older . . .

Music: clanking cups and saucers

. . . is the name of a rather unsuccessful album by George Michael, which I picked-up almost a decade later for a buck en route to Houston to visit a friend. Michael had been battling with his record company over his greatness---a greatness achieved at 33 years old or something. He protested a bit too much, because it wasn't until roughly a decade later that he would produce something worthy of getting paid for (minus that stupid song about John Lennon being dead).

I'm roughly about that age, and I reckon if you listen to my chair I might sound a bit like Michael the Prima Donna. The record in this case is the annual review and tenure, however, and not some semi-religious awakening to grey and the loss of elasticity. Last year I got testy about all the ridiculous, mostly symbolic "dance monkey, dance!" stuff with little payoff . . . but going all George Michael does one no good, and might land one in the slammer, anyway.

But I am getting older, and I find I'm short on temper and patience. Today I spent hours trying to get some prescripts refilled: doctor's office refuses to use the form my pharmacy requires; pharmacy refuses to accept my doctor's office's forms; neither will talk to one another and I'm shuttling in the middle. Doctor's office says: "We fax refills as a courtesy to our patients, but we do not do voice calls." But pharmacy cannot take refills "without the proper form." Neither returns your calls, of course. So, if I die for lack of medications, blame bureaucracy!

Home repairs continue to go at a snail's pace; contractors revolve through the house but do little (I think I've seen like seven different people with this company now, and only the "boss" man once). They sure do talk on the phone a lot, and a lot about nothing. I really don't think these guys like to work, and I really do think it's a racket. So far my wall was ripped out, but it's like they only do half the job and then go play hooky. Last Thursday they came, tore out a little of a firewall, went to lunch and said they'd be back, but never came back. Friday one of them was there about 10 minutes, he sprayed around some bleach. He said it'd be over the weekend to dry, and then the mold hygienicist would be out today to check the air quality. Not so. Today two NEW guys that I've never seen said more wall must come out and then they had to "scrub the studs" (and these are older, portly men that chew tobacco . . alas). What about the hygenicist? I asked. No way, one of the guys said as he spit into a cup. After they scrub, it'll be another four days to air out before the hygenicist arrives. So it drags on and on and on and on . . . . [SPIT]

But I have some decent role models---older, more patient, and good natured. Last night I went to the lodge and saw my first Master Mason degree in Texas. I went, in part, because a brother reminded me and I didn't have a meeting or something in the afternoon yesterday. I also went in part because my former W.M. in Baton Rouge had a massive heart attack on Saturday during a degree and just had five-part bypass (???) today. He seems to be recovering well, but I felt trying to be more regular with my masonry this year would be a good way to honor him. Anyway, so I watched the degree last night at the lodge, and I was impressed. They did a marvelous job, although I was caught off guard by some of the Texas ritual, which is very different from Louisiana ritual. I would tell you what they were, but then they'd have to disembowel me.

I noticed last night during the degree that I was the only person without cowboy boots on.

At the lodge last night during fellowship, I introduced myself to a new face, an older man with watery eyes and a Shriner ball cap on. He introduced himself as George, said he was visiting from a neighbor lodge, Onion Creek. We sat and talked most of the evening except during the ritual (I had to sit-in as the Tyler, so I had to sit away from everyone else near the door; I'd tell you why, but then they'd have to slit my throat). George was formerly in the Navy, military intelligence and a little engineering, until he retired. His son, also military intelligence but in the Army, leaves today on his third deployment to Iraq. He played golf yesterday---18 holes in the hot son. He wanted me to petition the Shrine, said it was "not all that great" but that it had good charity work.

The Shrine is that body of Freemasonry known for fun-poking and revelry. The Blue Lodge/Masonry proper is pretty serious stuff (at least the ritual is; there's a little joking, but the degree work is all about death, so you usually don't get the giggles). The Shriners are the ones who drive around those tiny cars at home parades; they also raise millions of dollars a year for their children burn centers and hospitals. I think it would be good to join the Shrine, but first, I got to get some friends to join my lodge with me . . . .

Anyway, at times I've been at the lodge and a visitor has come, and they are always quite chatty and friendly. As a 3rd Degree Mason, you can visit any lodge in the world (well, almost any lodge; there's some in France that many jurisdictions forbid you to attend because they profess atheism). I've often done this when I travel to new cities; you can usually get a good free meal out of it. Anyway, when we have visitors they usually stand up when the lodge is at labor at the point when the W.M. asks if brother has a comment "for the benefit of masonry." Often a visitor thanks the brethren for their fellowship and hospitality. Usually, these visitors are in their 70s or sometimes their 80s, I've noticed. Rarely they are from the military, traveling in a new city, but I've seen that a couple of times. It's sorta neat.

This is a photo of the brothers from my lodge in Baton Rouge (I'm still a card carrying member). I did my Master degree with the guy on the lower right (he's Muslim, which just goes to show you that that Masonry is not a "Christians-only" thing; try the Knights of Columbus for that). I don't have a photo of the officers here in Austin, but a number of them are way younger---like my age. Lots of 20 and 30-somethings in Austin 12.

Although there were a number of folks my age in the ldoge last night, I was thinking that I enjoy the company of older people. Unlike my feisty neighbor (she called me last night AND this morning wanting to know my daily schedule), most of the older masons I know always seem to have the kind of patience and even temper that I wish I had today. Perhaps one grows into that? or perhaps by hanging around people like that one takes on the virtue?

Well, I'm just typing away with little here to do (obviously). I need the comforts of my home office to get most of the work I need to do (e.g., printer, files, calendar, old syllabae). I do not want to go home, it's noisy there. I don't want to be here (at the coffee shop) either, since chatty people are all about. I stepped on my earbuds and now they don’t work.