Around the Corner

We received our first Christmas card and second seed catalog earlier this week, which means it should be winter, but the weather is not cooperating. Not that I'm complaining about mid-60's at the end of November, but it does seem strange. The grass is still growing. I cut it a couple of weeks ago, which seemed ridiculously late, and it could use another trim. I won't mow, simply on principle. I can't do it today, and I will never, ever mow grass in December north of the equator.
A cold blast is said to be right around the corner. It has been sweeping across the West and Midwest and will soon be here, just in time for Sunday's service kicking off Advent. It will help set the mood, I hope. I also hope some of the folks who haven't been as regular in their attendance this fall find their way back into the habit during the run-up to Christmas.
I don't think I would ever like to live in a place where it never got cold, though I always like the idea of taking a winter vacation to some place warm. Spending time on the beach sounds awfully good when you have had to worry about the wind chill for a few weeks. But then, sitting by a fire picking out the seeds for next year's tomatoes sounds pretty good, too. And the time for that is just around the corner.

Just Coffee

Stopped at Starbucks last night. I was getting sleepy at the end of a long day, and there is a Starbucks not far from the hospital where I’d made a late stop to visit a parishioner. I’m not actually a big fan of Starbucks. I think the coffee is too strong, the prices are too high and I think it is ridiculous to call a “small” a “tall.” But I had a gift card and it was convenient, so I stopped.
There was quite a line, especially for that time of day. It gave me time to look around and soak in the atmosphere – the aroma, lots of wood and gleaming metal, and the efficient aproned staff. I waited patiently while the people in front of me ordered things like mint chocolate macchiatos, lowfat soy lattes and cinnamon skim cappucinos. Then I stepped up and ordered a small (excuse me, I mean “tall”) cup of coffee. The fellow behind the cash register tried to play it cool, but I clearly saw a moment’s hesitation and a look of astonishment flash across his face. Just coffee?
He called it back to the fellow who actually fills the cups, and he too was shocked. He looked at me like I was a three-legged dog. I can easily imagine him going home later that same night and saying to his roommate, “You’ll never guess what happened at work tonight. This guy comes in and all he wants is coffee!” For a few seconds I considered trying to blend in better by adding something to my order – mints, a gingerbread cookie, or a CD of Christmas songs distributed exclusively by Starbucks. But I was pretty sure I didn’t have enough left on my gift card to cover much more than the coffee.
So I took my steaming hot, too strong coffee and quietly went over to the little station where you add cream, milk, or half and half, plus sugar (regular white or unrefined brown) or honey or artificial sweetener. I put in half and half, regular sugar, and gave it a stir. I put the lid back on and took a sip. It was still too strong, but I could live with it, so I left.
I’ve felt like a misfit many times in my life. Last night’s stop at Starbucks was just one more.

Old Enough

I'm back.
Sorry for being away so long. A whole year -- where did it go? I kept telling myself I was too busy to blog, but like I tell other people, we're only too busy for things we don't think are important. And that's not how I feel about Mulling It Over. It is important, at least to me. So, in spite of the fact that I am currently in the middle of a paying gig writing curriculum and that a busy season (Advent) is just over the horizon, I'm going to start blogging more often.
In order to do this, I realize I have to be less of a perfectionist. One of the reasons I haven't written in a year is that I had always been trying to craft essays that were perfect little gems, carefully worded and painstakingly revised. From now on, I am going to be a more typical blogger, trying to offer something of substance but without all the wordcraft and multiple drafts before posting. My hope is that what I offer, while it may be less polished and more raw, will be much less infrequent and more real.
What I find myself reflecting on today is the simple fact that I'm getting older. Of course, we all get older every day, until we die, at which point they chisel into your tombstone the year you stopped having birthdays. So there is nothing wrong with getting older. In fact, it is a good thing . . . at least that is what I keep telling myself.
I never had any trouble with getting older at the usual milestones. My thirtieth and fortieth birthdays were a lot of fun. My wife threw me a party each time, and I thoroughly enjoyed both. I didn't get all introspective or nosedive into a mid-life crisis. I just got presents, ate cake, and moved on. Day to day, I don't give much thought to being "optimistically" middle-aged (really, what are the chances I'm going to live till I am 94?).
But today was different.
Today I was waiting for a friend at a local restaurant, when a young woman passed by with a toddler in her arms. The boy she carried was a cutie, about 2 years old, give or take six months. And when the boy saw me, he pointed and said with excitement, "RaRa!" His grandmother, who was following behind, looked at me and replied, "Yes he does look like your RaRa!"
I took RaRa to be the child's name for his grandfather, baby talk that will probably stick, the same way my oldest daughter anointed my mother as "Geega" and my mother was Geega ever after. This means that a small child mistook me for his grandfather, and his grandmother confirmed the resemblance. I look old enough to be someone's grandfather!
Okay, so I am old enough to be someone's grandfather. I'm plenty old enough to be that toddler's grandfather. My oldest daughter turns 20 this month, and her cousin who is only a couple of months older than she is has a child who will be three before year's end. My parents had grandchildren in elementary school when they were my age. So I'm old enough.
Of course, being old enough to be a grandparent doesn't mean that I'm old. Years ago, I met a woman who became a grandmother at 28 -- she had a daughter at 14 who, in turn, had a daughter at fourteen. At that rate, I guess I could be just 9 years away from being old enough to be a great-great grandfather!
The odd thing to me is that being mistaken for being someone's grandfather made a much bigger impression on me than any birthday ever did. It is true what they say -- age is just a number. 30, 40, 45 -- they didn't change how I see myself. But a little boy calling me RaRa made me realize that others see me differently.
Time rolls on, but that's okay. I had a wonderful grandfather and always looked forward to being one myself. So it is kind of nice to be reminded that I'm old enough.