alive with creativity and activity, thrills and heartbreak has become cold and sterile, a museum piece to be observed, even touched, but never ever entered into again, at least not wholly. Maybe this sense would be different were the campus fully populated.

I doubt it, though.

I used to own a space of that school, owned it for four and a half years.

But now, after thirty years, I realize that I was really just borrowing that space the entire time I was there, and what I thought I had owned had really owned me. Then it let me go and moved on leaving me to try and figure out what all those threads used to mean.

I know of two more future visits to the school, one for a reunion and the other for my son's last year of quizzing. Then after that, my time there should be totally done as I see no other reason to return.

Not even for memory's sake.