Black Balloons

As I approach 40, I often wonder where my parents were at this point in their lives. I know I am in a radically different place than they were at this age, but I am curious about the specifics. I try not to compare what they had accomplished by 40, but it's hard not to at least think about. So I did something that often has interesting (sometimes humorous) results, I texted my mom.

I wasn't entirely sure how old I was when dad was 40, but I know I was in junior high. She said I was 13. And that she was 40, I was sixteen.  So, basically, when both of my parents turned 40 I was in self-centered, growing pains, sand-in-my-underwear phase of my life. I don't really think I left that phase until my senior year of high school. That's not really what came to mind when she told me how old I was. I was actually thinking of a very short memory I had at the time.

My dad was a high school principal in a village in southern Illinois.  I would say town, but it's really smaller than a town. And I often heard people at the time say, this is a village not a town. So, there you go. My dad was a high school principal in a village. And we would normally walk to the high school with him in the morning because mom would drive to work to a nearby "town" where she taught fifth grade. Or maybe it was fourth grade at that time. I can't remember.

We walked with dad to his school because the grade school was in home-run distance of the high school. There was this small, paved walkway between the high school and grade school. Until that year, my sister and I would walk on the walkway to the grade school each morning after we harassed the cafeteria cooks at the high school. Seriously. We would try to scare them every morning in new and unoriginal ways. And then we would dance like idiots in the half-darkened, empty gym until it was time for us to go to school. Once again, I digress.

On the morning of my dad's birthday, we made our usual walk across Route 40, through Joyce's Cafe gravel-parking lot, across the high school parking lot and into the darkened high school halls. I think that's how it went. These are memories, you know, often subject to alteration due to sentimentality, age, and creativity. When we walked into dad's office that morning, there were black balloons, black flowers, streamers, and dot-matrix printed banners that spelled out things like, "Lordy, Lordy, look who's Forty." At the time I had no idea why everything was black. Apparently dad was over the hill, and I wasn't entirely sure what that meant either.

I think his secretaries or administrative assistants sat all of it up for him. I don't recall who it was because he fired her shortly thereafter. My dad hated surprises like that. I'm kidding. My dad laughed along with everyone else. And I probably just smiled like a goof, pretending to get it all.

It's crazy how much the age 40 has changed, though. It doesn't seem that old anymore. It doesn't seem "over the hill" anymore. Or does it? Is it because I'm turning 40 that it doesn't seem that old? Or is it because there are still so many hot celebrities over 40? Or is it because I just got married one year shy of forty? Or is it because I feel like I finally know something about life at 40?

I'll admit it, I don't feel as mature or as wise as my parents probably were at 40. I think that's probably why I respect and admire them so much. As a person who married late, I honestly feel like I was way too immature to marry young...or younger. I was too selfish, too close-minded, and really had incorrect expectations for marriage. I'm sure my parents would admit they certainly didn't have it figured out either. I'm sure they still don't feel like they have it all figured out.

So my experience of turning 40 is radically different from my Dad's. It's not better or worse, it just is.  I don't feel like I'm over the hill (unless the hill is my belly).  Sure, things are backed up a bit, but that's okay too. I feel like I have (my wife says the same thing, too) this amazing appreciation for all these new experiences that I think only comes from having to wait.

And you know, things will probably get better. Honestly, I fear writing that out, but God is working on getting me to let go of that fear. Because it's okay to hope. It's okay to expect the next ten years to be even better than the last.

Dude, seriously, the squirrels in our back yard are having a serious wrestling match. One just pile-drived another. 

Which reminds me of something else my mom said. Wait, the squirrels remind me of my mom, not wresting matches. She enjoys watching squirrels out of her living room window. (I probably shouldn't have said that.) At any rate, she texted me later that morning, as if she could tell what was on my mind, and said, "Your Grandpa Logue was 46 when Dad was born."

Grandpa also lived on a hill.

  

Red Potatoes

This may be a short post. My wife, Heather, is in bed. We celebrated our anniversary tonight. I grilled a steak, made mashed (red) potatoes and some asparagus. And we drank some port. We actually sat at the dinner table, which is not common for most of our meals. We talked about our first year together. Really, we did.  I know it sounds like something they would do in a TV show or movie, but we really did reminisce over our first year. Our first date. Our second date. Our third date. Our first impressions. And so on.

While talking to Heather about my impressions of her I noticed how she has become more amazing and beautiful to me since even the day before our marriage. I knew I connected with her on an intimate level. I knew I felt like I could be me, but I had no idea how awesome she really was until after being married to her. Is that wrong to say that? I don't know.

I told her it was kinda like holding one of those loops in a jewelry shop up to one spot on an a beautiful painting, like a Monet, Van Gogh, or a Pollock (I had to throw in a modern). The part that I saw under that magnifying lens was great, but I knew there was so much more. And yeah, sure, when you look with a loop, when you look close enough, you expect to see a flaw. But I have spent some time researching diamonds, and if there is one thing I've learned, it's that every diamond should have a flaw. If the diamond doesn't have a flaw, it's probably not a diamond. And I could never trust a person who didn't have flaws.

But I digress. It wasn't her small, barely noticeable (in case you're reading this, honey, I love you!) flaws that drew me in. It was the fact that I knew that this person was an amazing, well-crafted work of art. No, that's not right, not a work of art. A finished piece of art is somewhat static. Sure, I can revisit it at different times in my life and have a different response, but it remains stuck in time.

But here's the thing, Heather and I create this new thing together. By getting married, we really became different people. In a lot of ways, we became one person, but not in the way we think of personhood. I am thinking of the way personhood is represented in the Trinity. It's this ongoing relationship between all persons of the Trinity. Similarly, Heather doesn't complete me, but she compliments me, we enhance each other. She adds to my life. I just know my wife and I love doing life together. We are still these separate identifies, but we are also one person. I don't understand how that works, but I know that when I leave the house to run an errand, and she stays at home, I miss her. I think of her. If I'm in Walgreen's, and I see a bag of Twizzlers, I usually pick them up for her. And she does the same thing for me in so many ways, but not really with Twizzlers.

I don't know if I circled back around to the point I was trying to make about the mystery and beauty of our first year, but I'm tired. It's late. I want to watch something on Netflix and go to bed. One last thing, as a person who was single for a very long time, I do feel the need to give a PSA on how marriage will not totally fulfill you, etc, but honestly, most of you are tired of hearing that. I was tired of hearing that.

Some people look at art and say, I may not know good art, but I know what I like. Well, I say you should probably take an art history class because that would really help you make an informed decision.

And I love my wife.

Why am I doing this?

No really. Why am I doing this? Another blog to add to the already bloated blogosphere. One more blog that may end up in the proverbial cluttered, fire-hazard mess of deserted blogs. I know, it's precisely why I never wanted to start another blog. There, did you hear that? I said another. Yet another reason to not start-this will be my third blog. Third.
Here's the difference: I'm married.
Well, not just married, but married to an awesome woman who understands me and how my head works. She knew I needed to write, that I needed an outlet. She also knows that I make big mental plans and basically plan them out and shoot them down before typing anything. She's a genius, though. She thought and said (good thing she didn't just think it) you should start a blog forty days before you turn forty. Blog ever day for forty days.
Wait what?!? That's amazing. I usually never think that way. And by that I mean, I never think in a practical, shorter-term, goal-minded way. It's either all or nothing with me baby. And that's precisely why I would get stuck. Her idea is different. It's a manageable and attainable goal! She did it! She solved the Kobayashi Maru!
The other reason she thought of this is because I've been stressing about my career. Well, my creative career. I have a great job, but I feel like God has allowed me to have many experiences in life that, well, could help people. I also just love writing. I feel better after I do it. Seriously. Just ask her. I'm happy. She's happier. I think the opossum that lives under our porch is even happier. So, maybe, by my fortieth birthday, maybe, this may be a habit. And maybe some of my readers will experience a blessing, resonance, or some measure of not feeling alone on this big blue sphere hurdling around the sun.
Maybe my wife will let me finally feed the opossum and make it our unofficial, ungrateful pet.
And that's why I'm doing this.
Pretty sure.