Thoughts on Turning the Speed Limit
November 22, 2009
The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
I did buy the kind of phone described by Charles Craver – mine is a “Blackberry Storm” that I often mistakenly call a “Blueberry,” even though it’s clearly black! I can turn it sideways to access a slightly larger keyboard; I can download all my e-mails and surf the Internet; and I can pretend it’s an iPhone because everything on it is done by touch screen.
My grandson was able to convince me to buy it because I’d been around so many friends at General Assembly last June who had the iPhone, and it was so cool! They could make it do all kinds of obnoxious sounds which I won’t describe here; one friend could make it do a what she called a “call and response,” where a puppy would repeat whatever we said into the phone; and another friend showed me how he could turn his photos into black and white, and then simply highlight the color of parts of each photo, making them look incredibly artsy!
But Verizon doesn’t sell the iPhone; they offered the Blackberry Storm instead, and sent me – while I was at G.A. no less – a text message offering me the phone at an incredible price. (How did they know I was suffering from iPhone-envy at that very time?!)
I asked the young salesman at Verizon if the Blackberry would make the sounds that the iPhone makes, and he simply said – in a rather haughty tone of voice, I thought – that the Blackberry has over 100 “applications.” I decided to take that as a “Yes.”
And maybe it does. To tell you the truth, I haven’t fully checked it out yet. I did go on the Verizon website one day and followed the links to “Applications.” But so far I haven’t seen anything quite as cool as my friends had on their iPhones; and even if I do, I haven’t yet taken the online “tutorial,” so don’t really know what to do if I do find a fun “application” to download onto my so-called “smart phone!”
But of course, my kids and even my grandkids have no problem whatsoever understanding all that. And I’ve been reminded so often lately of the Christmas when I decided to give my son – then about 8 years old – a small electronic keyboard; and my mother decided to get one for my dad – who was probably then not much older than I am now! We’d all opened our gifts at my sister’s home in Westchester, and then Garrett and I drove to my parents’ home in Orange County to spend the night.
All during the drive, Garrett played with the keyboard. Without once glancing at the instruction manual, he pushed various buttons that made the piano sound like a trumpet, or harp, or violin; he experimented with different rhythms; he made disgusting sounds into the built-in microphone and played them back on the keyboard. He was completely absorbed by it, without an ounce of intimidation.
When we arrived at my parents’ house, we found a slightly different scenario. We walked in the front door, and there was my father, sitting at the dining room table with his new keyboard in front of him – and with the instruction manual opened next to it. He would carefully read about some feature, then find the corresponding button on the keyboard and press it. Then back to the manual to read, and back to the keyboard. I don’t know if he ever did figure out all the things it could do. It remains for me one of my clearest and dearest images of the difference between the generations. And I’ve no doubt that one day my children and grandchildren will be telling similar stories about me; they probably already are!
But I am determined to be more tech-savvy than either of my parents were. A couple of weeks ago I signed up for Facebook in part because my colleagues said it would help the younger members of my congregation think I’m cool. I was also excited to finally be able to participate in all the conversations that go on between many of you through that venue.
I thought I was being clever by registering with two different e-mail addresses – one for Emerson, and one for non-professional relations. I even used my “birth name” of Felton as my middle name for only my personal one, thinking that might attract friends from my “pre-marriage” life.
But I find I can’t figure out how to even access my Facebook pages easily; and trying to have two accounts kinda’ messed everything up, in that while I can find all of my Emerson “friends,” I can’t find any of my family or non-Emerson “friends.” I can remember being on some of their Facebook pages at some point, but don’t remember how I got there. And there seems to be no way – really! No way at all! – to contact Facebook for help; it’s astonishing.
Five years ago, when I was turning 60, I talked to you about my resistance to being labeled a “crone” – a “wise woman” – in part because I didn’t yet feel deserving of such an honorary title. But I also admitted that I wasn’t emotionally ready to accept the designation; wasn’t prepared to take on the mantle of being an “elder.”
But today, on the eve of turning 65 – the age that my social worker sister tells me is the age designated by demographers as “senior” – I have begun to accept it, at least a little. In a way, I have no choice; all my peers are insisting on it!
A couple of months ago I learned that there was to be a gathering of UU ministers at the Santa Monica church, the purpose of which was to have a dialogue with those colleagues who had entered the ministry over fifty years ago – names that some of you know: Ernie Pipes, Brandy Lovely, Lex Crane, Paul Sawyer. They are the elders of our ministry, and some have been my mentors. I was looking forward to attending this event, and hearing what wisdom they had to impart to the rest of us.
And then, about a week or so before the gathering, I received a note from Paul Sawyer, saying, “Anne, it’s really important that we have you there, to share your wisdom from all your years of ministry.” And it hit me: Paul was thinking of me as one of the “elders!” I couldn’t believe it! But in fact, it has been over twenty-five years since I entered the parish ministry; I know more of the “elders” of our movement than I do those new to it. It was a sobering realization.
And then there was my older sister’s question after I bought my new Honda Fit last March. “How does it feel,” she asked, “to know that this is probably the last car you’ll ever buy?” Y’know, if that had occurred to me, I might have waited until I could afford that Jaguar I keep wanting! But indeed, given how long I keep my cars, by the time this car “gives up the ghost,” the DMV may very well be asking me to give up my license! Again, it was a sobering moment.
But what’s really bad – and I think why so many of us resist aging (though it’s certainly better than the alternative!) – is the indignities thrust upon us the older we get.
For the past few years, I’ve noticed that more and more waitresses in coffee shops – the ones who look like they’re not all that much younger than I am – call me “sweetie” or “darlin’.” They used to call me that, of course, when I was a child, and even in my 20s. But one day recently I suddenly realized that they were now calling me that because they call all their elderly customers that! And it really makes me wanna’ smack ‘em!
On the other hand, if I don’t let the small humiliations and the occasional physical challenges get to me, I have to admit that aging’s not all that bad. As someone quipped, it “seems to be the only way to live a long life!” And I like Mark Twain’s attitude about aging; he said it’s “an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!”
There are, after all, some blessings that come with growing older. Having grandchildren, for many of us, is one of those blessings. As Erma Bombeck said, “If I had known grandchildren would be such fun, I’d have had them first!” Last Saturday evening I was able to accompany on the piano my 13-year-old granddaughter as she sang a song from Wicked in a recital, and it thrilled me.
And yesterday I watched with pride as my 11-year-old grandson played quarterback in the final championship game for his Pasadena Pop Warner Trojans team. They were undefeated, and yesterday’s game was the first one they almost lost. It went into two overtimes because both teams kept tying the score. But finally, Josh threw a winning pass to his teammate in the end zone, who caught it beautifully for a final touchdown. And when a two-pointer kick made it through the goal posts, the game was over. Josh’s team became the West Coast champions; it was pretty exciting. (Too bad the USC Trojans didn’t have Josh and his teammates playing for them the past couple of games!)
There are other blessings of aging. Senior discounts are nothing to sneeze at! And you don’t even have to necessarily wait until you’re 65 to get them. AARP considers us a senior at age 50; low-cost housing communities such as Leisure World takes us at 55; and most movie theaters give us discounts at age 62, or even 60!
And of course, I have now entered the world of Medicare – which is saving Emerson approximately $700 a month on my health insurance! Again, nothing to sneeze at!
The authors of a book called Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul have listed “Fifty Reasons Why Older is Better.” Here are a few that I like:
- You can say, “When I was your age…” to more and more people.
- You’ve seen it all before, even if you don’t remember where.
- No more pregnancy scares.
- Friends who “remember you when,” don’t.
- Lying about your age is easier now that you sometimes forget what it is.
- You will probably be among the first hostages to be released.
- Standing in the shallow end counts as swimming.
- Finally, good enough is really good enough.
I first titled this sermon “Lessons Upon Turning the Speed Limit.” But I’m not really sure I’ve learned anything more since turning 60, when I told you some of what I’d learned in those 60 years. (You can probably find that sermon on our website.) So I’ve changed the title to simply “Thoughts on Turning the Speed Limit” – because that’s all I have, really; just some thoughts, some reflections. And an acceptance of some probable realities.
I realize now that I will probably never get “discovered” by Hollywood and become a well-known actor. I’ll never play Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, or Ado Annie in Oklahoma! I just have to settle for “channeling,” as someone called it last Sunday, actors like Wanda Sykes in my sermons!
I’ll probably never learn hip-hop – though I came close almost twenty years ago when the community college near me offered a class in it. But I was about to have major back surgery, and would be in a brace for six months afterwards; I’d sign up the following year, I promised myself. But the class wasn’t offered again. And I just suspect I might not be taken seriously if I joined such a class now, not to mention that my body would strongly object!
I’ll probably never get a tattoo – not because I’m too old, but because I’m a bit phobic about needles, and if I haven’t outgrown it by this age, I probably never will. But I’m hoping!
And I’ll probably never get that shiny new Jaguar! So it’s a good thing I love my Honda Fit!
I haven’t given up on Facebook yet, or my Blueberry – I mean, Blackberry – though I did dream last night that I’d traded it in for my old cell phone! One thing I have learned a bit better, however, is to discern what’s really important. The truth is, I don’t have to have Facebook, or Twitter, or even a Blackberry if I don’t want to. Why, I even know some 20-somethings who have decided not to participate in those “social networking” services or have a “smart phone,” because they don’t like them either! Wouldn’t it be something if I were actually ahead of the times?!
Ten years ago, I would tell people that I was the age of the speed limit in California – because it was only 55 miles per hour. But since then, California has raised its limit on most freeways to 65, so once again, I am becoming the speed limit. Maybe by the time I reach 75, the state will have increased it once again (though for the safety of everyone, I hope not!).
What does this say about aging? That we are to live faster as we get older? Probably not! But it is one more reminder to me to keep moving forward – not to slow down just because of my chronological age. There is still much excitement in living.
And it reminds me that, for some reason, time does seem to speed by faster the older we get. Therefore, we all need to live each day as fully as possible. The Talmud warns us that “On Judgment Day, we will be called to account ‘for every permissible thing we might have enjoyed, but didn’t.’” It’s OK that I probably won’t ever become an actress or learn hip-hop, or own a Jaguar.
But it would be very sad if I were to allow my remaining dreams – taking a cruise to Alaska (or anywhere, really), writing a book about my father, driving leisurely across the U.S., having one more visit with my first piano teacher and her family – to slip away because of so-called “obligations.” We must give great respect to our dreams; they are what keep us fully engaged with life; they keep us true to ourselves.
And so, I end with this quote from the Internet that I used for my Benediction five years ago today:
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body; but rather we should skid in sideways, some “bubbly” in one hand, strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO! What a ride!”
May this be so for us all.
© 2007-2011 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
