We left for the Brisbane airport at 9:30 a.m., Monday, Oct. 20 with a stopover in Sydney and then on to Hawaii. 10 coffees, 5 meals, 3 movies, 2 shuttles, 22 hrs, 10 minutes later, we arrived Honolulu at 7:40 a.m., Oct. 20, 1 hr, 50 minutes before we departed. Go figure! At my age, I wish these kinds of time calculations occurred every day. Gaining approximately 2 hours every day, next year this time I would be 30 days younger. Now that’s my definition of “extending.”
After breakfast (I was asleep on the plane when breakfast was served) and a sugar-free, vanilla latte, it was off to Kuhio Beach for that rejuvenating swim under the swaying coconut palms—a taste of heaven-on-earth. Think about it: A place of “healing waters,” thirst-quenching rivers” and “life-giving trees” where “time will be no more” (Revelation 22). Those of you still trying to untangle from the Hairball, see what you have to look forward to? We, the retired sanctified, are just a wee bit closer.
I barely missed the cut and was able to retire at age 65 (extensions began immediately thereafter), followed now by almost 7 years of “heaven-on-earth” bliss. During those 65 years I spent most of my time, as MacKenzie says in Orbiting, “daubing more or less inside the lines.” For the first time, during these 7 years, I have felt entirely free to paint my masterpiece unencumbered by the Hairball.
He goes on to write, “The stifled strokes of paint had nothing to do with me. They did not illustrate who I am or speak of whom I could become. I felt duped, cheated, ashamed—anguished that I had wasted so much canvas, so much paint. I was angry that I had been conned into doing so.”
“But that is the past. Passed.”
“Today I wield a wider brush—pure ox-bristle. And I’m swooping it through the sensuous goo of Cadmium Yellow, Alizarin Crimson or Ultramarine Blue (not 4, 13 or 8) to create the biggest, brightest, funniest, fiercest damn dragon that I can. Because that has more to do with what’s inside of me than some prescribed plagiarism of somebody else’s tour de force.”
I can echo a loud “Amen!” to that.
He goes on to write, “You have a masterpiece inside you, too, you know. One unlike any that has ever been created, or ever will be. And remember:”
“If you go to your grave
without painting
your masterpiece
it will not
get painted.
No one else
can paint it.
Only you.”
So it’s back to the heavenly drawing board for me, free from the threat of those Hairball limiting “extensions.” I’m actually painting “The River of Life” right now. Mine is filled with sugar-free, non-fat vanilla lattes! And without the hassle of a Hairball controlled petty cash reimbursement, mind you. I wonder what yours might look like?
Showing posts with label Retirement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Retirement. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Friday, October 5, 2007
Septuagenarian!
Most evenings we sit on the Beach in Waikiki watching the sun set out over the Pacific Rim. It never grows old. Tourist flock by the busload to look, cameras clicking, fingers pointing, smiles forming. As the sun slides beneath the horizon, there is an audible “ahhhh!” heard all around, a beauty to behold.
It occurred to me that many of those sunset gazers are also in the sunset years of their lives, yours truly included – “sun-setters” watching the sun setting. When others behold us, is it with the same awe, wonder and dignity? I wonder.
This wonder thought came about because someone called me a septuagenarian the other day, sounds like a cuss word. Had to look it up to make sure: “sep-tu-a-ge-nar-i-an” (noun) “somebody in 8th decade of life – between 70 and 79.” Contrary to popular thinking, it is not synonymous with senility. “se-nil-i-ty: “forgetful, confused, or otherwise mentally less acute in later life.”
It gets worse. Doris took our granddaughters to school the other morning. In conversation on the way, the middle one asked, “Did grandpa go to Abraham Lincoln’s funeral, too?” This came up because they were discussing my attendance at a memorial service following Martin Luther King’s assassination. Ouch!
It doesn’t stop there. We recently paid a visit to The Salvation Army’s cemetery plot in San Francisco to pay our respects. It became readily apparent that we know more people dead than alive – a sobering discovery.
Lately, this beginning septuagenarian has become acutely aware (as opposed to mentally less acute) of people’s perceptions toward we who are approaching the proverbial “four-score-and-ten” mark. In my church, when an Officer (ordained minister) reaches Social Security age, he/she loses his/her “full-time” ministerial effectiveness. A miraculous transformation occurs, with a “reverse metamorphoses” taking place at midnight on retirement day. Voila! 11:59 p.m., productive, 12:01 a.m., passé, snap, just like that.
There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow (Eccl 1:11 NIV). Preach it, brother!
Believe it or not, there are grown, intelligent people in my church who avocationally track the retirement dates of those in leadership. Why, they even have wallet-sized cards along with formulas that will predict who will replace these retiring leaders, and with some accuracy, I might add. Imagine that?
Stop! Hold it! Wait a minute! Do you realize how important we septuagenarians are to the world economy? Without us, the Viagra industry would be in deep you know what? Pharmaceutical companies would be crying, “Uncle!” The cruise industry would be going down for the third time. Think about charitable giving. The average age of donors is well up into the sixth decade.
Could the church survive without us? Check out tithing statistics by age category. Who would they turn to when there is a clergy breakdown (in my ecclesiastical part of the world anyway)? The headlines read, “Congregations Facing Clergy Shortage.” In some denominations, “more than half the pastors of congregations are in their second career.” “Quality not quantity,” I hear it said, ad nauseam. Rationalization be damned!
You want quality? Septuagenarians arise! “Golden Agers” unite! He who has the gold, rules! Flex those atrophying muscles (and wallets)! Rebuke those patronizing attitudes! Censure those condescending postures! Join with us, octogenarians. Take up your staffs!
Moses and Aaron did just as the LORD commanded them. Moses was eighty years old and Aaron eighty-three when they spoke to Pharaoh. The LORD said to Moses and Aaron, “When Pharaoh says to you, 'Perform a miracle,' then say to Aaron, 'Take your staff and throw it down before Pharaoh,' and it will become a snake.” (Ex 7:6-9 NIV)
Read on in Exodus for the rest of the story, if you don’t know it already. What might have happened had God sent two youngsters to confront Pharaoh? You don’t even want to think about it. Want quality and quantity? Look no further!
Now, if I can only remember where I put that blasted cane, staff, whatever you call it!
It occurred to me that many of those sunset gazers are also in the sunset years of their lives, yours truly included – “sun-setters” watching the sun setting. When others behold us, is it with the same awe, wonder and dignity? I wonder.
This wonder thought came about because someone called me a septuagenarian the other day, sounds like a cuss word. Had to look it up to make sure: “sep-tu-a-ge-nar-i-an” (noun) “somebody in 8th decade of life – between 70 and 79.” Contrary to popular thinking, it is not synonymous with senility. “se-nil-i-ty: “forgetful, confused, or otherwise mentally less acute in later life.”
It gets worse. Doris took our granddaughters to school the other morning. In conversation on the way, the middle one asked, “Did grandpa go to Abraham Lincoln’s funeral, too?” This came up because they were discussing my attendance at a memorial service following Martin Luther King’s assassination. Ouch!
It doesn’t stop there. We recently paid a visit to The Salvation Army’s cemetery plot in San Francisco to pay our respects. It became readily apparent that we know more people dead than alive – a sobering discovery.
Lately, this beginning septuagenarian has become acutely aware (as opposed to mentally less acute) of people’s perceptions toward we who are approaching the proverbial “four-score-and-ten” mark. In my church, when an Officer (ordained minister) reaches Social Security age, he/she loses his/her “full-time” ministerial effectiveness. A miraculous transformation occurs, with a “reverse metamorphoses” taking place at midnight on retirement day. Voila! 11:59 p.m., productive, 12:01 a.m., passé, snap, just like that.
There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow (Eccl 1:11 NIV). Preach it, brother!
Believe it or not, there are grown, intelligent people in my church who avocationally track the retirement dates of those in leadership. Why, they even have wallet-sized cards along with formulas that will predict who will replace these retiring leaders, and with some accuracy, I might add. Imagine that?
Stop! Hold it! Wait a minute! Do you realize how important we septuagenarians are to the world economy? Without us, the Viagra industry would be in deep you know what? Pharmaceutical companies would be crying, “Uncle!” The cruise industry would be going down for the third time. Think about charitable giving. The average age of donors is well up into the sixth decade.
Could the church survive without us? Check out tithing statistics by age category. Who would they turn to when there is a clergy breakdown (in my ecclesiastical part of the world anyway)? The headlines read, “Congregations Facing Clergy Shortage.” In some denominations, “more than half the pastors of congregations are in their second career.” “Quality not quantity,” I hear it said, ad nauseam. Rationalization be damned!
You want quality? Septuagenarians arise! “Golden Agers” unite! He who has the gold, rules! Flex those atrophying muscles (and wallets)! Rebuke those patronizing attitudes! Censure those condescending postures! Join with us, octogenarians. Take up your staffs!
Moses and Aaron did just as the LORD commanded them. Moses was eighty years old and Aaron eighty-three when they spoke to Pharaoh. The LORD said to Moses and Aaron, “When Pharaoh says to you, 'Perform a miracle,' then say to Aaron, 'Take your staff and throw it down before Pharaoh,' and it will become a snake.” (Ex 7:6-9 NIV)
Read on in Exodus for the rest of the story, if you don’t know it already. What might have happened had God sent two youngsters to confront Pharaoh? You don’t even want to think about it. Want quality and quantity? Look no further!
Now, if I can only remember where I put that blasted cane, staff, whatever you call it!
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