The value of old things

The newest of these old things is the first to bite the dust.

I like old things. By definition, they’ve passed the test of time. They don’t make things like they used to.

Our first microwave, a wedding gift, lasted more than 20 years. We’ve had two or three since, I’ve lost track. The newer models don’t last nearly as long as the oldest one did. Our current one isn’t heating things as well as it once did, so we may need to buy yet another one soon.

The bicycle

I haven’t ridden the bicycle in many years, although I still keep it. The frame is bent and the tires are flat, but I’m sure a good bike shop could get it up to speed. (It has no gears, so its mph isn’t as fast as your 18-speed can reach.)

My parents bought that Schwinn bike for me around 1970. I put a lot of miles on it in junior high and high school. I put more miles on it as an adult, although not recently. There’s some great trails around here, so there’s no reason I couldn’t get the bike fixed up and ride it. One of these days.

It’s the only bicycle I’ve ever owned.

The mower

Same with the lawn mower. I bought it in 1988 after we bought our first house. The temperatures were so hot that summer, we lived in that house for a month before I decided the lawn really should get a haircut.

When we lived in Rockford, Ill., in 2013, the lawn mower sat in storage in our locked garage because we rented an apartment that year. After moving to Elyria, Ohio, the next year, I needed to get the mower working again because I would take care of the yard of the house we were renting at the time.

I took the Sears Craftsman mower to a local shop. They told me to get a new mower, that this one wasn’t worth fixing.

I said thanks, then took it to another shop – a family small-engine-repair business I found through our church. Eighty dollars later, Rick had it running smoothly.

That was five years ago. I let him tune it up every year or two, and it’s working fine. Still.

If I bought a new lawn mower today, would it last more than 30 years?

The car

That leaves the car, a 1996 Mercury Grand Marquis. We actually were the second owners of that vehicle. My mother-in-law bought it new in Clearwater, Fla. We bought it in 2006 from my in-laws’ estate after they both had passed away.

It didn’t have a lot of miles on it, then or now. When we traded it in this week, the odometer showed 126,156 miles on it. We don’t measure longevity by miles, but by years.

The horn didn’t work. The AC went out several years ago. The “check engine” light was a problem, especially here, where that would flunk an e-check (emissions check) test. The left front tire had a slow leak that was getting worse – I had to put air in it once or twice a week just to nurse it along. The car fit in our garage, but barely, because it’s so big.

When I had the oil changed in the spring, the mechanic suggested more than $1,300 in repairs: Replace the brakes, replace the serpentine belt, replace the Pitman Arm (whatever that is), flush the coolant and power steering fluids since they were discolored, and take care of that pesky “check engine” light.

We decided the car had reached the end of the line. We didn’t want to put that much money into a 23-year-old vehicle.

I was the primary driver of the Grand Marquis. I drove it into Cleveland and surrounding areas a couple of times a month, around town quite a bit, and on an annual trip to Mason, Ohio, near Cincinnati – not quite a four-hour drive – each of the past three summers. It did great. But I didn’t think the Grand Marquis would make it to Mason and back this year.

The Grand Marquis replaced a Saturn wagon in our garage (we had both vehicles for several years), and before that I drove a Chevette for 18 years. In my entire adult life, I’ve basically driven three cars.

Our other vehicle – usually a minivan – lasts a long time, too. We replaced a 2002 Pontiac Montana with a Mazda5 several years ago.

So, it’s kind of a big deal when we buy a vehicle.

When you keep a vehicle more than a decade, quirky things happen. I had to replace the gasoline tank on the Chevette because it rusted out. The Saturn’s “check engine” light remained on continuously for six years; I got the emissions fixed and that light turned off because our oldest son was taking it to college, and I didn’t want him staring at a warning signal every time he started the ignition.

Speaking of the ignition, I had to replace the Grand Marquis’ ignition system a couple of years ago. When I turned off the engine and pulled the key out of the ignition, the engine continued running. I stripped the gears in my attempt to get the engine to stall. When we turned in the vehicle this week, I gave the salesman three keys for it: one for the new ignition, one for the doors and a third key for the glovebox and trunk.

The “upgrade”

 

We just bought a 2016 Kia Soul coming off a lease. We like to buy used vehicles that are like new, so we don’t pay the new-car price but we can keep them a decade or more. We’ve had good luck doing this in the past.

soul 2

The Soul is 20 years newer than the Grand Marquis. I suppose that’s an upgrade. It fits in the garage better than the Grand Marquis did, and it’s a hatchback, similar to the Saturn wagon and Chevette that I drove a long time ago.

Will the Soul last us 20 years?

Will I live another 20 years?

Good questions, both. I suppose the human track record is better than the mechanical track record when it comes to longevity, but there are no guarantees either way.

The finance guy told us the Soul we bought has 16,000 parts. He was trying to get us to buy an extended warranty to cover all of them. (Kia has a good warranty to begin with.) My Chevette probably had about 500 parts on it. I still tell people that it didn’t have any parts that would break down on the highway. That’s an exaggeration, but compared to today’s improved, highly technical, highly complicated vehicles that trained mechanics can’t diagnose on their own (the finance guy told us that, too) …

Give me simple every time.

Simple doesn’t exist anymore. That’s why they don’t make things like they used to.

Advertisements

Going home

Very few of us can time our deaths the way our births are timed.

Nine months from conception, there’s a due date. With a natural birth, that’s a pretty good ballpark estimate. For a Cesarean section, the parents get to choose the specific date of birth.

Rarely does that happen on the other side of life.

Every death is sudden, even if it’s expected.

The guarantee

In the span of two days last weekend, five friends or acquaintances breathed their last breath.

They ranged in age from 81 to 43. Four of them had long-term conditions; two were in such severe pain, I’m sure their loved ones saw their passing as relief.

But still.

The fifth friend shocked everybody. He was healthy, to my knowledge – no one saw his death coming. He was 62. (I’m 58; he’s my generation.)

Two of them lived in Northeast Ohio, the other three in mid-Michigan (my old stomping grounds).

Death is guaranteed for each of us.

Later rather than sooner, we hope.

Unexpected deaths are the ones that make the news – traffic fatalities, drug overdoses, crime victims, that sort of thing. Most of us won’t leave Earth like that, thankfully, but there’s no guarantees about that, either.

Another friend’s granddaughter died about two weeks ago. She suffered numerous health issues from the day she was born. She was 21.

No one ever said life was fair.

Homegoing

Sometimes, those who suffer have the best dispositions. They are thankful for the blessings they have, even if good health isn’t one of them. Our 81-year-old friend was like that. He had debilitating headaches his entire adult life, but he looked on the bright side every day.

His strong faith allowed him to do that.

He is in heaven now with his savior, Jesus. He knows that with certainty. So does his wife. They were married 61 years.

We visited her yesterday afternoon to offer our condolences. She said she’s not planning a funeral for him, but a homegoing. We knew what she meant.

Funerals are sad. We mourn the loss of our loved one. Rightfully so. But that’s where the focus remains.

With a homegoing, family members and friends know that death is temporary – just a transition to a better life. Healing is promised in heaven. Physical, emotional and every other kind of healing that each of us needs.

The end of time

We mourn the loss of our loved one here on Earth and we miss him or her terribly, but we know we will see him or her again.

Earth is a temporary home, full of pain and struggle, as well as joy and laughter. We know this. Good vs. evil. Unconditional love vs. selfishness. Right vs. wrong.

These battles are fought in the human heart and mind, aren’t they?

We play them out in society, but the real battles take places inside each of us.

When eternity comes, those struggles will end. For better or worse.

We’ll either stand with God in heaven, or we’ll spend forever without Him. The Bible talks about a lake of fire. I wonder also if hell will be a lonely place. We may not see our friends and family any more. Ever again.

I can’t imagine a worse fate than that.

My choice, your choice

We get to choose where we live forever. We determine our own fate, really.

I can’t choose for you, and you can’t choose for me. This is personal, and it’s individual. I can give you chapter and verse, but you must decide whether to accept the gift of life forever or not.

Life is a gift.

Life on Earth is a gift. Each of us must thank our parents, both mother and father, for giving us life. You and I had nothing to do with it.

Life forever is a similar principle. There won’t be marriage in heaven, but we will have a Father. He’s the one who offers us that gift of life eternal.

Most of my friends who just died will receive a homegoing, a celebration of life on Earth and the promise of a wonderful, perfect forever future in heaven.

We can’t wrap our minds around forever. The end of time. No more alarm clocks or deadlnes.

Nor can we fathom perfection. Beauty for beauty’s sake. No hidden agendas. No secrets. No pain or suffering, of any type. No getting tired at night. Never a cold or fever, much less any other sickness or injury.

Mental illness? No such thing any more.

The big picture

One day, we will see the big picture of life. We don’t now. Each of us sees only our small part in this big universe. There’s so much of life I can’t see or understand. I write to try to make sense of it all, but as the Bible says, now I see in a mirror dimly, but then (in heaven) face to face.

I have strong views on certain subjects, and you may have a differing viewpoint on those same subjects. We both might be right, because we see the issue from different perspectives. Neither of us understands the big picture. We try, but we just cannot.

That’s why we need to talk, to listen, to respect each other, to learn from each other.

One day, all the issues we wrestle with will come together. The God of the universe, the One who created us and everything else in it, will reveal all to us.

For now, God has given us earthly minds to learn and grow. None of us can know everything about life.

We desperately need this perspective today.

We need each other.

We NEED each other.

We can’t make this life work without each other. Even though we try.

Oh, we try.

The more I learn, the more I discover how much I don’t know. Keep teaching me, each one of you. I’ll do the same for you.

Meanwhile, as we do that, I’m ready for my homegoing, when all will be well. I’m not expecting it any time soon – I’m still relatively young and in excellent health, if I can say that. No guarantees, of course, except that I will die one day. But whenever the day comes, I hope you’ll celebrate it with me.

And I’d love to celebrate yours, too.

Just not for awhile.

In the meantime, let’s celebrate this life on Earth together. And remember with gratitude those who are already home.

How to take back our country from politicians

Here in Ohio, I wish far left U.S. Sen. Sherrod Brown and very far right U.S. Rep. Jim Jordan had lost in Tuesday’s election (I voted that way so I can say that, right?).

That would have sent a clear message across the United States: We’ve had enough with partisan politics. Let’s learn to get along with each other again.

It didn’t happen, of course.

Brown, first elected to the U.S. Senate in 2006, received 53.2 percent of ballots cast. Jordan, serving since 2007 and founding member of the Freedom Caucus, received support from 65.4 percent of voters who cast a ballot in his U.S. House district.

Nationwide, Democrats regained control of the U.S. House and Republicans kept their dominance in the U.S. Senate. We’ll see how that plays out in the next two years.

National politics gets an awful lot of attention, far more than local politicians and tax issues do, which is too bad, really.

Locally, there weren’t any surprises in the political races.

Opioid issue defeated

Voters across the county decided quite a few tax requests, some renewals and some new millages. Results were mixed. A tax to fund a local opioid recovery program, for example, was defeated, 52 to 48 percent. That surprised me. Opioids affect all of us in some way, either with people we know who are affected by it or by the crimes addicts commit to finance their habit.

Is drug addiction an illness or a disease? Are individuals responsible for their habits? I think this played into the issue’s defeat. Rather than trying to help those who suffer, no matter how it began, we choose to blame them for getting addicted in the first place.

Prevention is the ideal, yes. But how to do that?

Volunteering at school

On another issue, the local school district renewal passed; I was glad to see that. I’m passionate about supporting our local public schools.

Not everyone is. I talked with a good friend who sent his now-grown children through Christian schools, and said he rejected all tax requests – including for schools – because he wishes the state offered vouchers so he wouldn’t have to pay for public education. Instead, his education dollars could be re-directed to a private school of his choice.

I don’t agree with him on this issue. Jesus wouldn’t either, in my opinion.

Jesus met the needs of people right where they were. He spent time with children, drug addicts, outcasts, immigrants, church leaders, politicians – all types of people. He didn’t create a separate church or school where he taught or expected children to attend. He preached on hillsides, yes, but then he sent everyone home. Be a Christian right where you live, he told them.

Public education in this country is available to all. If parents choose to send their children to a private school, that’s their choice. They should pay for their choice.

And private schools, including Christian-based schools, face the same social issues – bullying, teen pregnancy, drugs – that public schools do.

The vast majority of our nation’s residents can’t afford a private education or the transportation to get there, even if they wanted to send their children to one. Instead, we need to support our students and teachers – all of them. We need to give them the resources they need to do their jobs well, then hold them accountable for that.

Since my children also are long beyond the 12th grade, it’s easy for me to sit back and point fingers at those directly involved in public education. No. I need to get involved, and I do. I’ve been mentoring elementary school students for about a decade, even though we’ve lived in three states during that time. A couple of mentoring programs I’ve participated in have disbanded. I keep searching for another one.

I began doing this at Stone Elementary School in Saginaw, Mich., across the street from the church we attended. That was a low-pressure lunchtime program where mentors played a game or two and ate lunch one-on-one with a student.

When we moved to Rockford, Ill., I found a mentoring program within two months. In that program, I read with second-grade students for an hour in 15-minute segments, in the classroom. The teacher sent me students who needed the most help with reading. As a journalist, that was right up my alley, a win-win for everyone.

Here in northeast Ohio, I’ve served through several programs. One at Midview schools in Grafton disappeared after a year. The next one in Cleveland schools disbanded this summer. I recently found an elementary in Lorain, the next town over, and am just getting to know a fifth-grader there. And through our church, several of us are mentoring high school students in Lorain as well. That’s something new for me, but I’m excited about that too.

Instead of complaining about how our public schools are failing, let’s get involved. Locally, we can make a difference.

Reducing the influence of politicians

If your passion is visiting the sick in a hospital or spending time with drug addicts or pregnant teens or another issue, there are ways to offer support and encouragement. Such programs need money, yes, but they also need our involvement.

The one irrevocable asset we possess is time. Once it’s gone, we can never get it back. Let’s make it count.

Money? We can earn more. Politics? We get another chance every two or four years.

Giving money and voting for people and causes we believe in are important, of course.

But they aren’t enough. Let’s do something with our lives. Choose an issue or two you’re passionate about and make a difference.

We talk about taking back our country from the politicians. This is how we do it. We as citizens must take control of our own lives, and of public life as well.

One student at a time. One opioid addict at a time. One struggling marriage at a time. One pregnant teen at a time. One cancer victim at a time. One veteran at a time. One hungry child at a time. One lonely neighbor at a time.

Et cetera, et cetera.

Open your eyes. Opportunities are everywhere, literally.

Enough with the conservative-liberal hatred. Let’s change lives instead.

One person at a time.

Taking time for the little things in life

I sat in silence in my living room, a cup of coffee in my hand and a cat on my lap, a typical morning. Pitch black outside; no lights on from the apartments across the street. I’m up early. No cars passing by yet. It’s Sunday.

A little movement. A tiny spider crawling on the window.

Should I smush it?

Not yet, no. How often do we impulsively ruin a moment? Silence. No Internet, no television, no music. Just the humming of the refrigerator. Remember that sound?

If I jumped up to kill the spider, the cat would leave and not come back. She’s warm on my lap, dozing. She doesn’t see the spider.

It crawls off the window, over the frame, onto the wall. Its shadow from the table lamp exaggerates its size. I lose the spider behind a chair near the wall. A minute later, it turns around and crawls on the wall under the window.

Just a little spider. It’s not hurting anything.

Eventually, it returns to the window. Does it want to get outside? It’s cold out there. It snowed a couple of days ago. The snow has since melted, but it’s still chilly. Too cold for a spider, I imagine.

What does the spider see in the blackness outside? Or is it focused only in the here and now, only on the window and the warmth inside where it crawls?

I nurse the cup of coffee and watch the spider for close to half an hour, the cat cozy on my bathrobe. The spider doesn’t go far. Just around the window.

Eventually, the cat leaves my lap. I find a tissue and smush the spider. I knew from the outset that the spider would not face a happy ending.

Why rush the scene, though?

Silence.

I start every morning this way, seven days a week. A cat in my lap, a cup of coffee in one hand, a Bible in the other.

I see stories every so often that say the busier we are, the more quiet time we need to get through it. Many of us live at a breakneck pace, and feel like we are wasting our time if every moment is not planned out, if we aren’t doing something every minute.

A long-ago illness has proved a lifelong blessing for me in this regard. When I was 20, I got pneumonia. I lost 15 pounds in 10 days because even the sight of food made me nauseous. (I don’t recommend that as a diet plan, by the way.)

As a result, I get tired easily. Still do. I cannot work 12-hour days, go out in the evening, get four hours of sleep and repeat. Just can’t do that. I’ll get sick. Don’t have that stamina.

When God ordered us to take a Sabbath, He wasn’t kidding. A day of rest recharges us. All of us need down time, whether we’re susceptible to pneumonia or not.

Perhaps I need more down time than you do, but I’ll bet you’d benefit from a little chill time as well.

Spend some time with God. He likes that. You will too.

If more of us did that, I’ll bet fewer of us would run red lights and cut others off in traffic in a big hurry to get who knows where. Perhaps we’d actually show up to church on time. Perhaps we’d be friendlier to everyone – everyone – at work. Even that one person who’s hard to get along with.

We might smile more. We might not need so much coffee (or something stronger) to get us through the day.

Sunrises are beautiful. So are sunsets. When’s the last time you saw one or the other, and stopped to admire it – without taking a picture to post on Facebook? Can you admire beauty just for what it is?

Spiders are good to have around. They capture insects in their webs, often flies and other creatures we’d rather not have in or around our house. Why are we so quick to kill them?

I looked up “spiders” on Wikipedia, which I almost never quote in this blog. The very first line is this: Spiders (order Araneae) are air-breathing arthropods that have eight legs and chelicerae with fangs that inject venom.

Even Wikipedia hates spiders. Fangs and venom? When you see an eensy weensy spider crawling across your living room window, do you see fangs and venom? Do spiders attack you? Kill you? Make you sick, even?

We do so much more damage to them than they do to us.

Spiders don’t make a sound. If you don’t see it, you won’t know it’s there, unless it has spun a web to catch those annoying buzzing insects flying around your house. What has a spider ever done to you?

Silence.

I shared a few moments this morning with a spider, in addition to my cat. Two living things.

I did kill the spider, because that’s what humans do. We don’t like creepy crawly things taking over our abodes. But for a few minutes, we shared space.

And it was good.