Stuck in a Starter Home

There was an article in the New York Times a couple of months ago with this headline: “Stuck in a Starter Home.” The story described people who bought small houses when they were just starting their families. Now, some years later, these people want to buy larger homes, but high mortgage interest rates and soaring real estate prices are forcing them to remain in their cramped dwellings.

One young couple lamented the fact that their two daughters have to sleep in bunk beds, since there are no extra bedrooms in the house.

I can just imagine what my dear old mom would have said if she were still alive. “‘Starter home’? What the heck is a starter home? It’s called a home. You buy a house, you raise your family there, you live in that house for 60 years, and then you die. That’s what life is all about.”

That’s a formula that worked quite well for my parents, along with a number of other folks I know, some of whom are still with us and many who’ve passed on. The common denominator for these people who view home ownership the way my mom and dad did, is the fact they grew up during the Great Depression. When you were not sure where your next meal was coming from, and when you spent a few years living in an apartment with 11 extended family members because two of your uncles were out of work, you developed a powerful “attitude of gratitude.” The idea that you deserve to live in a house where everyone has their own bedroom with a walk-in closet is simply not on your radar screen at all.

When my parents purchased their first home in 1960, a tiny 3-bedroom ranch with one bathroom and no basement, even calling the place their “first home” would not have made sense. It was their home, period. When two more kids were born, bringing the total number of residents to seven, there was no talk of buying a larger home. What they did was buy bunk beds. 

My three brothers and I were crammed into one room with two sets of bunk beds. It was, shall we say, a cozy arrangement. We once heard a comedian on the Ed Sullivan Show say, “My apartment is so small I have to go outside to change my mind.” We didn’t laugh. We just nodded our heads, as if to say, “Yup, we can relate.” My brothers and I envied our sister, the only girl sibling, who had a room to herself. But on the other hand, her room was no larger than a mid-sized tent, except with less head room.

Even though our house was bursting at the seams (and with seven people and one bathroom, the word “bursting” also applied to our bladders), my parents never would have agreed to be interviewed by a Times reporter and whine about being stuck in a “starter home.” That house was simply their home. They loved it, and we loved it, too. My dad ended up living there for 58 years until his death; my mom for 62 years. 

It’s not that my parents thought there was something wrong with selling a small house and buying a larger one. If someone could afford to do that, great. But the idea that someone “deserves” to get a larger home, just because they want one, is an attitude my mom and dad would’ve set straight without hesitation. Here’s Mom: “Don’t be so ungrateful! Thank the Good Lord you even have a home!” And my dad would’ve employed his patented silent glare, which was scientifically proven to be able to melt steel. I miss them.

Wandering Mind During Eucharistic Adoration

Recently, I went to Eucharistic Adoration at my parish. We have it twice per month on Friday evenings. Typically, by that time I’m tired from a long week at work, so instead of going to Adoration with my wife, I’ll tell her, “Have fun, hon,” and then I’ll kick back on the couch and watch the Red Sox pregame show.

(By the way, if I somehow could get back all the hours I’ve spent watching sports on TV, I’d probably spend those hours … watching sports on TV. I suspect this fact about me will require a bunch of extra time in Purgatory to cleanse my soul of the sin of “bad priorities.”)

Anyway, as I mentioned at the beginning, recently I did accompany my wife to Adoration. (Hmm, it must’ve been a light week at work.) When I kneeled and gazed at the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, inside the monstrance upon the altar, my prayer echoed St. Thomas when he saw the risen Jesus for the first time: ‘My Lord and my God!”

I prayed that fabulous declaration a few times, as the reality of Who was right in front of me sank in. Adoration is really a special spiritual exercise.

Then, about 15 minutes later, my prayer changed to the plea of the father who brought his son to Jesus for healing. This desperate man exclaimed, “I do believe, help my unbelief!”

You see, after my initial awe while in front of the Blessed Sacrament, my mind started to wander. As I kneeled in that quiet church, this is what my brain started thinking about: Who is the starting pitcher for the Red Sox tonight? I can’t forget to finish up a project at work that I didn’t quite complete earlier this afternoon. Where should we go out to dinner on Saturday night? Should I order steak or salmon at the restaurant? Did I have any red meat this week? Maybe steak will be OK. Do I need to do laundry this weekend? Do I have any business trips coming up this month? How much cash do I have in my wallet right now? Hmm, I haven’t wondered that in ages, so why am I concerned about it now? If I pull my phone out of my pocket and check email, will my wife give me a glare? Yeah, I’d better wait till later. How long do I have to kneel before it’s OK to sit down? Does my car need an oil change? It seems like a long time since the last one. I’d better make a mental note to check that out. And on and on and on.

Every insignificant random thought that could enter my skull did. It’s like I walked into church and suddenly develop E.A.A.D.D. (Eucharistic Adoration Attention Deficit Disorder.) When I realized exactly where I was and what my brain had been up to for the past 15 minutes, I focused on the Eucharist and quietly prayed, “Jesus, I do believe, help my unbelief! Or better yet, help my lack of concentration!”

The Eucharist is truly Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus could not have been more clear in John, chapter 6. And St. Paul further reinforced the fact that Jesus is really present in the Eucharist in 1 Corinthians, chapter 11. The Eucharist is, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, the “source and summit of the Christian life.”

You would think, number one, that I would get to Adoration more often rather than choose to watch the Red Sox pre-game show after feigning exhaustion; and number two, when I do go to Adoration, that I’d be able to focus on the body and blood, soul and divinity of the Creator of the Universe for more than, say, three minutes.

I saw an interesting quote online recently: “Thankfully, none of us have ever disappointed God, since He knew from the beginning that we were idiots.”

The only explanation for my behavior at Adoration is the fact that I’m an idiot. But despite that, God is filled with compassion, forgiveness, and mercy. So, I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.

I highly recommend going to Eucharistic Adoration whenever possible. But if you’re like me, be prepared to pray, “I do believe, help my unbelief! And especially help my lack of concentration!” 

Oh No! Work Email Not Working!

Recently, I experienced a near digital disastrophe. On a Friday afternoon, I received an email from a client with instructions to click a link and download a file. This occurs fairly regularly where I work, so I clicked the link, but nothing happened. After a few moments, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on to something else. That evening, I got an email from my client’s I.T. Department, which said, “We had a breach. Hopefully, you are reading this email before you open the one you received earlier today.”

I typed a reply on my phone: “I did open that email this afternoon, but nothing seemed to happen. Have I been hacked?” It was getting late, so I went to bed.When I woke up Saturday morning, I saw that the I.T. Department had replied to my question at about midnight. (I.T. people working at midnight on a Friday is NEVER a good sign.) The message said: “Change your password for your email account ASAP!”

So, before I even had my first cup of coffee, I sat down at my computer and tried to change the password of my email account. This is when I discovered two things: 1) I am not an “administrator” at my company and therefore not authorized to create a new password; and 2) although I am not an administrator, apparently I have enough authority to accidently delete my existing password. In other words, my efforts had caused my work email account to become completely inoperable. 

And this is when I discovered there are two types of people in the world: 1) those who, when faced with a technology dilemma, say, “Oh well, it’s the weekend. I’m sure our I.T. guy can figure it out on Monday,” and then proceed to enjoy a couple of sunny, summer days; and 2) those who say, “Omigod! Omigod! My work email is dead! What am I gonna do?! What if a client tries to contact me?! What if our I.T. guy is on vacation all next week?! What if all my email messages have disappeared?! This is the worst thing ever!!” and then proceed to be wracked with anxiety for the next 48 hours and never even notice the couple of sunny, summer days.

Guess which category I’m in? Yup, it was a stressful weekend for the ol’ left-hander, despite the sunny, summer weather.

Not surprisingly, things worked out fine in the end — but only after a couple of sleepless nights. Early Monday morning, I went to the office and got the phone number of the I.T. consultant we use. I reached him and explained what happened. He asked me confusing questions such as, “When you clicked on the bogus link, did the address bar say, ‘login-dot-microsoftonline-dot-com’? Or did it say something else?” 

I replied, “It’s, um, it’s my computer. Broken. And email. Also broken. Fix, please.”

He realized he was speaking to someone in his 60s, which in the I.T. world is similar to speaking to a 5-year-old — except we seniors tend to whimper more frequently. So, he said, “All right. Let me check from my end to see if there’s been any suspicious activity with your account, and then I’ll reset your password. I’ll call you back.”

His voice was so confident, it made me feel much better, even though I didn’t understand a single thing he said except, “All right” and “I’ll call you back.”

As Wendell Shakespeare wrote, “All’s well that ends well.” My email account was resuscitated by 8:45 a.m., and I was ready to take on another busy work week — right after I drove home and slept for two full days.

Daily Mass on Vacation

When I’m on vacation, I enjoy having the opportunity to go to daily Mass, which I usually cannot do during a normal work week. There are many nice aspects of daily Mass while on vacation, such as:

• Even when far from home, the Mass is the same, so it feels familiar. No matter where you are, no matter how far away from your usual surroundings, the Mass is celebrated in the same way. The Scripture readings are the same, the prayers are the same, the responses from the people in the pews are the same, and Jesus being truly present in the Eucharist is the same. Of course, listening to the priest speak with a Rhode Island accent is a little weird. Especially if the priest is originally from Poland. That good ol’ Polish-Rhode Island accent combo is, um, interesting.

• Daily Mass is a great way to get spiritually grounded, which is necessary when facing a hectic day of sitting on the beach, taking multiple naps, and eating way too many fried clams. After all, Jesus himself said, “What father among you would hand his son a snake when he asks for fried clams? Or hand him a scorpion when he asks for some stuffies and a Narragansett Lager?” (Luke, chapter 11, Ocean State Translation of the Bible).

• When I’m at daily Mass, I usually feel rejuvenated. This is because I’m often the youngest person there! And trust me, being the youngest person present for any event hardly ever happens anymore. Since a particular co-worker retired last year, I am now officially the oldest employee at our firm. But in church, especially at daily Mass, I’m often tempted to belt out a song: “You make me feel so young! You make me feel like spring has sprung!” Don’t worry. I do not actually belt out any songs at daily Mass. As we all know, there is never any music at daily Mass, which is why the entire Mass is usually concluded in less than 25 minutes. (For many folks, this is the main reason they agree to attend daily Mass with their wives. But certainly that’s not something that would EVER cross my mind. Certainly. Um, I mean, probably certainly.) Anyway, being a back row bass singer in the church choir with a limited six-note range means that I will not be doing any solos in church anytime soon. The main point I was trying to make here, before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, is that being ONLY in my 60s means that I’m often the youngest, or at least one of the youngest, people attending daily Mass.

• Speaking of the fact that everyone present at Mass was a senior citizen, it did make me ponder the fate of the Church. Of the approximately 40 people at that Mass, I estimated that in 10 years at least half will be dead, a quarter will be in nursing homes and unable to attend Mass in person anymore, and the remaining quarter (hopefully including me) will still be able to shuffle out of the house and make it to church. In other words, the demographics are not great. What we need are a lot of those folks who are currently too busy raising their families to attend daily Mass to start attending when they become empty nesters. That’s something we all should pray for: that busy, stressed-out young adults come to realize how beneficial daily Mass is, and take our place over the next decade or two.

Anyway, those are a few thoughts that occurred to me when I went to daily Mass while on vacation last month. And if you think I spent way too much time thinking these odd thoughts rather than paying attention to the Mass itself, you are partially correct. (And, of course, I am using the definition of the word "partially" that means: completely.)

The best reason for going to Mass, whether daily or Sunday, is the fact that it is the Mass! It’s where Jesus becomes truly present in the Eucharist – body and blood, soul and divinity. Let’s all resolve to meet face-to-face with Our Lord more frequently.  

Get a Tan? Bad Plan, Man

Earlier this summer I wrote about a visit to the beach, and noted how pale my skin is. Put it this way, if I took my shirt off and stood next to the Pillsbury Dough Boy, people would assume that we were identical twins — except that Poppin’ Fresh has been working out more than me. 

Here are some facts: I’ve never had a tan in my life; I’ve had skin cancers removed on three different occasions; and depending on how much time I spend in the sun, my skin color can match all 40 shades on the Sherwin-Williams red paint chart.

Recently, I was contemplating all the dumb things I’ve done in my life. And by the way, I’m not going to share the complete list with you — at least not until I double-check the statute of limitations in various northeastern states. I will, however, relate one item that made the list: when I was a young man, I tried really hard to get a tan. Considering the gene pool from which I descended, that made about as much sense as Danny DeVito deciding that his goal in life is to be able to dunk a basketball.

Here’s a section of a newspaper column I wrote 22 years ago: 

“When I was a kid, my father worked as the head lifeguard at the Clinton Town Beach. My siblings and I were at the beach every day from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. Additionally, our ancestors hail from County Albino, that region of Ireland which is perpetually shrouded in fog and has not seen sunshine since a freak weather condition in the 4th century caused the sun to appear for almost 20 minutes. Each year our flesh would turn bright pink in June, then change to ruby red in July, and finally settle on a festive shade of fluorescent maroon by August. We never got tan. All summer long our skin would blister and peel, and similar to snakes, we would periodically shed our skins, leaving behind crusty one-piece outlines of ourselves. When beach-goers saw one of those skin carcasses blowing across the sand, they’d comment, ‘Looks like one of the Dunn youngins shed again.’”

So, that’s what I experienced during my youth. And now, over a half-century later, that’s why I have my dermatologist on speed dial. The dumb thing I had to add to my list occurred soon after I graduated from college. I got a job as a production supervisor in a factory, and I was assigned to the second shift. I decided it was the perfect opportunity to get a good tan. 

Each day I drove over to Hammonasset State Park and laid out on the beach for hours at a time. Not surprisingly, I did the bright pink to ruby red to fluorescent maroon transformation. Here’s the most ridiculous aspect of this adventure: at the time, I was genuinely convinced that I looked just like a California lifeguard you might see in a Frankie Avalon beach movie. What I actually looked like was a guy who accidentally stepped in front of a worker who was spray-painting the big concrete spheres in front of a Target store.

As a little warning to everyone who thinks laying out in the sun is fine, here’s another segment from that old column, describing what happened when I was sent to a specialist to have a melanoma excised:

“It turns out the official medical dictionary definition of the word excise is, and I quote, ‘Carve a Chicken McNugget-sized chunk of flesh out of the middle of Bill’s back and then close it up with a bunch of Frankenstein stitches.’”

Let’s hear it for pale guys in the shade!

A Day in the Life of the Trinity

Our faith tells us that God is a Trinity of persons. So, surely there is a lot of communication between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I wonder if that communication goes something like this…

Jesus: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

The Father: “You say that quite often nowadays, Son. What’s going on this time?”

Jesus: “Well, just look. There are people on earth who say they love you, but out of fear they won’t let anyone with a different skin color live in their neighborhood. And then there are others, who like to quote me, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,’ but all that means to them is to try and have sex with as many people as possible.”

The Father: “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

Jesus: “Well, when we put sinful people in a fallen world, we knew there was sure to be trouble.”

Holy Spirit: “Hello? Remember when I said that was not a great idea?”

The Father: “I remember. It is chaotic, that’s for sure. But it’s still a much better idea than creating little obedient robots who never do anything wrong. How can you enter into a loving relationship with someone who is unable to say no? Free will is the only thing that makes true love possible.”

Holy Spirit: “I know, but free will has caused so much heartache!”

The Father: “Yes, but how great is it when someone repents and asks you into his or her heart?”

Holy Spirit: “Yeah, that is pretty awesome.”

Jesus: “So anyway, Pop, will you forgive them, for they know not what they do?”

The Father: “Yes, of course. But as we all know, forgiveness really works best when they realize their sin and feel remorse about it. It’s hard to forgive someone when they think they’re doing everything right.”

Jesus: “True dat. But the very first time I ever made this request to you, you forgave the people who crucified me, even though they all thought they were doing the right thing.”

The Father: “I know. But many of them felt guilty about it later on.”

Holy Spirit: “You’re welcome!”

The Father: “Yes, when you touched their hearts, Holy Spirit, it made them see the error of their way and repent.”

Jesus: “And the way things are going on earth nowadays, you need to put in some overtime, H.S.”

Holy Spirit: “Ain’t that the truth.” 

Jesus: “No, I’m the truth, remember? And the way and the life.”

Holy Spirit: “Whoa, hold on there. Who’s the one who guides people into all truth? Me, that’s who.”

The Father: “Excuse me, but we’re not going to do this again. All three of us are THE TRUTH, and all three of us are on the same team. In fact, all three of us are one in being, the single divine presence in three persons.”

Jesus: “We know.”

Holy Spirit: “Yeah, we were just kidding around.”

The Father; “Well, Holy Spirit, you’d better get going. I’ve never seen things more out of control on earth. It’s really quite remarkable. In an age with unlimited information at their fingertips, people have never been more ignorant.”

Holy Spirit: “Well, it’s like you always say: ‘The two most abundant things in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity.’”

Jesus: “Yes, but they're just too lovable to completely abandon. Let’s get to work saving their souls.”

The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, in unison: “Amen!”

OK, maybe that’s not exactly how communication within the Holy Trinity occurs. I doubt they sound like characters in a bad sitcom. But there’s no doubt that God loves us, despite our sins and ignorance. He’s eager to forgive us, even when we know not what we do. 

Being forgiven by the Lord of Heaven and entering into a loving relationship with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is the most joyful sensation ever. If you’ve never experienced it, what are you waiting for?

So Many Words, But Nothing To Say

Our complex has a really nice swimming pool. Recently, I was hanging out by the pool on a sunny Saturday afternoon. There were about 50 people there. The pool is very large, with lots of chairs, tables, and umbrellas all around it. So, it didn’t seem crowded at all. There was the typical background noise you’d expect at a public pool: kids splashing and giggling, folks chatting in little groups, and some lively music coming from someone’s cell phone.

Then, after a while, I noticed one young man, who was standing in the shallow end of the pool with a few of his friends. He was talking very quickly and very loudly and completely non-stop. Frankly, it was amazing. This guy had a terrific voice, kind of like a radio announcer. He was articulate, with excellent enunciation skills.

Somehow, my ears zeroed in on his frequency. His relentless monologue was cutting through the din of the crowd and flowing directly into my brain. No matter how hard I tried to tune him out, every single syllable he proclaimed went directly into the core of my consciousness.

As someone who does a little public speaking now and then, I was extremely impressed with, and jealous of, his vocalization talent. What a set of pipes!

But here’s the thing: this young man’s non-stop soliloquy, however well-delivered, was completely inane. He spoke thousands of words over the course of 20 minutes, and every single one of those words was meaningless. He talked about his car (a Honda Accord); he talked about his dog (Sparky); he talked about his job (dispatcher for a freight company); he talked about his favorite team (the New York Yankees); he talked about his girlfriend (Darlene, who apparently was not present, based on the comments he made about her); and he talked about his favorite eatery (New England Pizza in Vernon). These particular topics certainly have aspects about them that can be interesting. And yet Mr. Chatterbox did not offer a single interesting take. Every single thing he said about every single topic was fatuous, insipid, pointless, vacuous, and vapid. (Yes, I had to turn to the Thesaurus to paint a complete picture of this gentleman’s performance.)

It was stunning to listen to this young man speak so many words and say absolutely nothing. He should go into politics. In addition to being stunning, it was very maddening. I was starting to have an anxiety attack. If the CIA needs a new and effective interrogation technique, they should hire this man. (On second thought, if the government unleashes this fellow on a terrorism suspect, it surely will be labeled torture and a gross violation of international law.)

I was angry at myself for not bringing my noise-canceling earbuds with me. On the other hand, I’m not sure the latest technology from Apple’s laboratories can keep up with this guy.

What that young man needs is a writer on staff. I was tempted to go over to him and offer my services. “Sir,” I planned to say, “you have a real gift for speaking. But what you need are some interesting words to speak. I’ve been known to string together a few sentences and tell engaging stories once in a while. How about we work together? I’ll write the copy, and you recite it.” 

But I decided not to approach him. I noticed that even his friends could not get a word in edgewise, so what chance did I have, as a total stranger, to break his filibuster?

The next time I go to the pool, I’ll bring my earbuds. And if they’re unable to block out Galloping Gabby, I’ll contact Apple Corp. This could be their biggest technological challenge ever.