Hello Readers, welcome back.  

As freeing as the feeling of shirking off the Bachelor/Bachelorette hairshirt I once tolerated is, it is difficult to organize any semblance of a profound thought upon which to leave you pondering week to week.  My commitment, however, is unwavering. 

Recent events (both past and ongoing) in my own busy life over the past couple of weeks have forced me to ponder life and mortality more than I usually do: that is to say constantly.  In the recent weeks I attended the wedding of two people I care greatly about.  For the first time in as long as I can remember, when the priest asked the congregation at the wedding if we would help the new couple to grow by providing support and guidance to them in their new marriage, I whole heartedly responded, "I will."  I actually paid attention during the ceremony rather than wondering what time the bar would open and if it would be a full bar or just beer and wine.  I did not wonder if there would be a DJ or a band.  I did not commit to dance the funky chicken or the hokey pokey.  I simply sat in my pew and enjoyed the happiness pouring from the altar.    

Shortly after that wonderful event, I also attended the funeral of someone I also cared about.  Without providing too many personal details, this person was a very old person who was, to say the least, a huge influence in the lives of her family, extended family, and friends.  A full life is something to celebrate; however, the loss of a person like that is still a cause for sadness much like a final bite of chocolate cake or finishing the final page of a great book.  Like that cake or the book, she will be fondly remember yet difficult, if not impossible, to replace.  Only a few people like that are available to us in our lifetimes and being aware of that is a real gift.  

I suppose all an average Joe or Jane can hope for is to die peacefully while the love and respect you've inspired in others continues to remain alive.  We cannot all change the entire world, but the best of us change the world around them for the better.   

To top all of that off, another person  I care deeply about was hospitalized and, there's no way of sugar coating it, came way too close to joining the aforementioned old person on St. Peter's escalator.  Fortunately, St. Peter will have to wait a while longer to meet that person.      

All in all it's been quite a couple of weeks.  I realize that one's mortality is not the light-hearted banter you anticipated this week, but the thoughts are inescapable.  On a lighter note, there are apparently more than one of you out there who still care about the blog.  Outdated platform aside, I promise to keep the content as fresh as a baby's newly powdered bottom if you'll promise to humor me from time to time.  Thank you for your comments.  I'm glad you're all doing well in your respective parts of the world.        

Franz Kafka once said, "the meaning of life is that it stops."  German atheists have a gift for brevity and bluntness, do they not?   Regardless, that strikes me as true. 

Christians are taught that life is nothing more the soul's temporary layover in an imperfect vessel called the body.  Depending on how that temporary vessel is utilized, the final destination of that soul is either a soft place to land or a hot place to burn . . . forever.

In the world of Instagram, reality television, Tik Tok, and Snapchat, our lives have been reduced to 280 (thanks, for the additional 160 characters, Elon) characters or a brief snippet on social media.  I can literally see what my favorite celebrities had for lunch, look around for 360 degrees on the beach where they ate it, and watch some old lady dance with her granddaughter at any time, at any second, on any day of the week.   

Whether we realize it or not, this unfettered, unadulterated access to everything at all times via an iPhone screen is literally robbing us of our lives.  Granted, my generation had the advantage of not growing up with any social media or smartphones.  My father's idea of social media, was turning off the television, throwing our shoes outside, and us right behind them before locking the door and telling us, "go play."  Back then that was called good parenting.  Today, that would warrant a call from Child Protective Services.  It's a shame, really.  

The most deleterious yet subconscious consequence of burying our faces in a screen for hours upon hours, is that not only are we filling our minds superfluous trash, we never replace that trash with anything substantive.  Scrolling incessantly is like unwrapping all of the merchandise in a vast warehouse, shipping it out the back door, and allowing the cardboard and packing peanuts to fill the void.  It is a metaphorical kicking of the can down the road wherein our minds are never allowed to turn off and never permitted to rest or reset.  We are the balloon caught in the updraft or the hamster caught on the wheel.  This has caused my generation great harm, but it is literally in the process of destroying the two generations behind mine.  

So today, I am going to encourage all of you to do a couple of things.  First, please call, write, text, or make contact with someone you love.  That's it.  There's no requirement that you tell that person what he or she means to you.  No requirement you say, "I love you."  Just be present in their day, if even for just a few moments.  Second, go buy a paper book and commit to read it.  I recently re-read two books that were assigned reading in high school and college to re-examine my perspective as a cranky old(er) man versus the naive teenager I was when I was forced to read them.  It was a rewarding exercise that helped me appreciate my walk from adolescence into middle age and beyond.  It also kept me away from my phone for many hours.       

George Santayana wrote, "there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."  Doing that takes a concerted, sustained, conscious effort; especially in today's world.  Do yourselves a favor and make time to enjoy your own interval.   

We'll talk soon.  Have a wonderful week.  DP