Lantern Festival

"I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.’ -- Emily Dickinson

There’s nothing quite so sad as a discarded toy.

In the last week I’ve come across several toys piled up outside of people’s homes waiting for the sanitation trucks to haul them away.

The list includes a stuffed unicorn, a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe, a jeep for child-sized drivers and a kid’s desk.

All of them were once loved so dearly, but now they’ve outlived their usefulness as their owners continue the one-way march toward adulthood.

It’s only natural, of course; there comes a time to put away childish things, but it still depresses the hell out of me.

I’m going to be 65 years old on Tuesday. I don’t believe it, and I certainly don’t like it, but that is the reality.

I am eligible for Medicare as well as discounts at a slew of chain restaurants that don’t particularly appeal to me.

And I’m planning for retirement, though that’s still a couple of years away.

The AARP marked my entry into the Senior Citizen Club by sending me a small electric lantern. And two days later they sent me another one.

Either there was a screw-up at the front office, or they think I live in a thatched hut.

I wish I could’ve had one of these things when I was a kid. I could’ve played all sort of games with them.

Lighten Up

I think about all the toys my parents bought for me when I was going up—GI Joe, the board game Stratego and a slew of toy rifles and pistols--how I loved them and how I eventually outgrew them.

Most of them ended up in the trash too.

And I remember how my mother used to make such a fuss on our various birthdays, like it was the important day of the year.

It’s hard not to get a little sad when I think about that.

I had promised in an earlier birthday post that I wouldn’t waste any more time wondering where all the time went, what do I have to show for my years on this earth and what the hell did I do with my life, because that only wastes more time.

And yet I still do it.

I struggle daily with my choices, my lack of courage, and my resistance to change, even when I was in a thoroughly rotten situation.

With me, it almost always the devil I know.

I’m not a sports fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I love this quote from Babe Ruth: “Don't let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”

There have been so many times in my life when I hid up in the bleachers rather than stepping up to the plate

Striking out sucks big time, but that momentary discomfort fades when compared with the pain of never having picked up the bat.

I think most people deal with some form of regret, so eradicating it is probably impossible.

But if I can keep those toxic thought from taking over my life and robbing me of the precious time I have remaining, that will be the best birthday gift ever.

Now I’m going to light up some lanterns.