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Month: February 2020

Fat Tuesday Musings

Fat Tuesday Musings

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At my job, on the day before Ash Wednesday the talk around the water cooler would not be about how many beads you received.

No, it would be more like this:

“Ash Wednesday reminds us of our mortality and of our need for repentance and amendment of life, so that we are truly ready to meet our Maker,” a quote I read from a publication I received in my email.

I work at a church in case you didn’t know.

I don’t know that I need too many more reminders of my mortality especially lately, but maybe the need for “amendment of life” on this Fat Tuesday eve of Ash Wednesday wouldn’t hurt.

And thanks to social media that’s been reinforced by a couple of recent reminders of just how many years have gone by for this aging nobody that in some weird way have made me a little depressed.

I was contacted on Facebook Messenger by someone I went to high school with who had posted an old photo on a Shore Regional Alumni Facebook page that she thought might have included me in the picture. Shore Regional is the name of the high school I graduated from in 1974. I went to the page and checked it out and it was me, in 1973 or 74 probably.  So I messaged her back and confirmed it was in fact me and she encouraged me to join the alumni page which I did.

A few days later another old photo was posted on the Facebook page of my hometown’s 100th anniversary organization Oceanport Centennial.  My hometown of Oceanport, N.J. will celebrate its 100th anniversary this year and so the page is for information and the sharing of old photos.  This photo, I would guess, was taken around 1975 and was a group photo from an Oceanport Hook and Ladder Fire Company event of some sort.  I was a volunteer fireman back in those days.

Where did all those years go?

Though my hair is getting a little long it’s certainly not that long.  And the once blonde locks are now white and gray and a lot thinner.

But it was fun that the photo also included by father, my brother Carl who also needed a haircut, and two of my uncles.  And upon closer examination, those same blonde Frye boots I was wearing that evening in that photo from 1975 or so, were actually on my feet that Thursday all these years later as I carefully examined the cast of characters from my past with a rush of memories.  Those same blonde Frye boots I wrote about in “He Restoreth My Soles” that I bought in 1973.

But the reminder on this Fat Tuesday that the “need for… amendment of life” might be on account of some other things that also might be characterized as “fat” and getting larger, like my body.   Those amendments included the introduction of plain yogurt and strawberries for breakfast and tuna fish on super whole grain bread with seeds that could practically choke you.

And while mixing up that tuna fish this morning I was also reminded that there some things in life that aren’t getting larger like my can of tuna fish.  I remember when I was a kid you could feed yourself and your buddy lunch with one can of tuna and a little Hellmann’s (of course) mayonnaise.  Like my flat stomach, those days are gone.  You get one sandwich from the little cans now.

Though I long for my loaf of French bread, I don’t really think that losing ten pounds is what the author of the quote was referring to as proper preparation to meet my Maker on this eve of Ash Wednesday.  And I don’t need any more reminders of my mortality.

Or the areas of my life where I need to change.

I have my wife for that.

But the truth is I probably could do some repenting after all those years.

But there is a lot to be thankful for as well.

On that same Thursday, the day of that photo post, I got a call on my cell phone from my Dad.  It’s always unexpected when my Dad calls, and once I realized there was nothing wrong that triggered the call, we tried to have a conversation.  Unfortunately, since my father’s hearing is no longer good, we eventually agreed to hang up to try again some other time.  But I was still glad he called.  It’s a blessing that I can still receive phone calls from my dad even though we can’t have a conversation.

And hey it’s also kind of cool to know I have a pair of boots that may outlive me.

Recently I was surprised to find out that I may actually live on in one of the happiest places on earth.  Because you see the photo of me with the mandolin is me in likeness but really not me.  That photo was taken a few weeks ago by Alexa on a trip to Disney World where she found me immortalized as an animatronic in the Spaceship Earth Ride in Epcot.

So, I guess I can thank Jesus for everlasting life, and Disney for my everlasting likeness and for preserving the flow.

I hope your Tuesday was fat and happy.

That’s me front row second from left. My dad is front row four from left. My brother back row center under the light. This photo courtesy of Oceanport Centennia Facebook page.
Pass The Doritos Please

Pass The Doritos Please

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Friday evening Kim and I took Cameron to dinner.  He told us about something that happened at school that day where one of his classmates was having some trouble completing his work. Cameron said he told his friend that if he needed help, he should just ask Jesus and He would help him.

You got to love that.

Super Bowl Weekend.

Since we are Steelers fans we didn’t really have any skin in the big game.  However, Donny was a big San Francisco Forty-Niners fan back in the Steve Young, Jerry Rice, Deion Sanders early 90’s so we saw the Super Bowl as an opportunity to share a moment with one of our kids even though he wasn’t able to physically share it with us.  So we got a couple of Forty-Niners tee shirts and busted out some of Donny’s San Francisco 49er gear that we had stored away in the house.  Then we got a bag of Doritos and sat down on the couch to watch the game.

It was a good game though we were a little disappointed, the 49ers didn’t win and I thought the commercials were just okay.

Ah, but the half time show sure caused a big stir.

I certainly understand, the game is in the Miami area and you have two dynamic Latina singers and dancers appropriately scheduled as the half time show.

In the end, the debate ensued as to whether the show was appropriate for prime time national television audiences.

I don’t know about you, but I can tell you sitting on the couch watching Shakira and Jennifer Lopez performing with my wife right there next to me, yeah,  there might have been a time or two I wanted to pick up that bag of  Doritos and read the Nutrition Facts with something like:

“Hey, honey did you know these Doritos have 150 calories per serving?”

Or say something I have used before like, “Hey how about those Nat’s?”

I could see how some folks were squirming a little.

But the most ridiculous thing I read the next day was a piece by a young Latina writer who insisted she knew what the whole issue was really about.

Racism.

Yup, racism.

In an article titled “Dear White People: The Super Bowl Halftime Show Wasn’t Too Sexy, You’re Just Racist” she argued that if you were uncomfortable watching the Super Bowl Halftime show you are a racist.

Imagine that?

That would be like somebody telling me “Dear white person Curt:  It’s Not That You Don’t Like Bean Burritos Because They Give You Gas! You are Just a Racist!”

Come on.

Maybe you have young kids and don’t want to explain in the middle of a Super Bowl party what all that was about.  Maybe you would prefer to wait until they were ready to go to college.

I was told by my daughter that my four-year-old grandson watched with his mouth open then commented on what Shakira was able to do with her butt.   Though he is part Latino,  I think it better that he have a little more time to understand these things.

Or maybe you’re a mom watching with a couple of your teenage boys and had to sit and squirm, watching in silence, probably wishing you had a bag of Doritos in reach.

Or maybe you are just an older conservative-minded individual who just doesn’t understand this younger generation.

There were lots of reasons why some folks might have felt uncomfortable watching that performance, but I am pretty comfortable saying one of them probably wasn’t racism.

You would have to have been living in the wilderness for the last twenty or thirty years to somehow not be familiar with the talent and the success of these two women.  From In Living Color, American Idol, The Voice, countless movies, and music videos; American television viewers were not surprised and therefore angered by who the performers were.

There wasn’t any “Hey honey, can you believe it? There are Spanish people dancing on TV!”

My family is interesting.  We have white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans.

And I would guess we aren’t that different from a lot of families.

And I am told that my son-in-law was once a pretty good salsa dancer (he is part Latino).

And though I love my son-in-law I think if I had to watch him salsa dance I would be squirming and reaching for the bag of Doritos in that situation as well.

I don’t know too much about this young lady who felt inclined to turn this situation into one promoting hate, but I am guessing maybe she doesn’t have any young children, or teenage children, or children at all.  I am guessing she hasn’t experienced a Christmas Eve comprised of white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans reading the story of the birth of Jesus.

I am guessing she doesn’t have the experience or the wisdom of the two fine Latina ladies who have made themselves so successful and well known to all of us.

She doesn’t understand that it didn’t have anything to do with them as people and especially what part of the world they were born in.

Maybe Cameron’s words of encouragement for his friend at school would help this young author too.

I don’t know how Donny would have felt about the halftime show.  I don’t think even if he was with me in the room we would have been high-fiving each other.  He might have had kids that he had to think about as well.  And his mom was right there!

We will never know.

By the way, to the young author who wrote the piece, you have a typo in line four.