RANDOM MUSINGS FROM A JERSEY GAL …

Matthew 6:3-4:  “But when you give to the poor and do acts of kindness, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing (give in complete secrecy), so that your charitable acts will be done in secret; and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you”. 

A post popped up on one of my social media feeds this morning about the act of giving and those who attempt to wear it like a badge.  It made me think about generosity, altruism and the various personalities I’ve encountered during my years.

There’s a popular expression that says, “If you want to know the character of any man, watch how he treats those who can do nothing for him.”   I’ve always found this to be true.  There’s an unwritten rule among women in the dating world that suggests to watch how their date treats the waitstaff in a restaurant.  Character is often invisible to the eye but presents itself through unspoken action. 

The same can be said about acts of altruism and a generous nature.  Frank Sinatra, the crooning superstar affectionately known as “Ol’ Blue Eyes,” was also known to have a complicated disposition and volatile temper, both of which were eclipsed by his eminent kindness and overflowing generosity to those in his orbit.  There are countless stories of him writing that much-needed check, of paying off an incurred debt for a friend or once the college tuition of the young waitress in his favorite coffee shop, and the legendary tips given to service staff with the concealed palm of his hand.  While it would be rare for someone of his stature not to be acknowledged for their philanthropic work on the world stage, his most meaningful acts of giving were cloaked in anonymity.

In my everyday experience, the most generous people are often those who can less afford to give of their material wealth.  If you ever find yourself in need of a hot meal, or a safe place to rest for a moment, seek out those who are of less fortune but rich in empathy, for they are the most willing to share.  Empathy is born of one’s own struggles that forge a sympathetic knowing of what another is experiencing.  A loving heart, enlightened by the trials of adversity, creates in a person one who is earnest to help their brother in a time of need. 

I once knew a woman who had a self-serving sense of charity.  During her evening walks with a friend, they encountered a homeless man on their route.  Upon discovering it was this man’s birthday during one encounter, they treated him to a chicken dinner from a neighborhood take-out.  Afterward, she went on to regale anyone who would listen about her act of noblesse.  The “birthday dinner story” had a longer life span than a Queen termite.  For $11.99, a marinated chicken thigh with a side of seasoned rice elevated her to Mother Teresa in her mind. A sentiment she was only too eager to share.

Giving should always be done with a willing heart and when possible, in private. The reward is in the feeling one gets from knowing another’s burden was lessened, if even for a moment, and that the shared invisible connection we have to others was given a jolt of love ignited by you.  If you want to alleviate your troubles for a day, be of service to others.

And be like Frank.  Sing, swagger, love hard and rumble, but be your own version of Mr. Anonymous. 

I’m taking the lazy way out with this post, as the sun is shining and the outdoors are calling my name. I’ve chosen a few songs to convey a message that’s usually left to words, only this time I’ve solicited the help of a sound bubble to transport your thoughts to another time and place.

While words are incredibly powerful, the two greatest channels of emotional recall are aroma and sound. A certain aroma can instantaneously carry us back to our grandmother’s kitchen, as if she were there in front of us, stirring the saucepan that brought to life her delicious food, or hearing the first notes of a song that turns on a light to an etched memory. 

Slip on your headphones, take off your shoes, and let’s float off together in our sound bubbles.

THE FINDING YOUR WAY BUBBLE

It was a time of firsts and a time of wonder. If you’re a man, chances are your hair was 3” longer than it is now, and if you’re a woman, you’ll remember taking two hours to decide which pair of identical looking jeans to wear on a date.  It was a time when the strength of our bodies had to mask the weakness of insecurity that lay beneath the surface of blossoming adulthood. 

We were neophytes with freshly minted driver’s licenses, acting as if we had it figured out when in truth, we knew there was still much to learn.

THE EMERGING LOVE BUBBLE

The memories that embrace emerging love can bring us back to a time when first dates were elevated to linen tablecloths and after-hour nightclubs, and weekend getaways were a promise in the future.  It was a time when tumbling into passion was the easy part, and navigating future steps were left to a more level head.

Many men believe the way to a woman’s erogenous zones is through the whispering of sweet nothings in her ear and some smooth moves, and really, all that’s needed is the sound of a saxophone. 

THE GRIEF BUBBLE

I can’t type this paragraph without tears, for the first few notes of this beautiful instrumental pull me back to the mournful days of my father’s passing.  The grief bubble is one that stays with us for a lifetime, as time does not heal wounds, it simply brings acceptance of them. Grief is an inescapable emotion in every lifetime, for each of us will experience the loss of someone we love. 

The irony of grief is that it comes with instructions to move through it, yet the road through it is filled with holes that can swallow us into stagnation.   When grief enters your life, you must first introduce yourself, then ask for it to remain still as you progress with it, knowing it’s found a permanent home somewhere in your heart.

THE FOOT LOOSE AND FANCY-FREE BUBBLE

If you find yourself smiling in a mischievous way, it’s because this bubble resurrects a time when our bodies were accomplices to our minds, keeping us fit, energetic, and blissfully unaware of our own invincibility. It was an age of devil-may-care decisions, when all that seemed to matter was the twinkle of a star-filled night, not the morning that inevitably followed. Secrets were entrusted to a chosen few, and feeling cool came as naturally as we believed we were.

It was to know the exhilarating confidence of a gambler on a lucky streak.  

THE RENAISSANCE PERSON BUBBLE

My first thought was one of Jeff Goldblum attempting to channel his inner Thelonious Monk, but I then realized this seasoned actor, who to this day disrupts my mind with memories of wire-like fly hairs emerging from his SFX-enhanced back, is simply in his renaissance bubble, a time in life when all of his talents are coming out to play in no particular order.  Pitching apartment rentals is not his final act. 

That’s the beauty of aging.  We get to color outside of the lines without fear of criticism, for if there is criticism, we typically don’t give a flying fig.  I get the sense Jeff knows this well.  I’m sure he has a pocket of troubles like the rest of us, only now, he chooses to jive at a keyboard, in between gigs of acting and being a commercial spokesperson.  Who knows, he may also make a mean marinara sauce. 

If you’re on the Back 9, take a page from Jeff’s book.   Let your restrained talents shine, with a flying fig-less attitude. And never allow anyone to burst your bubble.

“As you move outside of your comfort zone, what was once the unknown and frightening becomes your new normal.” (Robin Sharma)

The ABC television network scored a cultural phenomenon with the recent hit of “The Golden Bachelor” this past year.  The Golden Bachelor is the elder paternal spin-off of their immensely popular romance reality show, “The Bachelor.”  In this geriatric version, female sexagenarians, and septuagenarians, all attractively preserved with the assumed number of nips and tucks, vie for the affection of a silver fox male, whose #1 audition criteria was to look fetching in a tuxedo. The ultimate prize is a last chance at love in their sunset years.  Who knew the introduction of a little blue pill a quarter of a century ago would make senior sex trendy? 

In this season, Gerry, a widower from Indiana at 72 years of age and the Golden Bachelor, chose a woman named Theresa, a widow from New Jersey who at 70 years is admirably fit, to be his happily ever after until the inevitable happens.  It culminated with a final rose ceremony complete with a Neil Lane engagement ring and just enough schmaltz to make it endearing, if not entirely believable.  A ratings bonanza in the form of a televised wedding was to come.   

It came as less of a shock to millions when a mere three months after the nuptials, Gerry and Theresa officially decided to call it quits.  Marriage is a challenge at any age, much more so when it’s done in front of millions of viewers at an age when both spouses, who may have hope in their heart, are still set in their ways.  Acquired life experience doesn’t safeguard against divorce. 

Theresa wrote a thoughtful post on her social media page expressing that while she was disappointed in this outcome, she did not regret a minute of the experience.  I applauded her.  How many of us, particularly at 70 years of age, are willing to step that far out of our comfort zone to reach for a brass ring?  It is an experience that will propel her spirit until her last days, and one that her grandchildren will reminisce about in decades to come. 

Stepping outside of our comfort zone is where the magic lies.  Henry David Thoreau philosophized that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation,” and he’s right.  Playing it safe and close to the vest guarantees less drama in an admittedly crazy world but robs us of the thrill that comes with taking a chance, and an unexpected reward.

The gift of being a sexagenarian-plus is that we tend to care much less about what others think or fear the outcome in risk-taking, and delight more in doing it.  In a life that is probably comprised of many “been there, done that” moments, why not do it again, only this time with a less encumbered spirit?  And, at 60-and-70-ish, you are old enough to have earned a respectable reputation of stability, yet still young enough to avoid the label of eccentric.  It’s the “Three Little Bears” storybook version of chance taking; the bed you choose is soft enough to land, while providing the right amount of bounce. 

When you’re a 40 year old and make an out-of-the-blue phone call to an old flame you dated 20 years ago, it could be considered drunk dialing and perhaps desperate.  When you’re 60, it’s thought to be nostalgic and sentimental. With that AARP card comes a “Get Out of Jail Free” pass with many of our social interactions, and the opportunity to create legendary anecdotes that pair well with a glass of Chardonnay. 

Without risk comes very little reward.  We can remain quiet until we turn to dust, or we can take a leap and use the excuse of our rank to swim in the river of the exciting and uninhibited.  And should you take that chance and develop a case of risk-taker’s remorse, you can always place the blame on some blood pressure medication.  Who’s to know the truth, except your slightly tipsy friend, already two chardonnays in and laughing at your anecdote.

“Certain kinds of intimacy emerge on a phone call that might never occur if you were sitting right next to the other person.” (Errol Morris)

Techno Wizards have taken a big bite out of the dating dance.   With its swipe-left, swipe-right mentality that offers up an instantaneous array of winnowed profile pics throughout the globe, faster than a Horn & Hardart automat used to dispense egg salad sandwiches, it’s become a disorienting game of “Let’s Make A Deal.”  If you settle for Swipe #1, you may have missed out on the prize behind Swipe #2 or #3, if only you had delved a little deeper.  Singlehood has devolved into a box of cracker jacks. 

The Swipe generation will never know the excitement that came with a limited means of communication, and the element of surprise and anticipation it could bring.  Before mobile phones became an appendage to our physical forms, we were left to our own devices, which for most of us consisted of an analog landline and its trusty sidekick, the answering machine. After a night on the town, a blinking red light on your answering machine the next day was a figurative call from Monty Hall, telling you that either you’ve won a velvet clad living room set from Drexel Heritage, or a lifetime supply of Rice-A-Roni … Could it be that handsome guy you spent half the night swaying with on the dance floor, or is it Bamberger’s department store, calling to remind you that your charge card payment was due on the 1^st?

Socializing with the hopes of meeting a potential love interest, and without the armor of a text or email, made introductions a safari-like experience.  You both had to be game, and once your eyes locked onto a target, the hunt began.   The awareness of small talk lessened as the intensity of the eye gaze increased, and after all, who was really listening?  The primal need to size up a potential mate first, through magical pheromones and a quick glance at their shoes, took precedence.  “Can I buy you a drink?” had a liquifying way of sounding in one’s imagination like, “What are you doing the rest of your life?” depending upon how attracted you were, and how many gin and tonics you may have consumed.  And then there was the escalation of the electrical current passing between the two of you, a sensation that an LCD screen can never duplicate. 

“I’ll call you…” became the mating dance sign-off, a wrap up to the initial encounter with a desired intent to keep the dance going.  And there were tricks that came with giving your phone number on a piece of paper that a test call to their cell phone as a means of securing your number on their call log would never allow.  That machismo guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and who appeared to be easier to get rid of by reciting your number?  You simply gave an incorrect digit at the end of it.  It offered up the option to pretend they had mistakenly written it down should you ever run into them at a local deli. 

The best part of the promise of “I’ll call you…” was receiving the actual call.   With measured breathing and the right modulation to your voice, it expressed a flirtation that could never be captured on Facetime.  There was a mystery attached to the voice at the end of the receiver that fueled the getting-to-know-you banter, and if all went well, culminated in the anticipation of that first date.  It was a simmer instead of a boil. Getting from one step to the next without instantaneous gratification was half of the thrill, and a missed call or two made it even more fun. 

There’s something in the nature of a phone call that a text will never replace.  It’s having a 3-course meal instead of Chicken McNuggets on the go.  As for me, I’m reasonably up to date with technology and new apps, and I believe the world would be a much larger place without email.  Still, I’ll never forget the twinge of excitement at seeing that blinking red light, at a time when anything and anyone seemed possible.