Life at 3 miles an Hour

Something has been on my mind for quite awhile now. I’ve tried to resist it. I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried not to engage it. I just can’t take it anymore. I am about to take on, once again, an old enemy that I had thought I’d outgrown. For any who have history with me, I’m sure that you’ve noticed a quietness about me on this subject. But now, it’s overcome me and the voices are loud again and I need to confront it head on. I am about to re-engage my one man rant against the purveyor of all that is bad in fast food, healthy food, comfort food, and every food that I can even think of. The mark of the beast in this case is “the golden arches”. I’ve tried to maintain my dignity through many of their past years assaults against human health, dignity and intelligence. I didn’t say anything when they brought in the, then in vogue, “wraps”. I looked the other way when they tried to pass themselves off with healthy salads. I bit my tongue when their big revelation was to actu

Today has been a stretch for me. It began with my alarm not going off, me sitting straight up in bed 90 minutes beyond my intended launch time and muttering the first word that came to my mind in the moment. It wasn’t a word that, most generally, one would imagine coming from the lips of a pastor on a Monday morning at 7:15. It was my word nonetheless . I really wasn’t bothered by it, as it seemed to fit the moment. I did feel bad that it was the word that my wife also woke up with seeing as she has no problem with 7:15am. In any event, this was the day I was dealt and I am handling it appropriately. I’m taking a break from it. So I’m at Starbucks on the beach at 1:30pm instead and I must tell you that it is a totally different experience, in case you were wondering. The mornings here are peaceful, with the possible exception of seniors who can congregate occasionally, and the occasional 2 year old that waddles around in pj’s. This afternoon is living proof of our economic dem

I’ve been wandering all week attached to a little magnetized card that identifies me as a guest in a Portland area hotel. It lets me in the building. It lets me in my room. It lets me in the hot tub room and the work out room. It is my lifeline into my home away from home this week. This morning, the magnetized part of my card failed. I lost my identity somewhere in between my complimentary continental breakfast and brushing my teeth. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ve been here long enough that they think I’m on staff, so all I needed to do was to get it zapped and I was back on track with my schedule intact. It did get me to thinking though about all of the identities that I’ve taken on this week. I’ve been a commuter. I’ve been a student. I’ve been a customer. I’ve been a poor single slob, a husband, and then a poor single slob again. I’ve been a church “spectator”. I’ve been a dad by phone and by text. I’ve been a pastor by email and I’ve been a friend by Fac

My, how the years have gone by. I remember the days of toddlers and baby gates keeping little feet and hands confined to safe zones. I remember the day that my daughter, two years old and unimpressed, destroyed one that we had recently purchased, much like Godzilla on a stroll through Tokyo. Much older, any many garage sales later, I am back to employing a baby gate. No I haven’t violated my two hands two kids rule. Initially the gate was purchased to keep my son and daughter-in-laws puppy from eating from our cats litter box. These days it is being used to keep that senile old cat from relieving herself in inappropriate places. She has gone through 8 lives already and this is me being benevolent and not relieving her of her last one. This is a recent development. I guess these things become “developments” even for old people. Fortunately for humans, they make diapers in all sizes. Not so for cats. Several weeks ago, totally unannounced, she began to use our curtains and carp