sunrise communion

the first hint of color stretches across the horizon

subtle shades dance, tease, and tantalize the senses

soon a pastel palette paints before me ... a panorama

my soul basks in the glory of the sunrise

something awakens within me, yearning to commune with it's Maker

and for a moment i know Peace

I'm Okay With That - Really

Some milestones are to be applauded, indeed celebrated. Your eighteenth birthday. Your engagement or wedding. Birthdays that end in a zero and are less than thirty or above sixty.

Some milestones are to be avoided. Birthdays that end in a zero that are more than twenty, but less than seventy. How many people do you know who will celebrate their twenty-ninth birthday this year ... again?

Some milestones are to be mourned.

Today I crossed a sobering threshold. Most people would write it off as 'no big deal'. But, to continue my well established motif of making a 'big deal' out of various trivialities and in the spirit of over thinking every speck of minutia in my life, I now present the latest challenge to my self esteem and peace of mind.

This year I will turn forty-five years old. My 'baby' will turn sixteen. A lesser man might be tempted to stress over things like this, but not me, I am a rock (hmmm, a rock ... old as dirt and age can be determined by carbon dating). I mean, forget the fact the any pro athlete over forty is considered a doddering old fool in need of a good friend to tell him it's high time to hang it up before he embarrasses himself or has his frail body irreparably damaged by some young turk.

Even in normal life, forty-five is fairly old. Yes, I know, forty is the new thirty, but still, having twenty-somethings call me Mr. Dufrene kind of brings some perspective to it. Even though I know it is said with the best of intentions and meant as a sign of respect, sometimes it still rubs me the wrong way.

I'll be with a group of yutes carrying on a conversation about what is the hot new music and who are the hot new bands. Feeling a sense of belonging and comradery. Then without warning, BAM, there it is. Like ice water poured down the front of the old trousers. "See ya later Mr. Todd." Ouch.

When did I stop being a youth and become Mr. Todd? I still feel like a youth. Well, most of the time. At least when the arthritis isn't acting up.

So, what brought on all of this fuss? Is it my fast approaching birthday? Is it the fact that my older children are old enough to make me a grandfather? Is it the abundance of gray hairs gradually taking over my gotee? Is it the creaking of the joints on cold mornings? What, oh what, could have insighted this age-conscious self flagellation?

I bought my very first pair of reading glasses today.

There I said it. I feel better for having faced it and gotten it off of my chest. For what it's worth, they are quite stylish. Almost hip, if you ignore the fact that they are ... well ... reading glasses. But, they are reading glasses, and I'm okay with that.

Really.

I Hate Today - February 14, 2007

I don't like to use the word hate. There are very few things that I actually hate. There are no people that I hate. There are a few days that I hate. I hate December 7, 1941. I hate September 11, 2001. I hate that agonizing day in mid 2002 that I was forced to face the fact that I had been cheated on.

I hate today - February 14, 2007.

In a world devoid of unfaithfulness, where vows were kept and marriage was sacred, this would be my twentieth wedding anniversary. I would be in my house, surrounded by my wife and my children, celebrating love. Instead I find myself grieving a horrible loss. Another man is in my ex-house with my ex-wife and my children. I scarcely know how to express my pain. I am sure that at some point today my grief will find some release and my tears will flow.

No, this is a world well acquainted with deceit, duplicity, and conditional 'love'. A man's word is no longer his bond. Vows are made and contracts are signed with no hint of permanence implied. There is always a built in way out. An escape clause.

But, there is the rub. There are very few 'outs' in the marriage covenant. There is a world of difference between the traditional covenant and the modern contract. Most marriage ceremonies contain language to the effect of: for better or for worse; for richer or for poorer; in sickness or in health; till death do us part.

How did we get to the point where half of all couples who make this solemn pledge end up divorced? How did we get so self absorbed that "I don't feel like I love you any more" is reason enough to break our vow. This all important vow, agreed to by choice of free will, in a ceremony presided over by a clergyman or governmental official, attended by family and loved ones, vowed publicly before God and man, is somehow taken lightly and easily broken. Why?

I have no answers today, only questions. What exactly are people celebrating on this Valentine's Day? Love? Romance? Eroticism? The euphoric feeling of being 'in love'? How many of these couples will celebrate this day next year together? How many will celebrate today with their future exes? How many people will utter a conditional 'I love you' that is subject to change when they are no longer made happy by their current significant other? Do we, as a society, even know what love is?

Don't get me wrong. I have not grown completely cynical. I do believe that true love exists. It just seems to be, unfortunately, rare. I have found it in God, who is Love. I have experienced it in some family members and friends. I have at times, I think, observed it in myself. And, yes, I do still hope to one day find this elusive, altruistic, unfailing, unconditional love in marriage. I hope for that with all of my broken, cynical, Valentine's Day hating heart.