Double Nickel

The long-awaited day has arrived. Indeed, this is the precise moment in time I have talked about and leaned toward for a couple of years.

Today I am officially a senior citizen at Peet’s Coffee. Ever since Peet’s opened in the corner of our neighborhood supermarket, I have been answering the question, “One punch or two?” And I have honestly answered, “Only one . . . for now.” The clerks behind the counter have looked warily at my greying, thinning hair and have reluctantly punched my frequent drinker’s card a single time.

You see, I knew my day would come. This is one of those life moments that counteract the generally negative thoughts about aging. In fact, for me it might be one of two. The first one was becoming a grandfather. What a great and wonderful thing! And right after it comes gaining senior status at Peet’s. (Many of you may point to my membership in AARP which was achieved 5 years ago. But I would argue that I have yet to find the pleasure in receiving magazines pointing out what can be done for those parts of me that aren’t working right and identifying those biological failures yet to come.)

I was wrong. My day did not come. A friend, Homer, broke the news to me on the day after Christmas. “Do you have any of the frequent drinker cards left?” he asked in a voice reminiscent of an eight-year old in search of a Mickey Mantle rookie card. When I looked puzzled, he explained, “They’ve discontinued the program. You can use the cards you have, but they’re not issuing any more.”

Minutes later, I looked remorsely at the card in my hand. It was full of punches. So, I thought, this is the way it will end. My last free cup of coffee — and it will be consumed while I’m still a junior citizen.

Maybe I should have saved that card until today. Perhaps Major Dickinson’s blend would have tasted that much better as a free one.

I’ve considered my options. I thought about writing a letter to the CEO of the supermarket, threatening a class action age discrimination suit. But I seem to remember something in our ethics course in law school about spurious law suits. I also thought about changing coffee shops. I even shopped around a bit. And I also considered giving up coffee.

But for today, I went to Peet’s, plunked down my money and got my coffee. I think I’ve grown accustomed to things anticipated not being quite what I imagined. Call it what you will — acceptance — contentment — acquiescence — resignation. It’s life.

And the real eye-opener (and caffeine-free) is knowing that most of the happenings in my life — the things that surprise or unfold without my design or effort, are so much better and delightful than what I could have asked for. God has a way of doing that.

So, at this milestone, I set aside my pride in attaining this now-expired status and I quote the imminent philosopher, Yoda, “Blessed, I am.”

A Moment of Christmas

We were expecting things to be different this year. Changes in the family have made us wary of almost every occasion.

So it was with no small amount of dread that I awaited the traditional opening of gifts. Certainly, I thought, things just won’t be the same. For one thing, it was coming a day late. And then there was the element of missing people. A few would not be with us. And then there was the fact that the economic downturn would be an obstacle for all that gathered.

But the magic moment of Christmas emerged. The gifts, some modest and some more extravagant, were a side note to the beautiful thoughts and love poured into their selection. After this long-awaited festival of sharing, I chided myself on my earlier anxiety. After all, wasn’t the greatest present in the world delivered in a small family gathering in a stable during tough economic times and horrific political and social stress?

So, while I was still thinking that perhaps Christmas would be unrecognizable this year, I received the greatest present of them all. The moment of Christmas began to sink in.

“Emmanuel” does mean “God with us.” And He is.

Faith

This has been a difficult year in many ways. I didn’t write a Christmas letter to slip in with the cards that Nancy faithfully selects, writes personal notes in, and stays up all hours to hand address. Come to think about it, I didn’t write a Christmas letter last year either. Twelve months ago, it was a mixture of fatigue, laziness, and a lack of time that drained the creative juices and stopped the project.

This year was just too difficult. In one of the Christmas cards to a dear, but distant friend, I wrote that this had been a year of blessings with a heavy dose of tragedy and a sprinkling of comedy. After further thought, I realized that was a pretty good summary statement. And it’s a statement that works not only for us, but for so many others around us.

For whatever reason, I have been fixated on how different things are becoming for us. And, in so doing, I think I’ve lost the broader view of what life is. Life is something different every day. Death is day after day with no change.

I have to admit I’m weary of some of the different that’s coming our way. Yet, I remind myself of what I learned from my good friend, Preacher Eddie. He was telling the story of Jesus calming the storm with that powerful order — “Peace, be still!”

As Preacher Eddie preached on, he asked us to consider the point of that story. I have to admit that I centered on the power of God, the Creator, and the awesome might of His mere words. And, as Eddie reminded, that is part of the story.

What I missed was what happened next. Jesus turned to his disciples and basically said, “So, what were you worried about? Did you forget that I’m right here in the boat with you?”

So, even though I can’t bring myself to writing a Christmas letter this year, I want you to know that the whole story of Christmas is this:

Jesus is in the boat. Whatever the change that comes, whatever the tragedy, God is next to us. Spreading blessings, sprinkling comedy.

Isn’t life great? When the waves grow a little threatening and wind howls around us, Nancy and I just turn to each other and say, “Remember, Jesus is in the boat.”

Merry Christmas. . .

Electrifying experience

Everyone I know has had the experience. Maybe it wasn’t with the electric company. But the cable company, phone company, water company.

So I went in early to a little business I accidentally acquired a few years ago to pay bills. Normally, I set the computer to remind me of bills on the day they need to be mailed. But this month I messed up. I entered the actual due date — today — as the day for the reminder.

As I ran the check, I glanced at the statement and realized that by mailing it today, it would be late. Not wanting a late charge or even one of those demeaning letters about how my electricity would be turned off and I would be subjected to public humiliation, I called customer service.

Of course, I had to do the requisite “shout every number that is remotely connected with you, the account, and the obscure prophecies of Nostradamus” until the machine finally gave up and connected me to a human.

She was a nice human. Very soft voice, though. I kept turning the volume up on my receiver. Eventually, I had given her enough numbers to satisfy her, told her my problem and asked if I could pay the bill locally today — on the due date — so that I wouldn’t be late. Several minutes later she gave me a string of places that would accept my payment.

“Of course,” she explained, “if you pay in person today it will still be late.”

It took her a couple of more minutes to enlighten me why, if I paid on time to her representative, my payment would still be late. “You know,” she said, “you can pay online and it won’t be late.”

“Great, now we’re getting somewhere!”

“BUT, after you transfer the money into our account, you’ll need to call us and give us the confirmation number so that we can manually make a note that you’re not late.”

“So,” I began slowly, “if I put money in your account directly on the due date so that I’m not late, I still have to call you to tell you that I’m not late.”

“You’ve got it!” she said cheerily.

So I made the payment online. Then dialed the number on the screen. Went back through the shout all the numbers through the phone again and finally reached a customer service representative. I provided account numbers, gave my name three times, and finally, after revealing my zip code, heard, “Oh, you’re not in my service area — let me transfer you.”

Went through the same pattern with the man who answered and then heard, “Oh, this is a business account — let me transfer you.”

The last customer service rep seemed nice enough. Gave her all of the numbers, plus some the others hadn’t thought of and she finally took the payment confirmation number.

“Don’t worry if you get any notices — we have a record that you’ve paid now,” she informed me brightly.

“But that’s why I called. I don’t want notices or late charges or anything like that.”

“Well we can’t guarantee that.”

Well, usually when I write I try to come up with some wonderful thought and teaching moment. Sorry, I’m empty. And I won’t stoop to identifying the electric company. Of course, you know that I live in
TeXas and it is a Utility company. Maybe you can “capitalize” on those hints and figure out who it is.

Bet I still get a notice and a late charge.