50

Just turned 50. People act like it's a big deal. It's not.

Went with the Better Half to see a play in Indiana. Amish country. We weren't there for the play. It just happened to fall into the agenda. It was kind of surreal. A sort of rockish musical-dramady about a quilting class led by an older Amish widow with six stereo-type quilters: a biker type a goth chick a pastor's wife a bickering couple and a soldier. They all had emotional problems.. It was ridiculous, really, contrived. But it was still quite funny at times. The actors did well with what they had. One of the characters had about 80 percent of the funny lines. I thought, if I was in that play I'd want to be him. I'd want to be the guy who gets the laughs.

I can't act.

Found a book written by Eddie Cantor in a used book store. This was a world class, extraordinarily famous comedian from the same era as Jack Benny and George Burns. Vaudeville. Radio days. Eddie is now almost entirely forgotten. He didn't make the jump to films or TV like some of the others. At least not well. I'm sure a lot of people don't know who Jack Benny is anymore. Or even George Burns.

It's tragic.

This Cantor book was released the year I was born. It cost me $3.99. When originally published it was $3.95. Fifty years and it's only worth 4 cents more. Doesn't seem right. But I didn't offer more for it. I'd have paid less if I could.

They say a thing is only really worth what someone is willing to pay for it.




 Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2013

Public Service Announcement

Sure, you’ve heard of the flu. You’ve heard of West Nile Virus. But I’m here to warn you of another, much more insidious epidemic that you may not be aware of. You should know that it can take hold of you at any time, for almost no reason, and be spread to countless other people without warning. And by now, I’m sure you’ve already guessed at what I’m talking about.

Laughter.

Yes. Laughter.

This stuff is dangerous, people. And unpredictable. Doctors have no idea why it happens to us, but they know it can be very contagious. You don’t even have to hear a joke. It can just . . . happen. Spontaneously. And if you aren’t careful, it could leave you short of breath and completely out of control.

I know, I know. You think I’m making this up. Obviously you haven’t heard of the Great Laughter Epidemic of 1962. Well, if you don’t believe me, just pause the music over there on the right and look at this:

You can see how serious this is. So next time you start laughing, just consider what you’re doing to others. Consider how you are spreading this horrid little phenomenon to the people you love. Ask yourself...

Is it worth it?



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Life, the Three Stooges and Everything

I wonder sometimes if God is watching from on high, a little bored or something, and we make for some good entertainment.

We watch the Three Stooges. God watches us.

I’ve heard people (mostly women, but my daughters as well) say things about the Stooges over the years, things like: Why are they doing that? They’re not making any sense. That was kind of random and pointless, don’t you think? Why do they keep hitting and hurting each other? You don’t really think that’s funny do you?

These criticisms are fair. But it’s funny anyway. And in many ways, the Three Stooges are a perfect metaphor for the human race.

They are we.

I’m not talking serious theology here. Not really. It’s more about trying to get into the heart of God, which seems kind of inscrutable to me at times. But I imagine God watches us, and he gets tired of crying about it all the time. Wouldn’t you? There’s a lot to cry about, you know? The human race is very good at stupid. So, just from a love standpoint, it must get emotionally draining, all the heart break and sorrow. Even if it doesn’t make God “tired,” he probably still wants a rest from it all. Kind of like he rested on the Sabbath.

So I imagine God, turning the sound down on the earth, putting on a pot of whatever spiritual thing passes for coffee, and watching the chaos while humming the tune of Three Blind Mice.

He stops weeping, for a little while, and he laughs.


Psalm 2:4
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Laugh

My six year old daughter was getting dressed to go play at her grandmother’s house. Normal summer clothes and such. When she finished, she put on this clear, thin, shower cap thing. I have no idea where she got it from, but she was determined to get all of her hair up into it, so I helped her. Finally, I thought to ask...

Me: Why do you want to wear that thing?

Her (very seriously): I want to be the lunch lady.

Slight pause. Then we both laughed hysterically. Which I find myself doing a lot with her. She says things, she seems serious, but then we lock eyes and we realize it’s funny and we laugh. I don’t even know why it was funny. It just was.

Maybe you had to be there.

I don’t laugh as much as I used to, and I miss it. I’ve been made a more serious person by the responsibilities I’ve embraced and the experiences I’ve endured. I’ve seen hard things, witnessed moments of death and the heart breaking struggle of disillusionment and powerlessness in people’s lives. I’ve been victimized by people who dehumanize me for their own selfish reasons while they wallow in self righteousness. I’ve shared in the deep mourning of those who have suffered great loss, and I’ve suffered great loss myself.

Such is life.

But because of all these things, laughter is a greater treasure to me now than it’s ever been before. I really value it. But it’s hard to figure what will bring it on. You never know when it’s going to sneak up on you, and it’s quick to go hide again.

I don’t live for it, but I do hope to make people laugh. On a regular basis. They can laugh with me or even at me (sometimes). Maybe I can help them to laugh at themselves when it’s needed. But I want to laugh with the freedom of a six year old. I want to laugh with others at the nuttiness of life as we try to cope in a broken world. I think that as long as we laugh without arrogance or cruelty, it can be a healing thing.



Psalm 126:2; Ecclesiastes 3:4
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Rich

There is this story, this thing that happened, and it’s just about the only story my dad liked to tell about me as the years went by. Because of that, I’m going to tell it here. His face would light up when he was telling it. The light was the humorous leftovers of embarrassment. Something he could laugh about NOW that wasn’t so funny when it happened.

It was simple really. And somehow indicative of my life as a whole.

My family and I were at a restaurant. Unusually, it was a sit down joint. Big Boy? I dunno. I think we were on vacation. I was maybe 4? We ate. We had a nice time. Dad paid the bill and waited at the door for us to catch up. When we did catch up, as we were walking out the door, I showed my dad my amazing luck.

Me: Hey dad, look, I’m rich.
Dad: What?
Me: I’m rich.

I had a handful of money.

Dad: Where did you get all that money?
Me: Off the tables. People left it there. I’m rich!

I had cleared probably 5 or 6 tables on my way to the door. I was amazed at how all of those dumb people had forgotten to take their money when they left the restaurant. Somehow no one noticed me doing this. Which happened to me a lot.

Mom: Oh my goodness! (For her this was like swearing.)
Dad: That’s not for you!!!

Dad grabbed the money out of my clutching hands and put it on a table near the door. He furtively ran back out of the restaurant in embarrassment. My siblings looked at me with concern, thinking I would go to jail for what I’d done. But the police had bigger fish to fry. So, in lieu of incarceration, mom and dad just explained to me what a “tip” was. And ... my dad loved this story. It always made him laugh. Like clockwork.


I was robbed.




Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010