Peace

Starting Over

By Bob Howard In Essays

No, not the Burt Reynolds movie and its subject matter, new romance after divorce. Barbara may have ample cause, but sixty-one years can be a strong stabilizing force.

And, no, despite my absence from web commentary for a few months, I have not yet slipped into dementia and need to reorganize my thoughts.

This is it, the starting over, applying myself to a new regime of computing on a new website with new administrative tools, and, the Lord surely knows, issues with photos and fonts and videos (yes! videos).

Way back, since the last century when I took to the computer with intensity, I have wrestled over and again with new programs, necessitated by the speed with which the programs I had mastered became anachronisms: Eight-in-One, Q & A, FrontPage.

Starting over will be a struggle, aided and aggravated by an age at which most of us are trimming down not electronicing up.  One of my last deeds of kindness in my days of active pastoring was to buy a shut-in a large land-line rotary telephone with outsize numbers, the easier to keep connected despite failing eyesight. She was then five years my junior now, and I am embarking upon a new venture in a cloudy age where rotary phones are nostalgia.  The temptation is to leave the electronics to the grandchildren; but, no, I'm dipping deeper than ever before.  I've got to be kidding!

Starting over... and it has a substantial price tag.

But, what the heaven!  Once I prided myself on being the youngest Eagle Scout ever in Connecticut at age 13 and eleven months. Now I'm attempting to be the oldest continuing amateur website maintainer on the eastern seaboard.  

There's a French centenarian, Robert Marchand, who continues to make records as a bicyclist.  Fauja Singh ran a Marathon in Seattle at 100.  Al Hirschfield created line drawings of art world celebrities for The New York Times into his centennial year.  I was ordained a deacon in the Methodist Church by Bishop Herbert Welch five years before his 100th birthday on All Saints Day (!) 1962. 

At the winter solstice in 2031 my fingers, God willing, will be tickling the keyboard of my computer (or will there be a new technology?) with yet another in a seemingly endless parade of essays, promising that from that moment forward everything will be getting brighter... at least for six months.

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