Until death do us part

Last Thursday evening, before the barbeque ribs, steak, salad and dessert during a small family gathering for my birthday, I went to a funeral rosary for a man our family knew about 50 years ago. His family and our family were neighbors and friends until we lost contact with them when we moved to a different city in 1960.

Eduardo “Lalo” Aguirre was called home to God last Saturday at the age of 92 years. I learned of his passing during my morning internet read of the obituaries, one of my middle-age man daily rituals that I wrote about here: Reading the obits

Upon reading of his passing, I had a strong feeling that I needed to attend the rosary. My Mom accompanied me. Mr. Aguirre had two sons that I remember, one of whom was a neighborhood play friend. As is often the case when attending funerals, I did so out of respect but also to satisfy my own curiosity. Would I recognize Mr. Aguirre as he rest in peace in his open casket, or his wife and two sons? Would they recognize my Mom and me and have the memories of my family that we had of them?

As we prayed the Holy Rosary, I learned that Mr. Aguirre was a man who believed in God and his Catholic faith as the rosary is definitely a Catholic form of prayer. Afterwards, various acquaintances and family members gave brief accounts of their memory of Mr. Aguirre, followed by a short video presentation of photos of him at various stages of his long life. There were many clues of what he valued the most: his faith, his family and his moustache. Other than the old black and white photos of him as a young boy, every other photo showed a proud family man with an ever-present and groomed moustache. At the end of the service, I approached his open casket to pay my final respects and noticed his groomed white moustache as he lay ever so peaceful in eternal rest.

Another reason I like to attend funerals is the stark reminders they give that life is precious and our time on earth is limited. Our earthly presence is at the pleasure of God and despite all that we do for our fitness and health, we’ll all get our turn to depart just like Mr. Aguirre. Funerals give me an opportunity to be reminded of those things that really matter the most; it’s not the money we make, the economic wealth we amass, the big shots we know or the places we’ve traveled. It’s much simpler than that as I was reminded by Mr. Aguirre, discovering what both he did and I do value the most - our faith, our family and our moustache – until death do us part.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Cowboy Eddie

The first book I owned was given to me by my parents when I was about 5 years old. It was a children’s book published by Rand McNally Elf Books titled “Cowboy Eddie”, a story about five year old Eddie’s first day on the Lazy E Ranch that Eddie’s Daddy, or Big Ed had recently bought. Eddie was the happiest boy in the world because he could now learn to be a cowboy.

I’ve managed to hold on to this book over the years but in my neglect and failure to realize the treasures of yesteryear, the book became quite weathered and in very poor condition. A recent conversation with an old book antique dealer motivated me to search for this book on the internet. Low and behold, I found it on e-bay and went a step further and recently purchased it – not just one copy but two!

I discovered that the book I owned was originally published in 1958 and sold for the whopping price of 25 cents. I also learned that an older book with the same title was published in 1950 and sold for the same price. Believing that they were two different stories, I made a business decision to purchase both books. I paid $20.00 for the 1950 book and $9.95 for the 1958 book. I’m still waiting to receive the 1958 book. Yesterday I received the 1950 book and discovered that the story is the same as the 1950 book with the only difference being the book cover. The 1950 book is in excellent condition and I know the 1958 book will be in much better condition that the one I currently own.

Knowing that there’s analysis to be done in every financial transaction, I calculated the rate of return of both books to evaluate their potential future value. Using the original purchase price and how much I paid for each book, the 1950 book increased in value by 7.5 percent per year and the 1958 book increased in value by 7.7 percent per year, both decent rates of return. Assuming that both books continue to increase in value at a similar rate, I asked myself how much they would be worth when I’m 90 years old sitting in a rocking chair watching time go by. The 1950 book will be worth $289.90 and the 1958 book will be worth $134.04. These were good investments and perhaps I should try to buy more.

Until then, every now and then when I want to spend time reflecting on my yesteryear, I’ll go to my personal library and read about Cowboy Eddie.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Calling all middle-age men and women

Last week my wife and I purchased round trip airline tickets from San Francisco to Mexico City for the whopping price of $290 per ticket. We are going on a one week religious pilgrimage to Mexico City the last week of April with Human Life International, a pro-life and pro-family values educational apostolate.

The mission of Pierini Fitness - being the ambassador of middle-age men around the world, advocating their interests and expressing their views of the way life was, the way life is and way life should be – must continue during my absence. Therefore, this is a first call for guest middle-age men and women who can step up to the plate and serve as a guest blogger during my absence.

If you are a middle-age man or woman, please consider volunteering for this very important mission. I’m looking for a different guest blogger for each day of my absence, someone who can deliver a creative and guaranteed to be original blogflection about middle-age man or woman fitness and health, reflective ramblings, or political thought.

Who is a middle-age man or woman? That’s a good question and I answered it here: A middle-age man

Pierini Fitness embraces equal opportunity so middle-age women are encouraged to apply.

Are you interested? Send me an e-mail and I’ll tell you more. Don’t have my e-mail? Post a comment below and I’ll tell you the best way to contact me.

Nervous about the task or doubtful about your writing abilities? No problem because I’ll help you during your journey to the fabulous cyberspace blogflection universe.

Can you handle the challenge? This is my first calling all middle-age men and women.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Middle-age man motivation

I'm constantly on the hunt for words of wisdom that best capture the feelings and thoughts bouncing around inside my middle-age man mind. Here are three that I've collected in my search:

"He looks young enough and strong enough to be his own son."

While my motivation for fitness and health should be because it's the right thing to do and to give thanks to God for my blessings, there are some vanity factors that enter into the equation as well if I am rigorously honest with myself. The notion of looking young enough and strong enough to be my own son best captures one of my vanities.

"Under pressure we do not rise to the level of our expectations, we fall to the level of our training."

On first impression, I might limit these words of wisdom to a physical fitness context. The mental discipline of hard fitness training does, however, have spillover benefit to the challenges of everyday living being a middle-age man, spouse, father, son, brother, cousin, nephew, uncle, and CPA.

"When I grow up I want to be an old man."

During a recent visit to my Dad's house, I overheard a television commercial for health insurance that began with a scene of middle-age women walking and smiling with a caption in the background that said, "When I grow up I want to be an old woman". In my middle-age man journey, I'm constantly seeking the wisdom of men and women from a generation before me. I've had regular conversations with a couple of 90 years plus young men I know. Their perspective and wisdom about the things in life that matter the most always impress me, and I'm always taking notes when listening to what they have to share. They inspire me to want to be an old man when I grow up.

We are all different and so are the things that motivate us to be our very best. The above words of wisdom are three examples of my middle-age man motivation.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

The day we went our separate way

The exact day escapes me but I'm guessing it was almost two years ago. Who would have thought we wouldn't spend our entire life together because we had been together for so long. I remember the first glance so ever long ago, knowing that it was love at first sight; we spent countless hours together - morning, day and night.

As our relationship grew, I remember the time we spent together increased to the point that it started to be more important than the other things I could and should be doing with my time. As is often the case in all relationships, however, there came a point when I took things for granted. I became complacent, and soon found that I wasn't excited in the relationship as before.

I became less and less aroused in the company of my partner and even had episodes of performance anxiety when I found it increasing difficult to do it. Intimacy started to fade and before long I became interested, again, in going to places I hadn't been in a while and doing things with different people. This continued for a while until it was time for me to get honest - to break the news that our relationship was over. We could still remain friends and cherish the good times spent together, but that inseparable relationship bonded by a deep love for each other was now a thing of our past.

As is the case in all broken relationships, there was initial hurt and a sense of loneliness especially at night. Holidays and special occasions were also tough because of all the pleasant memories of the time we spent together. But by reaching out to others, and responding to the invitations to go here and do this and that, new healthy activities and relationships started to be a part of my life. Once again, life now had meaning, purpose and zeal. It was like being in love all over again.

Every now and then I look back and remember the family television that I gave away, and the day we (my television and I) went our separate way.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

A day older

On Monday and Tuesday, I attended continuing education seminars required to keep my job skills current and to comply with professional license requirements. These daylong seminars were well attended with upwards of 300 people both days. I enjoy these annual knowledge updates delivered "bricks and mortar" style rather than getting my education in cyberspace because of the social interaction. I'm able to chitchat with fellow professionals I haven't seen lately.

I've been attending seminars like these for over 25 years, beginning as a professional "youngster" and now being slightly past the middle-age point of my career. I've seen the old-timers pass on and those who were once what I am now age to become the elder statesmen of my profession. Humorous verbal sparring with these "oldsters" - both giving and receiving - makes for an enjoyable day.

On Monday, I approached my middle and elder age men and women comrades with greetings followed by an exclamatory "hey, you're a year older!" That brought a guaranteed chuckle 100 percent of the time. Those who were quick-witted had an immediate response for me. We both had fun with our aging reality.

The following day, I approached some of these same people with a good morning greeting that was followed by another exclamatory "hey you're a day older!" That had the same result as the previous day - a guaranteed morning laugh before we all sat down to feed our brains with an overwhelming update of tax law changes.

Give this a try if you are ever in a similar situation. It works best with people you've known for a long time but see infrequently, and who are middle to elder age in their lives. It will produce a guaranteed laugh and set the stage for great conversation to follow. But before you put this chuckle-maker to work, begin your day by looking at yourself in the mirror and notice that you are a day older.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Middle-age man in motion

On New Year's Eve morning at Starbuck's Coffee, I asked the worker who was taking my order if she was a track athlete in high school. I'm guessing she is between 55 and 60 years of age. She said yes that she ran track in high school, and was curious why I asked. The reason was I noticed her initial take off speed was athletic-like and fast as she moved from the cash register to other areas behind the counter when filling customer orders.

Driving to work, I thought about what people see when watching me in motion. Do I move like an athlete with explosive take off speed and a brisk pace when walking or taking a flight of stairs; or do I move like a lethargic middle-age man strolling at a snail's pace with hands in my pocket whistling Dixie?

Do I have a strong lower back arch, chest expanded, upper body uprightness, and a ready and strong rooted stance capable of lifting a heavy load; or do I have a forward lean accompanied by a frail look of ready to collapse if a heavy load was placed in my carrying arms?

What's my truth when in motion has been my question since that morning observation.

As middle-age men, it's easy for us to lack rigorous honesty in assessments of our physical self. I wrote about this deceptive predisposition in one of my past blogflections here:

Every man who looks in the mirror sees a 16 year old kid

What about you? Join me as I think about what people see when looking at this middle-age man in motion.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

The oldest man in America

Yesterday I read that the oldest man in America died last Saturday at the grand old age of 112 years. I read about it in the local newspaper obituaries because he lived in my city.

George Rene Francis was born on June 6, 1896 in New Orleans, Louisiana and died at the convalescent home where he resided about 8 miles from where I live. He lived through 19 presidents and saw baseball legend Babe Ruth hit a home run.

Mr. Francis was 33 years old during the economic depression of 1929 and certainly could have given all of us some financial food for thought. I would have loved to listen to him bend my ear and soak up his words of wisdom. The best I've done lately are periodic conversations with a 96-year young man I know.

Mr. Francis smoked cigars until age 75 and got by on six hours of sleep a night. He broke all the rules of healthy eating with a diet heavy on dairy and eggs and some lard sandwiches. He also loved hot links and pizza.

Several weeks ago Mr. Francis refused to eat or drink anything and was hospitalized with pneumonia and just gradually faded away until his death after 112 years and 204 days of life.

Always up for a challenge and numerically oriented, I did a little math to figure out what it would take for me to outperform Mr. Francis in the life longevity department. I need to live at least one day longer than he did to do it - 112 years and 205 days - or until September 12, 2067. That's a long way to go - 58 years and 256 days to be exact - longer than the life I've lived thus far. That assumes, however, that someone doesn't raise the bar by living longer!

I better take good care of myself with plenty of exercise and diet. Or maybe I should do as Mr. Francis did and smoke cigars and eat lard sandwiches. Rest in peace Mr. Francis and thanks for the motivation. I'm on your heels in my long-term goal to be the oldest man in America.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Zealously lethargic

After a conversation with someone, I’ll often wish them good faith, fitness, fortune and health. I put this expression in the same category as “have a good day” and other blindly-expressed and robotic utterances that sound more cliché than “see you later” or "good-bye".

What exactly does it mean to have good faith, fitness, fortune and health? How do we measure the quality of these attributes? How do we go about our daily lives pursuing them? Do we do it deliberately and with focus, or haphazardly without clarity? And finally, how bad do we want good faith, fitness, fortune and health? Do we want it only if served to us on a silver platter, or do we want it bad enough that we eat, breathe and sleep it in our day-to-day activities?

It’s honest to say that we all want it and that we want it bad - I do that’s for sure – but are we always willing to do the hard work required? As the calendar year comes to a close and I think about setting goals and resolutions for the new year, now is a good time for me to reflect on how I spent my time this year pursuing good faith, fitness, fortune and health. Did I do so with youthful passion and purpose or like a middle-age man zealously lethargic?

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Memories of Christmas far from home

At this point in my life, I prefer to be home during the Christmas season. Just like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz movie as she clapped her shiny red shoes, there’s no place like home. There were four times in which that was not the case, each of which provided pleasant memories of Christmas far from home.

My first pleasant memory was Christmas 1974 when I was in the U.S. Army stationed at Osan Air Force Base in South Korea. While missing my family, I remember enjoying the adventure of being a young, wild and crazy guy in another country and in the company of other young, wild and crazy guys who were my fellow soldiers, one who is still a good friend.

My second pleasant memory was Christmas 1990, the time my wife, daughter, son and I went to Maui, Hawaii for a week vacation. We had a great time. I remember the excitement on our children’s faces when they opened their Christmas presents early and learned we were going to Hawaii for Christmas. It felt so good to be at the beach enjoying warmer December weather knowing how cold it was back home.

My third pleasant memory was Christmas 1992 when my wife and I took our children to England and Scotland for an 8-day vacation. It was our first time crossing the Atlantic. We departed on Christmas Day and spent December 26th roaming all over London on foot before heading as far north as Edinburgh, Scotland a few days later. We returned to London on New Year’s Eve and attended a theatre performance of Les Miserables. Afterwards, we hung out at Trafalgar Square as the clock struck 12:00 midnight to ring in the new year. We have lots of photos to rekindle pleasant memories.

My fourth pleasant memory was Christmas 1994 when my wife and I took our children to England and several other European countries for a 14-day Christmas vacation. We attended Midnight Mass celebrated by Pope John Paul II on Christmas Day in the Basilica of St. Peter at the Vatican. The next day, 14 years ago to this day, we walked all over Rome and visited all the popular tourist sites. The weather was great that day. A few days later we ended up in London on New Year’s Eve and found our way to Big Ben as the clock struck 12:00 midnight to ring in the new year. It was very cold that night. Again, we have lots of photos of pleasant memories.

Now that our children are adults living their own lives, it’s not easy to take those types of family vacations. I’m so glad that we did when they were young because of the pleasant memories of Christmas far from home.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Why is it so hard?

It's true that charity begins at home and I am no exception. Most of us are not that generous when it comes to voluntarily sharing our wealth outside of home, using charitable giving as a measure of our effort. Wealthy people are no exception, often echoing that they do enough with the taxes they pay. While it's true they do pay more tax, it's open for discussion whether they do enough. That's for them to answer; my time is better spent focusing on me.

This self-talk is because the calendar year is coming to an end and I'm reviewing our family finances and charitable giving. My wife and I do most of our charitable giving check writing in December so there's work to do this month.

This week I spent time studying our charitable giving for the past five years using amounts reported on prior year tax returns. True charity is much broader than tax deductible charitable contributions; such as random acts of kindness to people in need, giving or loaning money to family and friends, and working as a volunteer. Tax-deductible charitable contributions, however, do provide clues at how good a job we are doing at being charitable.

My analysis is that we haven't done as good a job in the last two years compared to five years ago. Here's a five-year analysis of our family tax-deductible charitable contributions as a percentage of total income:

2007 - 4%

2006 - 5%

2005 - 10%

2004 - 8%

2003 - 27%

Our 2003 charitable contributions were significantly higher thanks to my wife's demand that we make a significant contribution to support a local organization that provides prenatal services to pregnant women. Fighting hard and telling her why we couldn't or shouldn't do it, she prevailed. I remember feeling numb and weak for at least one week after the big check was written. In hindsight, I'm glad we did it and we should do it again soon, but will we?

Our planned 2008 charitable giving should be about 6% of total income. That's better than the last two years but far from the homerun we hit in 2003. I may need to get down on my knees pleading to God to make me brave this month with my charitable giving, while asking myself, "why is it so hard?"

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Watching my teacher cry

Ask older people what they were doing when they learned that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963 and they'll have a quick answer. I was in the third grade at Fruitridge Elementary School on the playground during recess on a Friday afternoon when hearing the news.

As a third grader more concerned with recess playing time, I might have blinked an eye upon hearing the news at best. After recess, I remember sitting in my classroom desk watching my teacher crying in front of the classroom telling us again that President Kennedy had been assassinated.

I also remember watching the non-stop television coverage of this terrible moment in American history on the black and white television we owned. Every channel covered this tragic event nonstop and all regular television programs were cancelled for days.

This was a period in my life when every Saturday morning I would wake up early and watch the Original Superman show on television. I remember that Friday night being concerned that it might not be on the following morning because of the nonstop television coverage. Superman was pretty high on my priority list in those days.

I remember waking up early the next morning and anxiously waiting for the time that the Superman show aired; much to my expected disappointment it didn't. I still have vivid memories watching President Kennedy's casket, covered with an American flag, being transported by a horse-drawn carriage in a procession down a street. It may have been Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington D.C. but I'm not sure.

It's amazing how taking a moment to reflect on days like this gives me an appreciation for the life I have lived and memories of my childhood. I still like Superman and on days like this I like to pause and say a prayer for the departed soul of President John F. Kennedy, wondering if he is in Heaven looking down on our great nation that entrusted him with the highest honor of serving his country as President.

I'll always remember November 22, 1963, the day President Kennedy was assassinated, sitting in my classroom desk and watching my teacher cry.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Little white lies

As a kid growing up I remember the phrase "liar liar pants on fire". We yelled that when catching another kid telling a lie. Telling lies, mostly little white lies, was a regular and necessary evil, an adolescent survival tool.

Telling little white lies was not just a kid thing for me because I’ve told my fair share as an adult, and I still struggle as a middle-age man with wanting to tell them.

So what’s a lie and how does it differ from a little white lie. Let’s start off with some definitions courtesy of Wikipedia, the popular internet free encyclopedia.

A lie is a type of deception in the form of an untruthful statement, especially with the intention of deceiving others, often with the further intention of maintaining a secret or reputation, protecting someone's feelings, or avoiding a punishment.

A white lie is a less serious lie that causes no discord if it were uncovered, and offers some benefit to the liar, the hearer, or both. The lie is told to avoid the harmful realistic implications of the truth. It may have differing meanings in different cultures. Lies which are harmless (but told for no reason) are generally called white lies.

That makes me a liar and a litle white liar; those kids on the playground were right. So is that little angel sitting above my right shoulder telling me that I’m lying or telling me that I shouldn't because it's not right; while the little devil who sits on my left shoulder tells me it’s OK because it’s just a little white lie.

I’m lying when I tell a client that I didn’t get their work finished on time because of computer problems when the real reason was my procrastination. It seems so trivial in the context of the big picture, such as when Presidential candidates and politicians tell little white lies. If it’s not wrong for them then how can it be for me?

It’s wrong for me because, as a middle-age man, I’ve discovered the virtue of rigorous honesty. While I haven’t mastered it, if rigorous honesty is not good enough for them, that’s a reason as good as any for it to be good enough for me.

At this point in my life, I’m trying my best to be rigorously honest with others and myself. It’s the right thing to do as difficult as it may be, so I’ll continue struggling to do so in my truthful journey of life.

At this point in my life, I’m trying my best to not tell any little white lies.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

You can always pick tomatoes

It was probably 18 years ago that I was awakened by a telephone call early one morning while sleeping in a hotel in San Diego where I had gone for a business assignment. It was my cousin Al calling me.

Cousin Al is my younger cousin by two years and his mom and my mom are sisters. He was, and still is, a union heavy-equipment operator of those monster machines used to move mountains and pave roads for construction. The work is hard, the hours are long, and the pay is good when the work is there. It’s not unusual to work hard during the summer months when construction is good, then kick back and collect unemployment benefits when work is slow or the weather is bad.

Well construction had been slow and cousin Al had been unemployed for a long time so his unemployment benefits were about to end. He had financial worries, probably not a whole lot different than many people today with house and car payments to make, a stay-at-home wife, and young children to feed. It was difficult for cousin Al to balance the family finances without a regular paycheck. The purpose of his call was to tell me his financial woes and that he was planning to quit making payments on his house loan and lose it in foreclosure. He wanted to know what I thought about his plan.

“Don’t do it”, I said emphatically to which cousin Al reminded me that he hadn’t worked in a long time and the prospects of immediate work looked bleak. He was referring to the work that he had always done, working as a union heavy equipment operator making a decent hourly wage.

“You can always pick tomatoes”, I further added as a figure of speech but there was an element of truth to it as well for both cousin Al and me.

As young children whose parents were immigrant farm workers, both our moms worked hard in the fields picking fruit and vegetables with their siblings, and they made sure their children had that experience too. So we both picked tomatoes during the summer months along with our other cousins and siblings. I never got rich picking tomatoes but it sure taught me the importance of a good education.

Cousin Al and I talked a little longer, about what I don’t remember, before eventually saying goodbye to each other.

Well cousin Al never did pick tomatoes, nor did he quit making payments on his house loan. The economy eventually got better and so did finances for him and his family.

He still works as a heavy equipment operator although, once again, the economy is not good and construction business is slow. Cousin Al is one of the fortunate ones who is working full time but things can change as they always do. He may one day call asking me for advice if he is without work and having difficult financial times. I think he knows what I will tell him - you can always pick tomatoes.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Taking good notes

With paper and pencil in hand, I remember taking notes in elementary school as my teacher stood behind the chalkboard in front of the classroom instructing us about the subject matter of the moment. I didn’t take as many notes during my middle school and high school years because I was a member of the goof ball club and academics was not a priority.

In college, however, I was a motivated student, thanks to the lessons learned as a soldier in the U.S. Army. Once again, with paper and pencil in hand, I took good notes of everything my college professors pontificated in their lectures. I’ve always been blessed with a good memory and attention to detail so, along with good notes and diligent study, I did well on just about every college exam.

So three decades later, I find myself taking notes again, this time when observing or listening to my elders because there’s much to learn from them. The insight they provide about the life they have lived and the life they want to live is too important to miss.

Notes about their life in the good old days, how they handled difficult situations, their thoughts about living and dying during the golden years of their life, how they exercise, and their approach to fitness and health. What they tell me is as fascinating and instructive as a college philosphy professsor's lecture on ethics over 30 years ago, and as thought-provoking as a sermon on redemptive suffering given by a priest during a recent Sunday Mass.

Talking to my 82-year young Dad two nights ago, I took notes as he told me about the weightlifting workout he did earlier in the day. And like a student, I raised my hand asking him several questions. “How many sets did you do of that exercise Dad? Did you do the bench press before the upright rowing?” I asked while mentally noting his answers.

Yesterday after Sunday Mass I had an opportunity to talk with a 94-year young man as we sat together having a cup of coffee. I’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity to learn from a 94-year young man, so I took many notes during our 30-minutes plus conversation. I walked away well prepared for future exams on life, and with several new jokes and one-liners as well.

At this point in my life, I realize that I know more than I did yesterday but also less than I will tomorrow. There's so much more to know and learn and I’ll do it by taking good notes.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Silence is golden

"Silenzio!" yelled the guard dressed in a black security uniform to the very large crowd of tourists who had become a little too loud for him while he patrolled the floors of the Sistine Chapel, or Capella Sistina in his mother tongue.

My wife and I were part of this very large crowd one morning in October 2000 during our vagabond pilgrimage to the Vatican for "Il Giubileo Del 2000" (The Jubilee 2000) along with thousands of other Roman Catholics from around the world.

We had all read the signs asking for our silence while in the chapel and did the best we could to obey, but our collective excitement created whispering chatter that had become a little too much for la guardia (the guard). For him, silence was golden.

As humans, we are social creatures wired to interact with others using words to express our ideas and thoughts, and our conversations create unintended auditory noise that at times can be overwhelming.

This noise is not a problem for some yet overbearing for others who yearn for moments of quietness or silence, particularly at the end of a long day.

It's been an auditory noisy week for me with the business of my work and from viewing the Presidential Debate on television last Wednesday evening. My ears are overworked and thoughts of a quieter weekend sound pleasing to my ears.

Just like the Sistine Chapel security guard, I want my silenzio. Maybe I'll take an evening walk in the darkness of the night with a sky full of stars and enjoy the calmness and tranquility of it all because silence is golden.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Just an average Joe Blow

A popular term the media, politicians and political commentators like to use is "average ordinary citizen". They frequently use this term in a context that borders on being condescending, as if an average ordinary citizen is someone other and less than them.

So are average ordinary citizens what other people are but never us? Who is an average ordinary citizen? Is he related to the Nowhere Man made famous in the 1965 song by the Beatles, the lyrics of which are below?

"He's a real nowhere Man, sitting in his Nowhere Land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody.

Doesn't have a point of view,knows not where he's going to,isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere Man, please listen,you don't know what you're missing,Nowhere Man, the world is at your command.

He's as blind as he can be,just sees what he wants to see,Nowhere Man can you see me at all?

Doesn't have a point of view, knows not where he's going to, isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere Man, don't worry,take your time, don't hurry,leave it all till somebody else lend you a hand.

He's a real Nowhere Man,sitting in his Nowhere Land,making all his nowhere plans for nobody."

Are average ordinary citizens better known to us as Joe 6-Pack or Joe the Plumber, characters we learned of during the recent Presidential debates?

Is Joe 6-Pack an average ordinary citizen who likes to drink beer and watch NFL football on television? Or maybe he is an average ordinary citizen who likes to exercise and has a 6-pack from doing alot of situps, you know a gym rat.

Joe the Plumber may be more recognizable to us; the average ordinary citizen who makes a living as a plumber, the one who wears a heavy leather tool belt around his waist that makes his pants hang low so that when he bends over he exposes his "plumber's butt".

Makes you want to think twice before naming your son Joe.

Is Joe married to a hockey mom who is like a pit bull with lipstick, or the soccer mom who drives a large SUV? They both are average ordinary citizens too.

There's no doubt in my mind that I am an average ordinary citizen of the middle-age man vintage; I discovered this long time ago. But I do remember wanting to be somebody when I was younger, and I really worked hard at it, believing it would be my ticket to eternal self-esteem and the fountain of success in the eyes of my family and friends who looked at me and my accomplishments.

Then I became a little wiser and discovered that I wanted to be nobody, an average Joe Blow, or an average ordinary citizen as the higher powers like to say. I discovered that trying to be nobody was much more difficult and, unbeknownst to be, has been a greater source of happiness, making me feel more comfortable in the company of other average ordinary citizens like my good friends Joe 6-Pack and Joe the Plumber.

There's nothing inferior about being an average ordinary citizen so I'll continue going about my life being just an average Joe Blow.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

One of my first loves

One of my first loves was "born" in 1963 when I was an 8 year young boy in 3rd grade, when thousands of Americans were driving their 1963 Pontiac Grand Prix automobiles on the highways and roads. Eight years later in 1971, one would be my first car.

It all begin in the summer of 1970 with a part-time summer job I had working in the Duncan Hines Division of Proctor & Gamble, dumping flour, from 100 lb. sacks into bins, that was used to produce cake mix. I made $2.00 an hour working Monday through Friday from 7:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. I felt like a rich man because minimum wage was only $1.65 an hour in those days. My weekly gross earnings were $40.00 and after taxes my weekly paycheck was $36.41. Payday was every Friday.

My Mom drove me to and from work every day and on Friday we would stop at the bank on the way home and I would deposit $30.00 of my paycheck into a savings account. I kept the remaining $6.41 for weekly spending money. I did this every week during my summer job and eventually, with some other savings, had enough money to buy my first car - a red 1963 Pontiac Grand Prix with a white vinyl top. It cost a whopping $475 and just about drained my savings account.

Every middle-age man remembers his first car and I am no exception. It was a gas-guzzler averaging about 9 miles a gallon, so many of my memories are of me being at the gas station filling up the gas tank. Gasoline was only 30-35 cents a gallon so a full tank costed about $6.00 and lasted an entire week.

My other memories include driving to and from school every day, going to the drive-in movies with my girlfriend, cruising around the neighborhood with friends, and even washing and waxing my car each week. I can kick myself in my behind for not taking any photos of my first car so, until recently, my pleasant memories of yesteryear had been limited to those in my mind's eye.

Recently, however, I discovered a video posted on YouTube by someone who owns a red 1963 Pontiac Grand Prix with a white vinyl top just like my first car, so now I have some visual memories to go along with my mind's eye memories.



As a middle-age man, every time I look in the mirror I see a 16-year old kid, and when I think of being a 16-year old kid, I think of my 1963 Pontiac Grand Prix, one of my first loves.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Reading the obits

It's a daily ritual for most elderly people to read obituaries (obits) and funeral notices in the morning newspaper. Those who are native of the city or town whose newspaper they read are almost guaranteed a regular find, a discovery that an old school classmate, long-lost acquaintance, or friend of the family has gone to greener pastures.

Middle-age men like me read them too, each morning come rain or shine.

No longer a subscriber to my local newspaper, I now get my news by reading an online version on the internet each morning. It's a much more abbreviated reading than the days in which I "read the paper", but it gets the job done and is fast. There's a predictable order I follow in my cyberspace read. First I start with the local news, then sports, then business, then politics, and finally the obits and funeral notices.

Scanning the obits and notices in a flurry, I remind myself of how my wife shops for a dress at a bargain department store as she moves the dresses quickly from left to right on the rack from which they hang, except I scan from top to bottom in alphabetical order. Just like her, I am looking for a find, something I can call my own, the name of someone I knew. And like her, sometimes I come up empty and other times I make a find.

Last week I had a find when the name of Larry O appeared. Larry O had passed away at the too-young-to-be-true age of 52 years. We ran around together in our middle school years until our paths changed directions. Larry O carried a big cross in his life called addiction and it took a big toll on him and his family. He struggled most of his adult life and was finally conquering his demons and figuring things out right before he died. I had a chance to talk to his siblings and an adult son at his service, to share with them the Larry O I knew, and tell them I would be praying for them. It made me feel good and hopefully it did them too. Rest in peace Larry O until we meet again.

Reading the obits and funeral notices is something I like to do. Probably because it takes me down memory lane, a time when life seemed simpler and more youthful. But it also is a stark reminder that with each breath of life I take is one less breath left in my life, the reality than I'll eventually get my turn just like Larry O.

And that is good because it keeps me honest, to not take life for granted, nor the lives of anyone else. To be the best I can today, tomorrow, and each and every day for the rest of my life. It does me so much good that I'll keep doing it - spending each morning reading the obits.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

A dime a dozen

Well according to my definition, a middle-age man is someone who is more than 45 years but less than 70 years of age (see my blogflection of Friday, September 19th). I'm living my 8th year as a middle-age man, and proud to report that I've been fit and healthy all of those years. Thanks be to God!

My travels down the superfitness highway in the fast lane began when I was a young man as a soldier in the US Army, but I spent many young man years unfit and unhealthy chasing a college education and professional career. But that was then and this is now because today I am fit and healthy.

Fitness and good health sure feels good. So does getting compliments from others who tell me I am fit and healthy looking. This feel good feeling motivates me to train harder and eat healthier so I can become fitter and healthier. People notice that I am fitter and healthier and give me new compliments. This "vicious" cycle never ends and, without being on guard, it's very easy for me to become full of myself with this "look how fit and healthy I am" paradigm.

So where does it all end or does it? When I throw in the towel and relax, cutting back on my training and cheating on my healthy eating - enjoying a gluttony of forbidden foods and drinks? Maybe it will take having a major accident resulting in serious physical injury, or contracting a life-threatening illness that puts a different perspective in my narcissistic mind about what matters the most in life. I wouldn't wish that - the major accident or life-threatening illness part - on my worst enemy just like I wouldn't want it for myself. Or maybe it will take getting old and older as if it isn't possible for an old man to be fit and healthy.

Hopefully it doesn't end but stays at a sensible level with my own self-discovery and personal maturity, a sage wisdom that comes in time with aging and living a good and honest life. A self-realization that despite how fit and healthy I think I am, there's really nothing special about it, that I'm not alone but rather in the company of many who are the same as me. An everlasting awakening that I'm nothing more than a dime a dozen.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum