Anticipation

“We can never know about the days to come

But we think about them anyway”

(Anticipation, Carly Simon)

I am lousy at waiting.  Always have been.  Ask anyone who knows me well and they will tell you that I am lousy when it comes to waiting.  Anticipation kills me.

The daughter is in millionth week of pregnancy and has a due date of June 27^th to bring into the world our newest granddaughter—Finley Kate.  Yeppers, the family is expanding, though being heavily dominated at this time with females.  Though June 27^th is the predicted date for the arrival, reality is starting to push for a much earlier arrival . . . like in the next week.  The daughter is terribly uncomfortable . . . and, who wouldn’t be carrying around a bowling ball that seems to protrude to infinity and beyond.  It makes me uncomfortable to watch her waddle around.  She is tired of pregnancy . . . her husband is tired of pregnancy—especially those looks that tell him that it is his fault!  Even the future sister is tired of the pregnancy . . . she wants her mother’s lap back.  Thus it is that the whole family is experiencing great anticipation of the blessed event . . .

. . . and, it is killing me!

When the wife was pregnant with our first child the doctor gave us a due date for when our son would be born.  I appreciated that.  It gave me time to plan out my life . . . time to get ready.  In my mind I knew exactly when and where the birth would take place . . . the damn doctor lied.  The kid didn’t show up for nearly two week after the due date.  In fact, they had to induce the wife to get the stubborn child to make his appearance into the world.  It nearly killed me having to wait . . . having to anticipate.  Every little moan or groan from the wife had me throwing the suitcase in the car and rushing her out . . . usually to no avail.  The anticipation in that first pregnancy nearly killed me.

With the next three kids I told the doctor to not even mention a date . . . not even a good guesstimate . . . I didn’t want to know.  I didn’t want to be set up for frustration when the due date came and went on by.  Kids come when they want to and no due date is going to keep them from coming whenever that might be.  The wife will tell you that I threatened bodily harm to the poor doctor if she even whispered a date . . . I didn’t want to know.  The anticipation would kill me, so I opted for ignorance . . . as they say, ignorance is bliss and I was going to be the most blissful person during the pregnancies of my last three children.

And, I survived . . . I am here.  I am here and now waiting, again, for another birth.  I am filled with anticipation . . . and, it is killing me.  I think the daughter is getting tired of her father asking her every day about how she is doing . . . how she is feeling . . . is the darn kid here yet!  The daughter and son-in-law are pretty down-to-earth when it comes to this whole pregnancy . . . after one they seem to think that they are pretty much pros at it . . . but, I am speaking from experience and four kids . . . I know that the anticipation is killing them.  I know that they are ready for this kid to make an appearance so that everyone else can get back to some sort of normalcy.  I know because I am speaking from experience.

Anticipation . . . sucks!

As Carly Simon sings, “We can never know about the days to come.”  And, we don’t.  We don’t know what the next moment holds until it actually happens.  Life just seems to roll at its own pace . . . children make their appearances into the world when they are good and ready . . . and, everyone waits.  Everyone anticipates . . . but, no one knows.  Which is why Ms. Simon also sings, “But we think about them anyway.”  Because we do, we create this anticipation in our lives.  It is a terrible Catch-22 for all of us.

The song, Anticipation, is about a relationship that the singer has with someone that she loves.  Apparently it is a pretty good relationship because the singer is thinking about what the future holds for the relationship . . . she anticipates what it could be; but she really doesn’t know.  She does not whether the guy will stick around . . . whether she will stick around; but she thinks about what is to come.  The anticipation is messing up her life.  It does it to all of us.

I vouch for that.  The wife will vouch for that.  I was a grumpy person whenever we got close to the due date.  I wasn’t grumpy with the wife . . . I was grumpy that my expectations about what I was anticipating were not panning out as I thought they would.  Grumpy that I could not control the whole blessed event.  Grumpy that I was pretty much helpless.  As I said, I do not handle anticipation well. 

So far, I am doing pretty well.  I am rooting for the newest granddaughter to make her appearance earlier than predicted.  I have things to do . . . people to see . . . places to go . . . and, this waiting to see when everything is going to take place is killing me.  It is killing everybody, especially the daughter who is tired of being pregnant.  It brings back memories of the wife and I waiting for our children to make their appearance on the scene.  It really does.

The funny thing, or should I say the peculiar thing, is that as the wife and I reflect back on those days . . . they were the good ol’ days.  They really were.  We tell our now adult children stories about their births into the world . . . funny stories . . . miraculous stories . . . and, we do so with tears in our eyes and lots of laughter.  It is usually a bittersweet moment that we can never experience again, but one that we are now sharing with them . . . especially our daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter.  Though we may not realize it in the moment, these, too, are the good ol’ days. 

Anticipation has a way of blinding us to the present moment . . . has a way of stealing the moment.  The truth is that more than the actual experience of what we are anticipating is the moment that stands as the prelude . . . the waiting in the present time.  It is there that the gift is found . . . that the gift is experienced, embraced, and made into the story that we cherish.  In my maturing years I have discovered this secret; yet, the anticipation still kills me!

I'm no prophet, I don't know natures way

So I'll try to see into your eyes right now

And stay right here, 'cause these are the good old days.

And, so, we wait . . . anticipation.  Yeah, these are the good ol’ days!

Complex Commodes

There are basic necessities in every person’s life.  Answering the call of Mother Nature is one of those necessities.  I know that it is a call that I never ignore . . . I always answer.  Yet, I have never given much thought to the ascetics of where I answer that call.  Typically if there is a place where I can relief myself, I am happy.  A simple procedure of taking care of business, a flush, and I am on my way.  I am a happy camper . . . or at least I thought I was.

I recently stumbled upon an article about high tech commodes that are quite popular in Japan and parts of Europe.  These commodes are high tech . . . they are filled with such luxurious amenities as heated seats, sound effects, built-in bidets and lids that raise automatically.  They come with MP3 players . . . . places to plug in you iPod or iPhone . . . button galore.  Suddenly taking a break in the library of the house has turned into a high tech adventure.

Now, I am of the generation that did not have to use an outhouse to take care of business when Mother Nature called . . . I avoided the duplicity of the Sears and Roebuck catalog in which one could read before finishing up business with the pages just read . . . I avoided the use of corn cobs as a replacement for the Sears and Roebuck catalog . . . and, splinters in the rear.  Luckily I grew up in the generation that had access to the porcelain throne with running water and a functioning sewer system . . . the “thunder dome”.  I have always been a “flushable” sort of guy.  It seems that the next generation of toilets comes with an instruction manual . . . I am not sure that I am ready for that.  Heck, I just learned to master the stereo system in my car!

According to the article I read, nearly all the toilets in Japan are high tech.  The lid automatically lifts when a person enters the room . . . it has sound effects (I am not sure if thunder is one of them, but I read that applause is one of the sound effects . . . just what I need . . . applause when I have a successful bowel movement!) . . . it will play music . . . it warms up so that the buns do not get cold . . . even comes with a remote control.  Shoot, I have not even figured out how to use the remote control for my television and now there is a remote for the toilet! And, the greatest feature of these new high tech toilets is that they are environmentally kind . . . they can be adapted to be paper-free . . . they come with a bidet.

Aw . . . the bidet!  We westerners . . . us Americans . . . are not accustomed to the bidet.  A bidet is a reverse spray that sprays once a person is done with the bathroom duty . . . . sprays the rear end.  Not just any bidet, but bidets that can provide a variety of sprays to clean the rear.  You decide, oscillating or pulsating . . . whatever gets you through the night . . . is available.  Just punch it in on the remote.  Heck, I am still trying to figure out how to turn on the darn remote!  Personally, I am not sure I am ready for anything to squirt my butt . . . oscillating or pulsating . . . seems a little obscene to me.

I affectionately refer to the bathroom in our house as the “library”.  I have found the bathroom to be one of the few places in the house where one can find solitarity.  It is the place where I can escape, be away from everyone else, and enjoy the time I have alone . . . an introvert’s dream.  In the “library” I have the opportunity to read . . . contemplate . . . dream . . . and, take a dump.  Now, I could get into a heated seat . . . especially in the winter when the temperature outside is a negative thirty in Montana . . . everyone appreciates warm buns.  With a high tech toilet I could add music to the mix . . . probably Internet access . . . shoot!  I probably would never come out of the house library if I had options like that.

Of course, the people selling these high tech commodes claim that this toilet will improve people’s lives . . . make it easier.  They even claim that in the future the toilets will be able to give advice about diet and exercise.  Just what I need . . . another wife! 

The rumor is that these toilets are slowly making their way into the United States.  They are beginning to show up more and more in states like California . . . the hippy, liberal, communistic state . . . especially around Hollywood.  They are gaining in popularity.  Especially as they become more complicated.  They say that the toilets in Japan can perform urinalysis from the deposits made . . . report them to a person’s personal computer . . . and, get the ball rolling towards a healthier life.  If they could do the annual income tax forms . . . well, I might consider it.  Especially if they could put Turbo Tax out of business.

Now, I have to admit . . . I like what technology has to offer; but, at the same time, I am not sure that I am ready for technology to completely step into my life and regulate my answers to the call of nature.  I am not too sure I want to have my deposit analyzed.  My buns have gotten used to the cold seat.  I do not need sound effects . . . I produce plenty of my own.  I do not need music to sooth my soul . . . especially since I have not figured out whether or not it is to mask sounds made in the “thunder dome” or to relax people as they take care of business.  And, lastly . . . why in the world would I want another remote control in my life!

So, I am going to pass on the high tech toilet . . . as fascinating at it might be.  I think that I have it pretty good with what I have . . . solitude . . . plenty of reading material . . . and, a seat that fits my equipment.  As nice as it is that I could listen to music that I have chosen to take care of business . . . I make plenty of music while I am taking care of business,  The porcelain throne that occupies the homestead bathroom is good enough for me . . . . it beats the Sears and Roebuck catalog . . . beats corn cobs.  I don’t need a spray or squirt of water at the end of the deed.  To be honest, I am pretty happy with my present arrangement as antiquated as it might be.  It gets the job done.

I appreciate the hard work that others are doing to make my life easier . . . even when it comes to taking a dump.  Yet, at the same time, I am not too sure I am ready to step . . . or should I say, sit down to . . . a high tech toilet.  Shoot!  I just learned how to hang toilet paper correctly!  Plus, I do not need another remote control in my life!

To answer the question of the article: Are you ready for the toilet of the future?  My answer is . . . “NO!”  At my age I do not need people messing up one of the few bodily functions I appreciate.  I do not need a toilet telling my current health conditions.  I do not need music to get the job done.  I do not need sound effects.  I do not need a warm seat . . . or a toilet that lights up when I enter the room.  I need none of this high tech stuff to get the job done.  Until the federal government mandates high tech toilets, I am going to enjoy the freedom I know . . . . besides, my body really does not care where I get rid of the bodily waste . . . it only wants me to get rid of it.  Besides, I have a wife that will tell me everything I need to know.     

Ask Yourself . . . Do You Feel Lucky?

I did not realize, until this weekend, that this year was the 50^th anniversary of the classic Clint Eastwood film, A Fist Full of Dollars.  This is the epitome of the spaghetti westerns . . . the standard for all the others to follow.  This was the movie of the “man with no name”.  Wow!  I am getting old . . . I never realized how long ago that movie came out.  It was the movie that launched a career.

I am in that generation that caught the tail end of the great westerns.  The movies and television shows with John Wayne, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers . . . Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Bonanza, Rifle Man, and the Lone Ranger.  Trust me, as a kid, those movies and shows made an impact on me . . . my imagination ran wild as I created western after western in my daily play.  I longed to be a cowboy . . . still do. 

Of course, I did not want to grow up to be a singing cowboy like Roy Rogers or Gene Autry . . . first of all, even at a young age, I realized I could not carry a tune in a bucket much less sing; second of all, it didn’t quite seem realistic to see some cowboy sitting on a horse singing to a bunch of cows.  Seems kind of wimpy to me.  At first I really wanted to be like the Lone Ranger and have a side kick like Tonto . . . but that seemed silly to me . . . to be riding around with a mask . . . and, where in the world would I get all of those silver bullets.  John Wayne . . . well, what can I say?  What youngster didn’t want to grow up to be the “Duke”?  John Wayne was the epitome of the cowboy . . . at least for a generation raised on being a good guy; but then there came “the man with no name” . . . the spaghetti western . . . and, Clint Eastwood.  John Wayne was supposed to be the strong silent type of cowboy, but compared to Clint Eastwood, John Wayne was a regular jabber mouth.  Clint Eastwood was who I wanted to be.

Years ago, Willie Nelson and his buddy, Waylon Jennings, sang the song that explained it all about being a cowboy . . . Mamma, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.  They got it right.  They told the truth about cowboys.  Remember these lyrics:

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks

Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

They'll never stay home and they're always alone

Even with someone they love

Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold

And they'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold

Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levis

And each night begins a new day

And if you don't understand him and he don't die young

You'll probably just ride away

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks

Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

They'll never stay home and they're always alone

Even with someone they love

Cowboys like smoky old pool rooms, clear mountain mornings

Little warm puppies and children, girls of the night

And them that don't know him won't like him and them that do

Sometimes won't know how to take him

He ain't wrong, he's just different but his pride won't let him

Do things to make you think he's right

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks

Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

They'll never stay home and they're always alone

Even with someone they love

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

Don't let 'em pick guitars and drive them old trucks

Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

I wanted to be a cowboy and I wanted to be a cowboy like ol’ Waylon and Willie sang about . . . I wanted to be a cowboy like the man with no name . . . like Clint Eastwood.  Eastwood was the more realistic cowboy.  John Wayne was good, but John Wayne was . . . well, he was more civilized.  John Wayne lived among people . . . had a ranch . . . socialized . . . talked . . . even had a wife in a lot of his movies.  He was an extrovert.  Clint, well . . . he stayed away from people because people always seemed to mess up his life . . . if he had a ranch someone always seemed to take it away, thus he was a loner . . . he socialized when he had to socialize, but for the most part he pretty much stayed to himself . . . talk, that is a laugh.  If he spoke more than a hundred lines in a movie I would be surprised.  A wife?  Has hell froze over?  Clint Eastwood was an introvert.  He was a real cowboy just like Waylon and Willie sang about.

I transitioned from the “golden age” of cowboys into the more realistic age of cowboys.  Now, don’t get me wrong, the “golden age” of cowboys caught my heart and imagination, but it was the beginning of the spaghetti westerns that stole my heart.  It was the era of the introvert as hero . . . or, should I say, anti-hero.  That was the sort of cowboy I wanted to be . . . and, in all honesty, still long to be. 

Since John Wayne and Clint Eastwood there have not been a whole lot of new role models for being a cowboy.  Oh sure, Kevin Costner attempted to put out a couple of westerns (Dances Like Wolves and Open Range) that were pretty good movies, but he couldn’t bump the two big boys off the pedestal.  I guess we humans have a tendency to gravitate towards those things that are the most like us . . . John Wayne, the extrovert and shining white knight—I mean, cowboy, was nice; but, being an introvert . . . Clint Eastwood was a loner!

I am beginning to get a little too old to be a cowboy . . . but, I have moved to Montana.  Montana is pretty close to being a cowboy haven . . . maybe not in actual cowboying, but in attitude.  There are not a lot of people . . . there is a whole lot of empty space to get lost in . . . and, the people here are pretty darn independent.  Sounds a whole lot more like a cowboy than a state like California.  The wife, years ago, acknowledged my desire to be a cowboy . . . she gave me a children’s book about cowboys, and then told me—more or less—to get over it.  Yet, the longing is still there.

I feel lucky.  I feel lucky that I can go and get in my pick-up truck and drive off into the landscape . . . out into the open country . . . to view God’s handiwork up close.  I feel lucky that I can stop at some small town’s local restaurant/bar and grab a quick lunch and beer among some real cowboys.  I feel lucky that I can . . . well, imagine that for a few hours out in the country, driving my pick-up, feel like a cowboy . . . feel like Clint Eastwood.  Sometimes I even put in the sound track from a Fist Full of Dollars by Ennio Morricone just to feel like a Clint Eastwood sort of cowboy.  Who would have ever thought that it would be an Italian, Sergio Leone, who made the epitome of the classic American cowboy?

Mostly, though, I feel lucky to have had the opportunity to dream . . . to dream of being a cowboy.  Lucky to be around to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the classic spaghetti western, A Fist Full of Dollars . . . and, to have that dream rekindled.  I am not sure the wife will be ready for this revival . . . but, hey!  She should have known better . . . I warned her.  As I told her . . . “Go ahead, make my day!”  I feel lucky.

Day Late, Dollar Short

A day late . . . a dollar short.  Isn't that the story for a lot of us?  In my birthday trip into Yellowstone National Park it seemed as I was always a day late and a dollar short.  It seemed as if I missed the most spectacular  critters by a few minutes everywhere that I went in the park.  Now, I did have lots of luck too, but I did miss some pretty spectacular scenes with the wildlife.  It never fails . . . no matter how much I seem to prepare, I always came up short of that spectacular picture.
 
That seems the way that it is going for a lot of us right now . . . we are coming up a day late and a dollar short.  But life doesn't play by our rules . . . life does what life wants to do when it wants to do it.  In the midst of graduation celebrations . . . in the joy of spring finally bursting forth . . . death was seen hanging around . . . peeking around the corner.  News was shared during worship that the mother of one of our members was not doing well and that it would only be a matter of time . . . another member learned later that evening that his father would probably not make it much longer. Another member shared that she had lost to cancer her beloved pet.   News was shared of a death in the community.  Prayers were lifted up for those who were away from home and traveling.  News was shared about impeding surgeries and surgeries that were performed.  Not quite the news one thinks of when gathering for worship and praising God . . . but, life doesn't play fair . . . it has to do what it has to do . . . the journey goes on.
 
And, we know it.

We know it . . . we prepare for it, yet no matter how well we think we are for what life has to throw at any of us, we still feel a day late and a dollar short.  We feel like we have missed that opportunity . . . that moment.  But, have we?  Or have we just come to the realization that we are helpless in the situations that arise in our lives . . . situations that damper the celebration of life . . . that make us come to realize how precious and valuable life and others really are to each of us?  I am not sure.

I was not in the presence of either of my parents when they died . . . the distance was too far and the notice too short . . . I only arrived after it was all said and done.  And, to be honest, I lamented that time in my life because a good child would have been there . . . a good child would have held his or her dying parent's hand, whispered silent prayers, and hopefully said what needed to be said . . . I love you.  But, I was not there . . . I was a day late and a dollar short.  Yet, with perfect twenty/twenty vision, I came to realize that it would not have made any difference . . . my parents both knew that I loved them . . . that I would miss them . . . and, that there would be a great void in my life and the lives of my family.  And, it was okay because they knew.

Yet, we still feel a day late and a dollar short.  I am not sure that there are any words . . . any prayers that could be uttered . . . that will change that feeling for most of us.  Only time and grace seem to make a difference.  All I know is that if I could have been there, I would have been there; but, I couldn't.  Years later, it is okay . . . for all of us it will be okay.
My prayers are simple for those who are facing death at their door . . . you are not a lone.  God is with you.  We are with you.  May God's tender mercies surround you wherever you are in this journey of life . . . mercy and grace.  You are not a day late . . . you are not a dollar short . . . you are a child of God and God will be with you no matter when you show up.  You have done the best that you can do . . . we all do.  God knows it . . . our loved ones know it.  That should be enough.