23 Acres of Black Dirt

The Christian Year - A Cycle

2011-04-21T20:58:00.000-04:00

It's Maundy Thursday - foot washing and altar stripping evening service - perhaps one of the most important Christian liturgies. Humbling ourselves to kneel at ground level and wash the dirty, dust-covered feet of people we may not even know - serving others. We may look up into their eyes; we may focus on the uniqueness of each foot and the variety of creation. We may be silently praying or reflecting on how much we value ourselves.

But this is a night of celebration really. It was Passover, a seder meal celebrating the Hebrews' safe flight from Egypt where they had been slaves. They ate and had some sort of ritual, maybe like the current Jewish Seder, maybe not. But, Jesus put a new twist on it. He took water and washed the feet of his companions as a symbolic gesture of servitude, his putting others before himself. As usual Peter got excited and rebelled, then acquiesced and went overboard with the idea of being washed. I imagine Jesus just kept washing feet.

So, we wash others' feet, symbolic of our servitude and our love of Jesus.

Then, after re-enacting Jesus' action, we take away all the articles of church-hood: we strip the altar and the sacred space of all traces of Christianity. We take away the crosses or cover them with black or red cloth. We remove the candles. We roll up the clean white linen that covers the altar. We remove the decorative coverings of the lector's stand and the Bible. No flowers. No incense. No bread and wine waiting on the table. No vessels. And, then we lower the lights and read Psalm 55 together. The lights go out, and we are left in darkness. "Jesus done left Chicago"...and all Episcopal churches on Maundy Thursday night. The one we believed would save the world has gone, and we, humble in our servitude, are left to carry on.

The disciples hid after Jesus' arrest and were very afraid after his crucifixion. We cannot hide. Most of us will go to work on Friday. The celebration is over. Most of us await the Feast of the Resurrection that we celebrate on Sunday. Our lives go on between Thursday night and Sunday morning. Symbolically, Jesus is not here nor with you or you or you. Jesus is gone. The Saviour is dead. Buried. Smelly and decaying body is all that is left.

This is part of the cycle of the Christian year that began in late November with Advent - the awaiting of the birth of the Christ Child. It's all symbolism. We can have the crucifixion any day of the year without waiting for the church cycle. We can wash feet any time you wish. No calendar is needed to be Christian. Our life events that correspond to the Jesus narrative don't occur on any fixed schedule. If the co-pay on a needed operation is more than we can afford, it's Black Friday, and we hope for Sunday and the resurrection. If a baby is born, it's Christmas and we celebrate with gifts and thanksgiving.

If we choose to follow the church calendar, then we will be in rituals throughout this Holy Week. After Sunday, we will take a little holiday from our efforts. If we choose not to follow the church calendar, then we can celebrate the Seder now with good food, music and dancing. We can save the mourning for times when we sorrow for the evils of life. We can ignore the crucifixion this month or we can live as though Jesus is truly gone. The Feast of the Resurrection is our hope that we can be humble while doing great things as we follow Jesus. But, this church calendar stuff is arbitrary...a schedule fixed by the church bosses long ago. Our lives aren't as neat as this cycle. So mourn tonight if mourning is your time. Dance tonight if dancing is your time. Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything, but it didn't say that all our times would coincide. So, I'm doing my rejoicing on Maundy Thursday. I'll mourn when the times call for it. But, I'll keep the Feast of the Resurrection always in my heart - for hope is life.

Where is God?

2011-03-16T07:54:00.001-04:00

Of the thousands of pictures from the recent Japanese calamity, this one epitomizes great human (and animal) needs - the need to be comforted when one is afraid, the need to be cared for, the need to care, and the ability to express the need.

This is a panda in Japan being comforted by a man who has probably brought food (see the green plastic bin in his left hand).

When you were afraid, wouldn't it have been nice to be comforted? Didn't you ever want to just hang onto someone in complete disregard for what might be appropriate? And, haven't you ever risked yourself by offering comfort?

The universality of comfort is one of the reasons I believe in God, Immauel (God with us). We humans need far more comfort than other species. We need that God With Us feeling a lot. We need to know that someone is walking beside us to comfort (and to guide) us as we journey through life.

Of course, I know how inappropriate this would be (and probably how smelly), but some days I would just love to curl up in the arms of that panda and be encased in warm fur. God with me in the form of a panda. And other days, I want to reach out and scritch someone's head just to let them know they are not alone; someone cares.

God cares mightily for all of us. God is with all of us. And, I don't know why bad things happen - like earth quakes and tsunamis and nuclear meltdowns. All I know is that God is with us all the time...whether in the man caring for the panda or the panda in need.

2011-03-10T20:48:00.000-05:00

Let's talk about wilderness. Let's talk about stability. Let's talk about decisions. Let's talk about Lent. Lent is the time before the Feast of the Resurrection when Christians give up something, take on something, make a change in life that inspires reflections. One year I gave up chocolate, one year Coca-Cola; one year I read and studied a spirituality book. I see that some friends are keeping a gratitude journal all year this year.

I'm in the wilderness again this year. The habit is life-long. I'm always making decisions that land me smack dab in the middle of some quagmire, a searing breathless void, a blowing dirty wind. And, if my life were a murder mystery, I would be leaving a string of dead bodies behind - jobs that could have matured into real professionalism, boxes filled with...filled with heavy rocks of things in my life, credit card debt, stops and starts that cost me time and money, spouses who moved along to other relationships, friends who slipped into the duskiness of a time past. My life is not that kind of story but I do have plastic tubs of memory things. I do have an analysis of lots of decisions that were precipitate. I do still operate on the fight or flight mode, and fighting is not my style. So I flee. Snatched from the jaws of success, happiness, good things.

On the other hand, I have a great sense of humor, a wonderfully creative mind, intuition, a loving heart, a willing hand. I have made positive influences in a lot of lives. Recently, three wonderful young women drifted back into my life - three best friends in high school when they were 16 or 17 and I was a cool Momma figure. I have created programs that helped hundreds of people. I have written words that brought joy and wonder to many. I have hugged and listened and loved all sorts of people.

Lent is very personal to me as you can see. It's the time when I think about and write about all the people I've hurt in life, all the times I've made a mess and failed to clean it up, the dead ends I've pursued, the pain that I and others have suffered because of my decisions.

God is good, all the time. I never face this task alone. I know that God has been along this path before me and with me on other trips along this way. Jesus wandered this path, too. He had to decide what was good and right and reconciling. God and human. Choosing which to use when - or maybe using both all the time and recognizing humanity's abilities and inabilities.

Jesus: Okay, if I turn these stones into bread, I can feed all the hungry people. And, if I can turn these stones into bread, then I could turn them into anything else I want. Ooops, better not go there. Back to the bread and the hungry. Okay, let's see, since I'm human, this body will eventually die. No one else can turn stones into bread and feed the hungry. By then, they'll be dependent on me, and when this body does its "dust to dust" business, they'll be starving again. Okay, turning stones into bread equals bad idea. I could teach them to bake - well, but then they'd need all the supplies and equipment, and the people who have them are going to want something in return. And, I am not a baker anyway. I could learn, but it's not my forte.

Jesus to sharecropper: No, it's not your forte either. We've been down that road together. You did okay with that home repair program for a while, and then you found something that sounded more interesting and you passed that one off to someone else. Did some good while you were on it, but gone by the wayside now. And, remember the Kid's Cafe that you and Miriam cooked up - fed the kids supper, got tutoring (at least some) and helped keep the little kids off the street. That worked out okay for a bit; then we all got tired, and the school took over, but they went under and you don't know what's happening to the kids now, do you?

Jesus: Sigh. Here I am plodding along this path or snake track when I could be sitting in that beautiful pool in the ruler's house in Jerusalem. Why am I doing this? I want a drink of cool water! Now! Ummmm. Thanks, Mrs. Raven. I apologize for shouting. Yes,, yes, I know that producing a cup of cool water out here was not the easiest thing in the world to do. But, why am I out here alone, cold at night, hot in the daytime, dazed from the sun and watching for rattlesnakes? Why don't I have people waiting on me? After all, you know who I am. Sigh. Who am I? Right now, I'm just another Joe doing what thousands have done before me - looking for answers, for my spot in the world. And, I don't occupy that great house or bathe in that pool or have human slaves. I'm out here because I need answers. Last year I was in that fetid swamp doing the same thing. Who was with me then? I've forgotten. Oh yeah, that was sharecropper.

Jesus to sharecropper: Are you back out here again? I thought you had it all figured out. No? You couldn't breathe? Why are you always getting into situations that leave you breathless? You think too quickly. And, you think too much of yourself. A computer guru? Yeah, right. You did well enough on that, but some things are still hanging. Where are you with them right now? You don't know the answers, I see. Hey, computers are not my thing; don't ask me. And, what about your godchildren - those individuals that you promised to help sustain spiritually. Your goddaughter still in that bad neighborhood and not going to church. No transportation, you say. Where are her children who call you Grandma? And, what about that young fellow HIV positive? Have you encouraged him lately to stay off the crack? You're asking me about stability for yourself???? If you'd just stay still long enough you could find out about stability. And, that need you seem to have for chaos and confusion. I'm surprised that you've missed the rattlesnakes as long as you have. Oh, I see the scars. Well, why don't you watch out where you're going? Ask for a little help with that, okay?

Jesus: I'm so special that I could throw myself off this cliff and I wouldn't be hurt when I landed at the bottom. Why I might not even land at the bottom; I could float right back up - like a bungee cord. Tee Hee. Headline: Jesus Experiments with Bungee Jumping. What an attraction that would be! I could get them all out here and do my stunts and then tell them about being one with God and how they can do it, too. Oh, wait. I forgot. They probably couldn't master that bungee jumping stuff without getting killed. And, I don't want to see them dead before they reconcile. Bad idea, I guess. Or maybe, they would see me as their Saviour. That's what I want to be - a saviour. I'm going to go around and save people. I'll solve all their problems and they will realize that God is good all the time. Yep. That's the ticket. Hmmmm. We're back to that business of this body wearing out again and some other details that I'm sure I've forgotten. Maybe that's not the way to be a saviour.

Jesus to sharecropper: You did what? Since last year in the swamp? Tell me about it. You got scared and ran away. Sounds like a good idea to me. Running away when you're scared can be a good thing. But you hurt a lot of people, and you made some bad decisions about money, and you lost most of your friends, and now some people who trusted you think you're a charlatan? Maybe a little more processing time could have helped that situation...a fighting flight is not what was called for. Now you're complaining about ... Oh hush. You know how to do things right and justly. Stop sitting on your bottom and get busy with the things you're good at doing.

I'll see you again later during this journey. Watch out for the snakes, take your time in deciding what you're doing, and get up and do it. See ya later, sharecropper.

sharecropper: Wait, I want to be with you. We can make decisions together. You're good at this stuff. What? Oh yeah, I remember the Passover and what happened to you. I thought that was what was intended. Maybe not? I'm tired of talking about all this sad stuff. Let's sit in the shade during the rest of this hot day and doze. No more decisions or reflections. No snakes right here. Let's just be copacetic for a while. Thanks. a little tent would be good. ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz

What I want

2011-02-03T19:37:00.000-05:00

In my youth I was accused of wanting the impossible. In late middle age, I made the impossible happen.

Now I am 65, and what I want most is to be wanted, to have "your" approval, to be important to more than just one someone.

Like most seniors, I have experience in several fields - journalism (writing facts, editing, proofing), photography (first film then digital and computer manipulation), Episcopal church (I know the Episcopal Church), spirituality (everything from Ignation Discernment to Quaker silence to handfasting to mind bending with music or deprivation of sleep), non-profit social services (management, coordination, working with boards, grant writing - everything a small director has to do), lgbtq issues (been there and back again, several times), pain (physical from chronic disease, mental from trying to be whoever you wanted me to be), computer software and some hardware (keeping somewhat up to date - more than most people my age), .....

No one wants my skills now. People say, "Go volunteer." But, many volunteers do menial tasks, necessary but not using their skills or talents...just their presence. Sometimes that's all that God requires - my presence.

"People" say - Just enjoy yourself. Do what you want to do. After so many years of pleasing employers, mother, husbands, female partners, friends - I have little idea what I really want. I can tell what I want by making the mistake of choosing something I don't want. I traded my 5 year old Prius for a new Ford Escape. Then I realized I wanted a Prius; so I lost money to get a new Prius.

I moved to a place where I could have an active lifestyle. Chronic disease said, "No, that's not what you will do. You will long for this, but you will not be able to do it." How to change?

Again, as in youth, I do want the impossible. I want to be me. I hope that I can be me before I die and not the person I think "you" (whoever you are) want me to be. I've done the impossible before. Maybe God will help me do it again.

Divorce is a strange critter

2011-01-02T21:04:00.001-05:00

I have been divorced twice and left a committed relationship once, and I can tell you that divorce is a strange critter. My first husband became drug dealer and addict and quit coming home. Mississippi has no-fault divorce, and in 30 days or 90 days or something like that, we were free to go. That was after I told him to come and get all his stuff. He didn't come when he was supposed to; so I put all his clothes and other belongings in paper bags outside the door of my (formerly our) apartment. Eventually, he showed up, after the apartment manager contacted his boss, in his semi and stuffed all the sacks into the side compartment. Later he claimed that the side compartment came open, and his stuff left a popcorn trail along the highway somewhere in Oklahoma. At least, he thought that was what happened.

My second husband and I went through some rigorous pre-marital counseling sessions wherein he agreed that someday we would make the decision about whether or not my mother would live with us, and we examined the likelihood that I would continue to gain weight. After six months he threatened to leave me. I asked him where he was going - no good answer; so he stayed. This happened on a regular basis: he would decide to leave, I'd ask where he was going, he'd decide to stay. In between we had lots of fun together and went lots of places that neither of us would have gone alone. Finally, he stated firmly that he was leaving. I told him he couldn't leave without me (we were living with my mother and that was not good). So, we took off together to find a place where we could get jobs. We settled in North Carolina, and things went well for six months.

Mother was seriously ill, and I'm an only child with a severe guilt complex. So, I galloped down to Mississippi to stay with her. She didn't get better, and the decision about her living with us was a reality. He said okay. I found a house. We all moved in. I had part-time work; he was a teacher in high school. Then, I wrecked the car; he bought a clunker. He began spending late afternoons and Saturdays doing school things. He fell in love with the teacher across the hall. Finally, he said he wanted a divorce. I cried on his shoulder; I had no one else. Shortly, thereafter, I was fixing a problem with his computer and found his love letters to this teacher. We divorced. He paid no alimony, none of his tiny pension fund, but we divided the debts evenly. And, I paid for the lawyer in the settlement. I refused to pay for the divorce, and he finally filed a year or so later. So, we were divorced.

Then, he told me that he had married me because he thought he couldn't find anything better. That's a real confidence builder! No wonder his family hated me.

Okay, so far, everyone relationship I've had ended with the person leaving me. I've never left anyone. Over the years of relationships, I've lost two cars, many friends, a lot of money, and been left hanging out to dry. So, then I'm in a relationship with a wonderful woman. I love her, but living together becomes more and more hazardous to our health. Feelings of aloneness and desperation at not being able to enjoy similar things make us feel as if we are walking on eggs all the time. Something precious was underfoot - those wonderful blown eggs that have been decorated in intricate designs - that's what we walking on - and they're being destroyed. We have counseling for two years. Improvement - regression. Both of us got tired.

Someone came along who loved me long ago and who claimed to still love me. I seized the feeling to give me impetus to leave. Here was the love, the caring, the white knight who would save me. And, I felt swept up in the feelings of long ago mixed with the need to love and be loved in the now. So, I called it quits, packed up and left. The haggling over property began, and, with each step I took in the new relationship, the haggling became worse. I hastened the process. I came with nothing to the old relationship, and I took away a small sum of money, in relative terms to possessions held jointly. I had been supported and indulged for 11 years.

Being the one to leave was not easy. Love dies a hard death, even when new love is springing forth. My desire for a natural death (one of the legal papers to change) wavered towards self-destruction several times. A sense of meaninglessness overwhelmed me. Separating and packing took much longer than I had thought possible - how intertwined and interdependent we had become. I left a lot of "stuff"; I tried to leave the house without much obvious change except my presence and my empty studio. My energy failed and someone was hired to haul my stuff to storage.

Holidays came. My best friend and my former partner were now big buddies and spent Thanksgiving together. My best friend no longer answers my phone calls or emails. Online buddies "defriended" me as they heard how awful I had been and misconstrued some comments. Why I even took my partner's old Christmas stockings! NOT. What on earth would I do with them?

I have come to the conclusion that being left by a partner and leaving a partner bring the same pain, grieving and loss. I'm looking forward to some sunshine, and I pray, if this relationship ends, that I die first.

Looking at the world in 2011

2011-01-01T21:20:00.000-05:00

My very learned friend the Very Reverend Nicholas Knisely, Dean of the Cathedral in Phoenix, AZ, wrote a great blog today: Entangled States - he was making New Year's Resolutions about his study and preaching for 2011. He used words I haven't heard since we were in seminary together almost 20 years ago. Hermeneutics and others.

However, he proposed to look at traditional ways of approaching scripture in preparation for preaching and delve into other ways than we learned. He mentioned allegory - I like that since I do a lot of story-telling in the modern vernacular - a kind of allegory that helps people relate to scripture in a different way.

Our classmate, David Keill, posted a picture of himself getting ready for General Ordination Exams (GOEs) and mentioned that he had used a reference to the Simpsons in one of his answers. Unlike yours truly, David aced the exams, and I suspect that Nick did, too. People today seem to respond to the myth of a story - the essence that is true to life regardless of whether the story is factual or not. Helping people find the myth, the idea that will bring them closer to God is what we are supposed to be doing when we preach - at least I think so.

Also, Nick is going to take another look at atonement. Good Baptist that I have never been, I still think of blood atonement/sacrifice when someone mentions this. Atonement for our sins (okay, so I need a good definition of sin before this sentence began, but not going to happen) is mentioned many times in the scriptures, and Jesus' death and resurrection are the traditional way of thinking of atonement. God's son had to die to atone (make right) our sins. I have never been very good at atonement - especially not the stringent atonement that 12 step programs call for. And, I've never understood the idea that God's sending Christ to earth to die and rise from the dead could possibly do anything for my sins. Christ isn't my saviour because he died and rose from the dead; Christ is my saviour because he was God incarnate in humanity. He came to reconnect me and everyone else with God.

And, he's going to look at the energy situation as it relates to churches - of course, that's not how he put it. He said, "Energy Price impact on parish and diocesan life". Christmas Eve I was in a mega-church for a candle-lighting service. The technology was amazing, and I wondered if the techies were paid or volunteer. I wondered at the cost of heating and cooling such a huge arena - well, semi-circular with a large balcony where we sat. The seats were almost all full. Children covered the stage for the reading of the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. The buildings of this mega-church were built when energy prices were cheap. They do not have any conservation measures. Lights are standard, the HVAC system will need major repairs or replacements soon, spaces are design conscious instead of energy conscious.

Small churches are closing their doors, not only because they lack trained clergy leaders but also because the buildings have deteriorated and cannot be maintained or replaced with energy efficient new ones. Other reasons contribute to this closure also...the number of people who are unemployed or under-employed, the cost of living (falling housing prices have distorted this), and general disillusionment with organized religion.

I admire Dean Nick a lot; he's also a physicist and writes about string theory and black holes and things I don't understand. But, I think he has some good ideas, and I'll probably follow along with his study during the year. I wish David Keill would post a similar note about his study and teaching for the coming year. David plays in a band, remodels houses and sells them, and has a wonderfully different viewpoint of life than Nick or me.

One thing I may add for myself is a closer look at the energy level of people. Living in a retirement village, I see all sorts of energy levels, but I wonder if the younger people (young adults through early grandparents) have enough energy to keep up with technology, make a living, raise a family, stay connected to extended family, do good in the world and have a spiritual life. My gut tells me "No", and then I wonder what's happening to our children who probably get less attention than they need.

I also intend to keep the litter box emptied more often since it is next to my computer.

Values

2011-01-01T11:33:00.001-05:00

Okay, values are like opinions, everyone has them. Some of them are not helpful for living among people. Some are not helpful for preserving the earth. Some are downright destructive. But, most values have both positive and negative sides. For instance, financial values: The love of money is the root of all evil...the Bible says. Having money means having enough food, clothing, shelter, safety. Money can buy a lot of good things. If you don't have enough money, you beg for used clothing, you apply for Section 8 or government housing, you hit the food pantries regularly, and you are not even close to having personal safety. Short of a disaster (natural or created), money can produce safety, good food, new clothing, houses, recreational toys, etc.

If you work and save your money, you can provide for yourself - usually. If you have capital investments, then you need to make sound decisions about your money. We are all concerned about money. For most of us, the question is, "How much is enough?" Divorce attorneys make a lot of money helping people decide that question.

If you only have enough to provide the major needs in a bare way or even a halfway decent way, you know exactly how much is "enough". If you have made a lot of money or inherited a lot of money, you have a vaguer idea of how much is "enough". That's a value decision. Anything that comes along more than that "enough" requires a decision, and that's where values are important.

We humans tend to congregate with and marry persons who have similar values - values about money, being on time, eating meals together, respect, violence, animals, and what is "enough". When we step outside that group with similar values, we tread on dangerous ground. Racism, ageism, sexism and most of the "isms" are generated when we meet and interact with people who have different (but equally valid, good and useful) values.

Now, that's what I want to consider - who judges what is equally valid, good and useful in values. What happens when two people marry who have different values? They either learn from one another or the marriage ends quickly in divorce. Even when they learn from one another, the marriage may still end in divorce. Counseling may help or not.

Love transcends values. Sometimes love is a conscious decision. Sometimes love is a chemical reaction. Sometimes love draws opposites. But, love pays little attention to values. Sex pays even less attention to values. Mixed marriages - those of people of differing values - are harder to maintain and more frequently end in divorce. That's why we have premarital counseling. Of course, pre-love counseling would be better.

How much is "enough" changes with how much you have. How much is "enough" changes with your chosen group. How much is "enough" changes throughout our lives. The values behind that decision of how much is "enough" don't often change. We may acquiesce to another's value decision(s), but changing values is as difficult as changing our beliefs in a higher power or lack of belief. The change requires being "born again", a mountain-top experience, or being broken - a startling event that causes us to look at life differently.

I pray that we will all have those startling events to change our unhealthy values, that we will delve more deeply into the values we have that promote peace and earthly goodness. And, I pray that we will look carefully and consider with love all those people whose values differ from ours.

Liturgical favorites

2010-12-23T13:56:00.000-05:00

Being an "incarnationist" rather than a "resurrectionist", Christmas is my favorite time of the year. When we begin singing the O antiphons, I sigh deeply and sink into the knowledge that God became like me. The Christmas carols and anthems make my heart leap as Elizabeth's baby leapt in her womb when Mary visited.

Somehow though, part of the Easter service fits better with this part of the year to me.

The Light of Christ!

Carrying the Past

2010-12-01T10:35:00.000-05:00

I don't understand people who don't carry the past with them. Dave says I "dwell" too much, and perhaps that is so. But, I just found a plastic bag full of negatives and proof sheets that belong to someone I once knew - photos of people loved, activities loved, bits of the past. I retrieved them from the trash. Thrown away - good memories along with bad. Now I must decide - mail them to a person who threw them away or throw them away myself.

I collect buttons and lapel pins from all sorts of places, many bought at thrift shops, many from places and events where I have been, most of them have meaning for me. Some are employment pins given each five years for services rendered to the company - a recognition of work. A few are college or specialty school pins. These are from people I never knew. I keep them because they deserve to be remembered - even by a stranger. Did they retire and decide to leave this little bit of their past behind? Are they dead and relatives or friends got rid of the bits and pieces of their lives? Or did they just decide to toss it in the thrift shop basket - a trinket that no longer mattered in their lives?

So, I collect the bits and pieces of people's lives - in pins and buttons, in old jewelry pieces, in photos of kinfolk long dead, in letters I wrote to various people (now returned and waiting for the truth of my life to surface - will it confirm or contradict my memories and my journals?). I collect bits of unsought confessions of weaknesses and mistakes, joys of success and blessings, pains both physical and mental/emotional as people seem to feel they can talk to me. I listen. I am with them where they are.

At least until they begin to toss aside pieces of their past as if they don't matter any longer. Then, I lose part of my empathy. Losing my past would be like losing an arm or leg. I would know something had been there that I could have used today - the body's nerves feel missing pieces. Surgeons cut them out, cut them off and pathologists analyze them; then they are disposed of - the garbage of a body part that no longer functioned.

Some days I carry my past and others' pasts with me too much. When I awake in pain, I am more aware of those pasts and how precious are the lessons learned. When I awake without pain, I can ease these pasts into lessons for today, reaching out to use them.

Today I hurt. The negatives and photographs I found confirm my connections to my past and others' pasts. I hold them close in prayer and thanksgiving. Now, it's time to put them back in the plastic bag and get on with the day. May each person whose past I carry feel the love I am sending from where I am today.

The Good, Bad and Ugly

2010-11-09T08:39:00.000-05:00

Here's humanity at its best, at its worst, and at its craziest.

The Good and Crazy: This is sharecropper and humbug who were married on her birthday a couple of weeks ago. Local friends were invited for a party that became a wedding. The food was good, the company laughed a lot, dress was casual, and we all had a lot of fun.

Humbug and I met 53 years ago in Bermuda. When my Dad was transferred two years later, his father (who shared the building with the post office) destroyed all correspondence between the two of us. Each thought the other had deserted.

When his wife died early this year after a long illness, he began searching for me to apologize (His brother told him what father had done.). I was looking for someone who deserved an apology for me. We were both looking on MyLife. I saw a tab that said, "Who's looking for you", and laughingly clicked on it. His name was at the top. I quickly switched to FaceBook and checked out his profile. Everything fit, and he had left a message for me. So, I wrote him. And, he wrote back.

The Ugly: I was still in a relationship at this time. We had been in couples counseling for two years - doing better, then falling backwards, sometimes farther back than we had been. I was two steps ahead of the counselor who was two steps ahead of my partner. I knew the relationship was over and had planned how I might be able to leave (alone, I am a bag lady), but I had done nothing. After I began emailing with humbug, I asked for a separation. Then I met humbug halfway between our homes.

The Crazy: When we met, we looked at each other for a few moments, he opened his arms, I stepped into them and laid my head on his chest, and I felt as if I had come home. I had kept all his drawings, his notes, the diary, his photos. He had kept me in his heart.

The Ugly again: I went home and told my partner that our relationship was over and asked her to release me from my vows. She did. I began to pack. I asked humbug to come and help me. He did.

Long story shortened. In less than three months, I was out of one relationship and into another. Moved...well, almost all of it. Shifted my bisexual orientation from female to male. Asked for part of the joint properties that my partner and I had owned, been granted some of what I asked for in money and all of what I asked for in "stuff". My partner was stunned, shocked, embittered, grieved, angry and all of those things you would expect...and with reason. As I said before, I was at least four steps ahead of her in ending the relationship anyway. I regret that I could not have taken it slower and been more kindly.

Now, I live in a retirement community in a state I said I would never live in again, married to a man I never expected to see again, and I am happy. For now, the empty holes in me that I tried to fill with things and spending seem to be gone.

Love, parting, tears

2010-10-16T20:44:00.000-04:00

Eleven years ago today my partner and I recited our vows to each other in what may have been the first sanctioned Holy Union in our diocese. We were excited after having waited a year to make this major commitment. The joy in our hearts was evident on our faces as our friends and my mother witnessed our vows and participated in the blessing of our home. We promised "All that I am and All that I have Always."

Always lasted more than 10 years though the last few were very difficult. What happened to "always" and how did it become "no more"? Neither of us are sure. We spent more than a year in couples' counseling, making one step forward and drifting backwards after a few weeks or days. We discovered differences in our lives that were significant enough to cause major grief and anger. We walked as if on egg shells for more than a year.

Finally, I asked for a separation and we moved into separate residences. Love was so overwhelming but so very, very difficult.

I am confessing publicly so that others may know they are not alone in handling the end of a love relationship in hurtful way. I had been contacted by my first love (1958); we agreed to meet halfway between our homes and see what 52 years of separation had wrought.

When I returned "home", I asked to be released from my vows with my partner. We both cried. We both knew that our relationship had been dying for some time, and now I struck the final blow to that part of our lives. I walked away with a stony heart; it was the only way I could go - just turn around and leave.

I began packing my stuff, and I have a lot of stuff. I was tired - emotionally, physically and spiritually. How do you say to God, "uh, changed my mind - can't do that always business"? My best friend offered to help - no way - she was far too unemotional to help me sort through generations of memorabilia - besides she had job. My partner offered to help. Bad news there. We would have cried and gotten little done; besides she couldn't sort my stuff. Being the last of my family placed a lot of homespun junk in my boxes and tubs.

So, I called my first love and asked him to come help me; he had no attachments to any of it - except me. Our feelings had blazed like we were teenagers again. Loading and moving tubs and tubs of yarn and stuff cooled our fires a bit...plus age and physical health creep up on you in times of stress.

He and I embarked on a trip to a town reunion in Mississippi. Being on the road together for more than a week would surely douse that fire. We met my cousins; I was present at the deathbed of one cousin; we met my friends of many years, we met his friends and his late wife's sister. We finally arrived in Florida at his home - an alien place called The Villages where golf reigns, silver is the common hair color, and travel is mostly in golf carts.

I return to my "home" in 10 days, to sign papers, make transfers, cry, sort Christmas ornaments and battery operated toys - to finish moving my stuff from the house and the garage. I have handled this breakup poorly - very poorly, but my grieving over it has been going on for more than a year.

I have apologized. However, only time will soften the hurt. The love that I still feel will endure - on that I can promise "always". No matter what other relationships evolve, this love was true; only the pieces didn't fit and the relationship broke apart.

Please encase us in your love, your prayers, and light. All of us. And, please forgive me for my mistakes.

Thanks be to God

2010-08-29T14:58:00.000-04:00

Rowan, Bishop of Playing, has posted a great homily on the Beatitudes today on FaceBook. He adapts these verses to include those we love and those with whom we live - our beloved dogs and cats. What a joy to think that those non-humans in our household are also beloved of God! Sometimes we forget that God loves all of creation and not just "good" humans. God looked at creation and said, "It is good." All of it, all of us, all of them (whoever them might be). Creation is good.

To me, the story of the fall is an allegory that tries to explain why bad things happen to good people - very inadequately explain. I don't know why everything is not all good. I don't know why natural disasters happen (other than the scientific explanation). I don't know why violence and murders happen. But, the Fall is not a good enough explanation for me. However, I don't need to know why those things happen. What I need to know is that God found all of creation to be good.

Blessed is creation, a song of praise for the maker! We cry out, "Bless God's holy name!"

The Beatitudes makes all sorts of promises to people. Promises that most of us interpret to be foretelling of the future - after we are dead, after judgment - but the truth is that all are blessed, all receive the promise - and that promise is that God is with us. Immanuel.

Okay. I admit that I pick and choose in the Bible. I discard some ideas and eagerly adopt others. So do we all. And, some of my ideas about God didn't come from the Bible at all, but came from life experiences, from other reading, from "gut" reactions, from dreams, from visions, from conversations. God is among us, and we only have to open our ears and our hearts to know God.

Blessed is creation!

Following directions

2010-08-13T11:28:00.001-04:00

Remember Ayn Rand with her indiscriminate individualism? Understood young enough, her principles are a great way to get out of the mire. However, once you're out of the mire, they don't work so well. You need to move up a step on the socio-political ladder if you're going to stay out of the mire. Socialism with its sharing and networking seems to work well for a time. Then someone says to you - Did you know that Jesus was a socialist?

You're accustomed to reading the texts by now; so you grab a Bible and turn to the gospels where you find lots of confusing footnotes like "not written by a single person", "handed down orally for about 90 years", "this refers to Hebrew Scriptures and was probably put there to validify Jesus". The story is fragmented, confusing, redundant, conflicting and undetailed. Other books you've read are at least attributable to one person or a few people who are named. Usually they follow a good sequenced pattern. Not so, the Bible. The barest facts are recalled in everything except a few instances. You put it aside.

One day you conclude that some of the best networking is in churches - big churches where rich and influential people sit, stand and kneel together with the fireman and his family, the clerk and her children. So, you join the church and begin participating in its activities. They expect you to share your money, your time and your talents. Huh?

Eventually, you have made yourself into what you wish to be professionally or you haven't. You keep going to church because that's where you find your friends. You've done the mission trips, the church school teaching, the choir, the twice yearly clean-up. You've worked the homeless mission, given food for the local food bank, donated money to help those in foreign lands, and been coerced into increasing your donation to the church.

You pull back and realize that you're hanging on to Ayn Rand's philosophies with clenched fingers. I have made myself into who I am. I can do whatever I want because I have freedom. I can dump you at the food bank and never see you again. I can socialize with the top notchers. Then, you wonder why am giving all this money to a church that's fighting over how people have sex or whom they love or which version of the prayer book/hymnal do we use?

You pull back even further and stare at the world around you - hanging onto possessions and principalities with a single-mindedness - just like you're hanging onto your individuality. Just like you're still balancing between the sharing of the church and the individualistic self-preservation of Rand. You've fragmented yourself into thinking either/or.

Some people revert back to their Any Rand tendencies and hoard their money, use their time strictly for themselves, and stow their talents in gym bags.

Other recognize that life is a grand mixture of getting, giving, keeping, sharing, and continuing to grow.

I vacillate between these two ideas - isolating then giving away time and talent that could make me more financially secure in my old, old age. But, like the child who couldn't sleep when the adults were playing canasta in the next room, I'm always afraid that I'm missing something important, something fun, something I really, really need.

Midnight Rambling

2010-08-10T00:25:00.000-04:00

Enya's "How Can I Keep from Singing" resounds in my ears tonight along with the whir of my four inch fan that keeps the air circulating here. I feel like singing - even though the witching hour is just past and everyone else in the house is fast asleep. Guess I won't sing. Some days are just better than others.

Hot today as it has been nearly everywhere lately. Pity those poor folk in Moscow - glad I'm not a tourist there. But we survived the heat here. Had a great dinner of baked chicken, asparagus and small red potatoes. Cats have been good tonight - not too much talking back...more a murmuring of agreement when I tell them they are beautiful.

Good hugs, good medical reports - well mostly. How can I keep from singing?

I've almost finished a diagonal scarf as a sample for the shop - used Noro's self-striping yarn in Silk Garden with greys, purple and bright turquoise. I like turquoise in many things. I also like red and cobalt blue. I've grown to like a really good purple and a bright lime green (not fluorescent).

This would be a good time to get in the car and drive to Kinston and back - 4 lane road, 70 mph, cool enough for a window down. Clear my head and my problems - leave them behind - not that I have any real problems. Life is good.

The osprey are migrating wherever they go. I saw ours yesterday, but the young ones are hunting on their own now; so it won't be long. I'll get up one morning and the next will be empty - moving on to other places and lives. I've always wondered how people divided their time between two homes. How do you leave behind the things you love, things that represent good times in your life and go to another place? Do you split your "things" between them - or do you not have "things" but good times, good memories and activity.

As a circle is drawn from a starting point, the pencil comes full around - back to that starting point. Another cycle begins then. A beginning, and ending, different experiences.

Lots of my circles of life are coming around lately, and I wonder what the beginnings will be. One has clearly begun with the discovery of a person very dear to my heart - unseen and unheard for more than 50 years. What a joy! Lots of catching up to do. Shared memories of a good time in our lives.

My surgery (gall bladder removal) marks a time away from the yarn shop. They are surviving okay. The new computer inventory and sales system seems to be working. I'll need more surgery this fall - damaged meniscus - knee - not quite right until three weeks after surgery. Is this a circle that is coming around? What will its new beginning be?

Holidays once standard issue for us - changing - Thanksgiving in Denver. Christmas here. Our tree trimming party always the first Saturday or Sunday evening in December. I'm cooking less and less for the party and ordering more from restaurants and caterers. Still everyone looks forward to this time together. Lisa plays piano and we sing Christmas carols.

So many circles in my life, and I look at them through new eyes. Six years without regular church attendance or participation - now I've taken on the church newsletter. Should be fun. Improved health may get me up early enough to attend services. I hope so.

Peace to all and may the circles of your lives continue with their beginnings and endings.

Boundaries of the Mind

2010-08-08T06:13:00.000-04:00

By all psychological definitions I should be psychotic, locked up. In the book Boundaries of the Mind, the descriptions of various psychotic conditions include how the mind fixes its boundaries - the essence of who a person is. One of the questions involves that time between waking and sleeping and another questions hyper-sensitivity. Some of the more easily understood questions involve the uses of various rooms of a house. Do you perceive that a room has only one use? Or various uses?

After reading and re-reading this book, I realized that I have few boundaries. I dream entire science fiction stories in graphics and color. I have had visions of myself waking up in that moment between sleep and waking. I have few firmly fixed ideas about the uses of rooms or objects. I can be whoever I think you want me to be - Oh, not forever, but at least for a while. I've held many jobs far beyond my training because I became who the employer thought could do the job - sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. I can be the life of the party or the wall flower.

I can even be you or think that I am you (that's called co-dependency sometimes). In movies, I become a part of the story and that lingers for a while afterward. A few minutes of meditation and I am a fairy...or I think that I can work miracles (unfortunately God lets me do that occasionally - just encourages my fantasy).

I talk to the other people in my head. They don't always agree with me, and we have had arguments. Sometimes I think one of those in my head might be God. That's when I really listen.

At times I think I can sense that something is happening to someone I know, more often someone I love. I can see spirits that live in houses when they want me to see them. We had a delightful little gray spirit dog in one house. He liked to be in the kitchen with me and would try to trip me.

I've learned some boundaries. I am not you nor am I God. I am not responsible for your happiness or well-being or what you do. I know who I am and who I am not.

But, I can live without many boundaries. I can be 13 when I remember my first boyfriend, and, if you interrupt my remembering, you might get a teenager's answer to a question. If I'm sitting with you when you die, I might feel your death in ways most people can't imagine. When I put my hand against a tree, I can feel its history.

Yes, imagination, but more - a oneness with almost everything. I can distance myself from this oneness, too. More and more often, I do that. It's less...less painful...less happy. Those highs and lows will break you.

Most people never know these things. I act and appear normal. But, I have written other people's stories without having heard them. They aren't all fun either. Waking at night to sense another's tears or worries brings sadness.

Oh yes, I'm crazy, but I'm not psychotic. I live a normal life. Oh, yes, I do.

Really, I think I've had too much time alone at home recovering from surgery, and I'm imagining all of this. Yeah, that's what I think.

Meditation on Pain

2010-08-05T21:36:00.003-04:00

Pain is universal. One person's pain may be another's agony. We humans cannot measure one pain against another easily. If I have no shoes and you say I should be glad because this person has no feet, does that put shoes on my feet? No, just makes me feel guilty for complaining to you; so I find someone else who will sympathize with me.

So much for meditation. I have fibromyalgia; so pain is a regular feature of my life. I ignore it as much as possible, gripe a little when it's appropriate, and try to sleep well. But, these blasted staples from the gall bladder removal are instruments of hell. Oh yeah, the doctor said, you can take off the bandages Thursday and leave them off. Well, I have six in my navel, and I wear mostly pants/shorts. A button on top of six pointy staples in your skin is a big ouchie. And, my t-shirt snags on them. So I cover them with bandaids...the fabric ones that stretch and give. It's the third day after surgery - I expect resurrection. Aaarrrrrggggghhhh. I sit for a while and when I stand, my insides feel as if I'd glued them together with gorilla glue that expanded to fill the open spaces. Gradually, I straighten up and tear the glue apart while making random noises in deep tones and occasional high-pitched eeeeoooowwwws.

Oh, you can drive on Thursday. Right, Doc. What I most want to do is get dressed in some garment that touches only my shoulders, trudge my way out to the steps and wish for a small hover craft to get me to the car. Once I've arranged my body behind the steering wheel of the Little Red Car, I find that I must fasten the seat belt by pulling it across my body where the staples are lightly covered with bandaids and a long t-shirt that is probably meant for sleeping. Oh, this would be fun. Riding home from the hospital was bad enough with the blasted strap right across my sorest part. Why on earth would I want to do that again. Six staples, mind you.

And, oh yeah, I was brilliant in my hospital room. I pulled all 200 lbs of me up in the bed with my right arm. Needless to say, my ribs hurt, my muscles hurt, and my breathing deeply in impaired from that little stunt. Turning over in bed is now a major effort. And, the soreness inside from the surgery has abated greatly.

And, TMI, bowel movements are much to be desired. The nurse suggested lots of water, and milk of magnesia tomorrow.

I want a Coca-Cola, cold, with flecks of ice in it and lots of carbonation. Don't think that's the best idea I could have right now. And, I ask; Could it hurt any worse. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. I know from experience. I tried that yesterday.

However, I have a wonderful mate who has done for me what I cannot do for myself - caregivers are much to be praised...even when they tease you. I have a comfortable bed, two loving cats who have managed not to hurt me even though one of them sleeps on top of me. I have loving friends who send me emails and cards, and even one who sent flowers - gorgeous Gerber daisies - red with deep green foliage around them. I put the balloons on the mantle so the cats wouldn't play with them, but the daisies are closer for enjoyment.

Pain. Constant pain can drive people crazy. Temporary pain is to be gotten through and overcome. Like when you want a popsicle and you don't want to ask your mate to get it for you.

Goodnight. Headed slowly for the fridge.

A lack of motivation for movement

2010-06-26T16:24:00.002-04:00

I sit. I stare. I blink. I move like a snake sloughing its skin from the sofa watching the water to the computer chair watching the screen. I sit. I stare. I blink.

Occasionally, I slide into the kitchen for food and water. Occasionally I nod along to the bed for a nap.

Once I ventured into the laundry room and took the dry towels out of the dryer. Put dirty towels into the washer and closed the door. Now, assorted towels are scattered over the hallways in flat piles of colors - red, turquoise, blues - and some blue sheets over near the corner cabinet. I hope I return to the laundry room before the towels in the washer have soured.

We've had company for a week, and I've enjoyed watching them playing in the water - riding jet skis, kayaking, pulling the kayak behind the jet ski, taking boat rides. We went to the beach for a couple of days - hot, very hot. I saw the beach from the window. We returned to the creekside and they played some more. I watched. I can't stand the heat and humidity here; so I spend my summers indoors mostly.

All week, I've lacked motivation for movement - even though I've moved some. I sit, I watch. I smile. I eat. I sleep. It's a great vacation...coming to an end. Our friends left yesterday. Partner is going to church tomorrow; I probably won't go - so much effort to get ready in time. Besides, it's morning prayer and the officiant will be reading my sermon. I don't think I'm ready to hear someone else read a sermon I wrote.

I hope my motivation returns soon, but maybe not today.

Here's the sermon if you're interested:

The people of God are always in transition except when for the “begat” passages. This is so with Elijah. After a long and eventful time of prophecy, Elijah ends his prophesying by trying to get away from his followers, especially Elisha.

But Elisha and other prophets were persistent. They were Elijah’s followers; so they followed – first toward Gilgal, then to Bethel, then to the Jordan. Elijah finally convinces some 50 prophets to wait at the edge of the Jordan. He strikes the water with his mantle, a large cape, and the water parts. He crosses the river with Elisha right behind him.

Elijah turns to Elisha and says, “Okay, what can I do for you before I am taken away?”

And Elisha, not really knowing what it would mean to him, says, “Leave me a double share of your spirit.”

“Okay”, replies Elijah. “If you can see me being taken away, then your wish will be granted.”

What a follower Elisha was – to wish for a double share of the spirit of the great prophet Elijah! Suddenly, there goes Elijah off in a chariot with horses of fire! Elisha watches and cries out in amazement. When Elijah was gone, Elisha ripped his clothes and tore them apart, a sign of mourning in those days.

Then, he picked up Elijah’s mantle, struck the water of the River Jordan, and it parted for him just as it had for Elijah.

Elisha threw off his old clothes and put on new clothes. His perspective changed; his attitude changed; and he willingly took on the Spirit in the mantle of Elijah. During his ministry, Elisha did many wonderful things in God’s name with the people of Israel. He put off the old clothes, the old attitude, the old perspective and took on the rigorous duties of prophesy and service to God.

Now, that’s not unlike what we are doing here at St. Anne’s. We have been following along like Elisha for several years now – as faithfully as possible. We’ve done a great job of following.

But, now is the time to take up the mantle of Elijah and become leaders, to ask for that double share of spirit, and then to use that spirit in obedience to God. You say, “We are not prophets nor great leaders; we are a struggling congregation; and we can’t take on double Elijah’s spirit – we don’t know how.”

Paul tells us, in his letter to the Galatians, that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. We do know these things. These are the Spirit that we need in our time of transition.

We are making changes; we are in transition, just as the ancient peoples of God were in transition. In the Spirit of Elijah, our attitudes are changed; our abilities are enhanced; our perspectives see what is possible – the fruits of the Spirit that we can make real – today, tomorrow – here at St. Anne’s.

Others will see us differently as we take up the mantle of Elijah, and we will see ourselves differently. Look to today’s gospel: Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem. Not only was Jesus’ perspective changed, others saw this change. The Samaritans did not receive him. And, his disciples wanted to make bad things happen to that village. “No, no” said Jesus – and they continued forward.

Some will wish that change and transition would not happen; some will turn their faces away. But, just as Jesus continued toward Jerusalem, we must continue forward, with the new clothes of attitude, obedience, love, peace - we must manifest the fruits of the spirit.

Do you dare to follow Jesus? In the last words of the gospel, Jesus tells us that the time is now – not later when we have worked out all the details and achieved them – but now. Not after we have said farewell to those left behind, but now. Our change of attitude, of perspective, of obedience, and of the Spirit is now.

The Psalm for today tells our story: I will cry aloud to God; in the day of my trouble I sought the Lord – our work and our meetings are begun with prayer to God. I remember the works of the Lord; I will meditate on all your acts – we have remembered Elijah and Elisha and how they shed the old and took on the new.

You are the God who works wonders; by your strength you have redeemed your people! We are the redeemed people. We are the inheritors of a double share of Elijah’s spirit; through the strength of God who redeems us, we receive the Spirit and go forth t in God’s name for we, St. Anne’s Church, are the people of God.

Middle of the Night

2010-05-26T04:07:00.002-04:00

I really enjoy being up in the middle of the night. When I was growing up on the farm in Mississippi, we had a large window fan that "cooled" the whole house. However, on hot summer nights, the open windows were narrowed to four or five inches to make the breeze stronger. On those nights, I would awaken and slip between my brother's bed and the window and put my face in the breeze. Silent and still, I would hear the crickets and the frogs, maybe a screech owl in the distance or the barn owl. Sometimes I could hear animals drinking water from the tub under the handpump. Most nights I couldn't see much, but the quiet sounds filled my life with a serenity that the daytime didn't bring. I was my own person, unafraid, calm.

Perhaps my dark early morning hours help me regain the composure and resiliency that I need for day to day living. I rise quietly and drink water; then I go to the kitchen computer where I play games for a bit. My bones and muscles are stiff; stretching brings creaks and cracks and ease. I drowse a bit in the chair after I turn off the monitor. Then the silence is broken by a 16 pound cat who wants me to come back to bed. So, I visit the bathroom, settle my cpap mask on my face, and slide into bed, nestling my head on the edge of pillow. The cat gently climbs onto my side and settles hindpart on the pillow beside me and front part draped over my side. As we both sleep, we shift into comfortable positions until reasonable morning is come.

I close my eyes now, and the nighttime smells from the little house on the farm are with me - the damp pump tub, the dusty cotton, the green smell from so many growing things.

Mom always wondered why that windowsill never got dirty.

2010-04-23T20:07:00.003-04:00

Arizona's Republican governor signed SB 1070 into law. The bill "will make it a state crime not to carry proof of legal immigration status". Not only do you have to carry proof of being a US citizen or legal immigrant in your pocket at all times, you have to produce this proof at the request of any police officer. Mind you, the governor has insisted that racial profiling will not occur.

Excuse me. I can't imagine that a tall, redhead would be stopped for suspicion of immigration violations. But, in Arizona, I wonder how many US citizens of Mexican descent will be stopped.

I realize the following example is far-fetched, but imagine a group of kids playing basketball at the neighborhood church. The police arrive. Not a single kid has an id of any kind. The police call a van, and all the children are carted off to the police station.

What an opportunity for the athletic clothing producers! Now, marketed only in Arizona, special shoes where you can fit your "green card" or birth certificate and picture id. I know they already make special pockets and pouches and bags and armbands for carrying id, keys and such. But, in Arizona would such an armband convey legality to a police officer or just increase suspicion?

If I walk to the market three doors away with nothing but my house key and money, will I be stopped as a possible illegal immigrant? What if I'm wearing my old jeans and t-shirt with a floppy straw hat or a baseball cap. In the summer, my visible skin becomes dark. Will walking briskly make a difference? And, what if I greet my friends in Spanish? (Hablo Espanol un poquito.)

News reporters have presumed that this law will be ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court - when it finally arrives there. How many people will have been wrongfully detained by then? I find it hard to believe people who write and pass and sign these bills into law can't see how unfair such a law would be. Why a member of the Legislative or Executive branch of the government might even be stopped! Wouldn't that be sad.

Honesty is What God is About

2010-04-21T21:32:00.004-04:00

"is" - being. Honesty - faithfulness - confession. God/de, higher power, still small voice. About - not inside - doing.

Okay, let's get to the meat of this. I made a promise. I broke that promise on an impulse, and I only realized what I'd done three hours later. I was ashamed, guilty, and I could not undo what I had done (we seldom can). Trust is broken. All we can do is go forward in apology, hoping for forgiveness and maybe restoration of trust someday.

Honesty means keeping promises, and, when you don't or can't, you admit you didn't or couldn't and you make amends or apologies or whatever it takes. Sometimes those amends or apologies are accepted; sometimes not.

I think Jesus incarnation may have been one of God's amends. I know, I know, God doesn't make mistakes or break promises. Yeah, right. Tell that one to me again when I've been crushed by some Christian's betrayal or some atheist's broken word - doesn't matter whether they believe or not. If God doesn't make mistakes, then we're not made in God's likeness - and that I believe.

Jesus hedged when Pilate asked if he were king of the Jews - you say that I am. Okay. As ruler of this town, I can say anything I want; that wasn't the question. The question was, "Do you think you are the ruler here?" Jesus never answered directly. What was honest about that?

At the seder supper on Thursday night, Jesus hints that one of the group is going to betray him. Questions abound. Jesus doesn't answer them. "I know something you don't!"

After the meal and probably a lot of wine and heavy food, Jesus wanders off to a lonely garden when it's quiet. We don't know how long he was there, but his followers, or at least the men (the women had to clean up after the meal and get the kids to bed), wander along with him. They slump down and doze off. Who wouldn't want to do that after a fine meal and some good fellowship? Great night to be outside. Where's Jesus? Oh, he's right over there; we can see him from here. ZZZZZZ Heads dropped over on their chests and some of them probably stretched out amongst the olive tree roots. So, what is Jesus doing? Jesus is begging off from what the result of what he's created in the past three years.

Yeah, God, I went around and told everybody that I was your Son. I saw the sun come through the cloud and I heard you say, "You are my Beloved". And, all those miracles I did. That's what you wanted, wasn't it. Now it's come to this. One of these dudes who has been following me around and taking care of the money has decided the grass is greener on the other side; so he's bringing the guard here to arrest me tonight. And, I don't like the thought of what's going to happen. So, hey, how about renegotiating this deal we have. I won't do anymore miracles, and I'll quit saying I'm the Son of God. I'll even move away so they will forget me. I really don't want to die this young. That hurts.

God didn't answer. Jesus was arrested and died on the cross as a common criminal.

I guess you're wondering how I surmise that Jesus was God's amends, huh? Incarnation. Jesus refuted a lot of the harsh and unkeepable laws of the Jews. Jesus set up two major laws, Love God, Love Your Neighbor. Pretty simple. Do that and you will be forgiven. Yep. Simple. Don't really even have to ask forgiven of what - forgiven of whatever you think you need to be forgiven. And, if you Love God and Love Your Neighbor the rest of life will turn out pretty god. No dying on the cross for you.

God said, "Okay, okay. These laws don't apply any longer - just be sure you cook the stuff properly. And, remember that loving means you don't steal or lie or any of those things - you're honest."

So, we do it for a while - we love, we give, we reflect, we don't lie, we keep our promises,....then one day, we forget. We get caught up in some hole in our psyche and we lie, or we steal, or we break our promises, or we just don't give a darn. We're human; we're not God. Now what?

I guess that what making amends is all about for us - turn around from the lie, from the theft, from the apathy. Remember to Love God and Love Your Neighbor. Eventually, your sin is left behind. Honesty - tell the truth about what you do - right and wrong. Keep it simple.

Hey! God! Hey! You, the Creator! Jesus was a good incarnation, but don't you think it's time you did it again?

Fiber Fun and "Failure"

2010-04-12T07:33:00.003-04:00

Hmmm. How big is a baby blanket? Three friends are having babies this summer, and I've committed myself to create a blanket for two of them. So, I ordered some wonderfully soft cotton yarn. First, I tried knitting it in mitered squares (imagine the corner of a picture frame), and the yarn was resistant to being knitted as tightly as I was knitting. So I frogged it (rip it, rip it), and started over. I knit a swatch (a 4 x 4 inch square) in a neat pattern. Well, the yarn is bumpy and the pattern didn't look right. So I frogged it.

Oh, but wouldn't it look great in a ripple pattern; I bought several colors to make a multi-colored blanket. I found some larger knitting needles and a good ripple pattern. My hands did not cooperate. I couldn't get a rhythm of knitting that pattern. So I frogged it.

Frustration! So, I grabbed my crochet hook and crocheted a ripple pattern. Not only was it too wide, the pattern would not stick in my mind and mistakes abounded. So, I frogged it.

I cut away the yarn that I had frogged so many times, and I found a simple ripple pattern. I tested the pattern on some acrylic yarn. Great pattern. Easy to remember. Easy to fix when I didn't remember.

I chained a length shorter than before so the blanket would be smaller. Um-hmm. Smaller so that I'd have enough yarn to complete it. I crocheted one ball of yarn, two balls of yarn, three balls of yarn - having fun seeing the pattern develop. Um-hmmm. I began the fourth ball of yarn, and my eyes were opened to the facts: the blanket was wider than I thought, I didn't have enough yarn, and I would be October finishing the blanket for a baby due in May/June. Somehow that just didn't fit, and after than much work, frogging was out of the question.

Right now, I have a very pretty, somewhat heavy, piece of crocheted ripple that is about 36 inches wide and 12 inches long. Each ball makes about four inches. I have three, well four if you count two of one color, balls left. Blanket would be 36 x24, and in ripple pattern that just doesn't look right. Good cotton yarn is not cheap; so this would be a very expensive baby blanket to finish it properly or even half properly.

I think I'll use a different yarn, a larger hook (to make it more lacy and less heavy) and keep this to finish as an afghan eventually. Since the Mom is a vegan, I will have to use cotton or wool - they are better for babies anyway. In a fire, acrylics melt and stick to the skin. Cottons and wools don't stick to the skin.

The ripple afghan will be beautiful. And, surely, I can do a baby blanket - a small one - in just a few weeks.

Anger masquerades

2010-03-28T12:06:00.003-04:00

Anger can be destructive or can be the greatest inspiration for a solving a problem. For people with latent anger, the outbreaks are often inflicted on other people - those they love, the old lady crossing the street (unless she hits the front of your car and inflates your airbag), your pets, yourself. But, most often latent anger masquerades as other emotions.

When I am angry at myself, sometimes my anger bursts out in a shopping spree or in fierce activity. Both relieve the stress. At other times, my anger eats itself into oblivion. When I get tired of being angry, I just don't care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. If whatever depends on my action, then whatever doesn't happen. Whatever.

At a masked ball, anger can be jovial cutting remarks, sexy flirting, silence, wall-flowering, drinking, dancing every dance until you drop, cutting in on a couple that seem very happy, envy, lying - almost any emotion it wants to be. Anger uses many disguises. Depression is only one of them.

Someone said that anger is fear; yes, that's one of anger's faces, but, again, not the only one. Fear of loss of possessions, spouse, prestige, whatever you value. Fear and anger are closely related.

Anger, fear and freedom are also related. As Janis Joplin sang, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." When you feel there is nothing left to lose, when you have that freedom, then fear and anger lose their meaning. Numbness creeps into the folds where emotions once lived. You have chosen to die - however slowly that death may be; you are not living - for, if you live, you have anger and you have fear and you have hope.

Also true is that another person's anger can drain your emotions if you let it. Then you are not living either. In these last days of Lent, the image of taking up your cross is appropriate; you must take up your anger and fear and ride it out, work it out, carry it forward to resolution.

I don't know where my angers and my fears lie, but I do know that I no longer care. The motions are here; the words are here; but the life is not. So on this Palm Sunday as many church congregations read the Passion story of Jesus triumphant entry into Jerusalem followed by his betrayal, suffering and death, I resolve to find my cross (my emotions - all of them) and bear it with as much courage and serenity as possible. Now, all I have to do is find this cross - the masquerader.

Update on Ancestry, fiber stuff, and health

2010-03-23T20:10:00.004-04:00

John Dean and wife, he died in 1893
Wow, I've learned some really interesting things and even found a picture of my great-great-great grandfather - so I could identify who was in the picture of him that I have. Amazing. I knew we were related, but I didn't know who he was. The woman with him is undoubtedly his wife - the question is, which one? My guess is she's not the one to whom I'm related...Perilee Butler Dean, that's who she is. Probably my relative's best friend since they were born about the same time and lived in the same area. My relative died young, possibly in childbirth - and so Pop married her best friend. Of course, this is conjecture, but it will make a good fictional story about them.

I'm working a new pattern for a skinny scarf using Knit Col, a lightweight variegated yarn, and so far, it's looking great. Of course, I'm only on row 7, but, hey, so far, so good. It's a twelve row pattern; so I have six more rows to knit before I can really see what it is like.

I hurt. I've been sitting in front of the computer too much, and now I've gone to the garage and dug out my aunt's notes about our family. I think this stuff is addictive. I forgot to take my afternoon medicine; so my legs moved around a lot while we watched Jeopardy. Maybe I'll play a little Wii bowling to get some movement in today. Working at the shop on Thursday; so I have to feel good then.

Facebook and Genealogy Addictions - Part 2

2010-03-14T19:54:00.004-04:00

"Facebook Addiction: The Life and Times of Social Networking Addicts", is the first fictional book to address what doctors and experts are calling Social Networking Addiction. The book takes a satiric look into the lives of twelve individuals who have entered into rehab (“Social Networking Anonymous”) to help kick their habit. Each chapter is the testimony of one of these individuals, all reflecting the vivid and creative imagination of the author. Recognizing the overall seriousness of this issue, Osuagwu collaborated with the New York Daily News to provide real life accounts of Facebook addiction gone wrong." From the website http://www.thefacebookaddiction.com

After the initial surge of puzzle solving with my Ancestry.com spree, I am back to looking for more details and stories about people closer to me and writing down stories about my grandparents and great-grandparents. However, I'm having lots of trouble getting back to my usual sleep routine. Part of that may be lingering jet lag from traversing two time zones on Wednesday, but I suspect more of it is due to staying up until 2 am.

Personally, I am a fickle addict. I spent several years and quite a few dollars making beaded jewelry, and I haven't done any for a couple of years now. Almost four years ago I learned to knit and crochet, and I have a full complement of yarn for almost any project I'd want to make, but my activity there is waning. A number of years ago, I began collecting frogs, then turtles. Now, it's Coca Cola stuff and miniature Christmas ornaments. The room overfloweth. So doth the garage, but I haven't started on the attic yet.

So many crafts call out to me. I begin with lots of enthusiasm and then I slow. Finally, I drag to stop and start something new. The thrill of new! There's the addiction.

That's true with my relationship with God and the Bible. If I can't drag new meanings from the Biblical texts, then I get bored with them and leave them alone for years. If I can't find new ways to have a relationship with God, then I get bored and stay home or, worse, get bored and go to church. God has a way of jerking my head back in place sometimes. Some days I'm just grateful to have a god in whom I believe.

Vacation

2010-03-14T03:21:00.002-04:00

A blue footed booby and a blue whale - just teasers for more to come.

Game addiction

2010-03-14T01:45:00.003-05:00

A number of friends seem to be addicted to the games you can play competitively on Facebook. Others play bridge on the internet with real people. The number of games that adults can play on the computer are seemingly endless. I do several of them each morning just to see how sharp I am that day, but I don't usually sit and play them to see if I can beat someone or get a higher score than I did before. And, so, my internet time is spent more often in looking at new yarns and patterns and following chatter on knitting and crochet groups to discover new ideas.

However - perhaps I should put that in all caps - HOWEVER, Thursday evening we watched Jeopardy as our first TV program since returning from Baja California, and we didn't immediately turn it off after the program was over. Suddenly, I am caught up in this African American dude, a former football star, tracing his genealogy, and he used Ancestry.com at one point. Bad move for me.

So, we tired of that quickly and I moved to my computer where the first thing I did was to examine Ancestry.com. I was immediately addicted. Now this football star was also out interviewing people and looking at cemeteries and hiring good help in his search. I'm online and being amazed at what I can find. This is like a puzzle, and I do love puzzles.

First you put in what information you know. If you can get back before 1930, all the better. Then, the program begins giving you clues - places where that name is found in census records on file up to 1900, marriage records from many states, and more usually, other people's research and public family trees. A little green leaf appears with each "hint".

So, I entered some family information that I remembered (lots more is written down somewhere in my files and stored for safekeeping, LOL). I got several little green leaves, and I clicked on them. As I reviewed the information, I discovered what my grandmother's birth name probably was - she changed it somewhere before Social Security began. I had always heard that here birth name was something like Pamelia; presto, her grandmother was Permelia. Other family records listed her as M. Permelia - so, now I have my grandmother's birth name. Incidentally, she was called Mae most of her life.

I keep clicking on these little green leaves and following people from Maryland, briefly through Virginia, and into North Carolina and Georgia. I can see when they moved from Georgia into Mississippi. I can also see how many brothers and sisters died before they were a year old. I remember lots of little graves in our old family cemetery. And, now I can connect with who they were. I had little interest when we were there. All I wanted then was to see the tombstone for the man who had his amputated arm buried. We used to race to see who could find the graves of both the arm and the man to whom it had belonged.

Tonight as I wait for my antihistamine to work, I don't dare go to that website. Thursday night moved into Friday morning before I finally went to bed at 2 am. I lost most of Friday in sleep and more time on Ancestry.com. I am addicted to following those little green leaves. And, when they run out, I can take names that are apparently dead ends and look for clues in census, birth, marriage records. For instance, Mary Dozier Vick, born in 1775 seems to have no family records on this particular website. So, I began looking for the name Dozier in the area where she was born - lots of them, but all the Marys were married to people whose names I didn't recognize, and few of them had parents listed. But, I dutifully traced the parents of those possibilities until I determined that none of them belonged to my Mary Dozier Vick. My great-grandfather was Nathan Dozier Skelton; so I'm pretty sure that Mary is an ancestor and that Dozier is a family name.

I found pictures of tombstones in Mt. Pleasant cemetery, wherever that is, and census records and lots of people who are related distantly. However, I know I can add lots of data in some places because my Mom kept writing down names and dates and places and spouses and children. She would love this program absolutely - unfortunately, so does her daughter. I am addicted to this puzzle.

Some family names fade away - Skelton is probably a derivative of Shelton - and they fit the Irish/Scottish background that my grandfather Skelton claimed. Ralph Shelton, an Irishman, married a Scottish girl, and their son changed his name to Skelton - possibly due to poor handwriting. My uncle was Ralph Skelton, an echo to an Irishman who may have been our ancestor.

So, what does all this mean for me. I have to ration my time on this website, but, like the football star, I'm discovering more about who I am and what traits I have (like moving around a lot)that may have been inherited from long-dead ancestors. Do I know who I am? Probably not. Does it matter? Probably not. But, the puzzle is fun. Maybe I'll go cemetery trekking one day. And, maybe I'll find Mom's notes someday.

by Emily

2010-01-27T08:30:00.003-05:00

I'll tell you how the Sun rose
by Emily Dickinson

I'll tell you how the Sun rose --
A Ribbon at a time --
The Steeples swam in Amethyst --
The news, like Squirrels, ran --
The Hills untied their Bonnets --
The Bobolinks -- begun --
Then I said softly to myself --
"That must have been the Sun"!
But how he set -- I know not --
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while --
Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray --
Put gently up the evening Bars --
And led the flock away --

Parsing Theology

2010-01-23T08:21:00.003-05:00

Stream of consciousness thinking: Can we parse theology the same way we parse a sentence? The subject is God; the verb is "is" (from "I am who I am"). Given that statement made to Moses, can we say anything else for certain? I believe that everything else we say is just that: belief. But, isn't most of religion about belief? And, how do we pick and choose from all the different images found in the scriptures about God and in the New Testament about Jesus?

What else would I say to complete the sentence: God is....

- aware
- creative
- will reclaim all of creation not just some of it (universal salvation)
- mostly unknowable
- present

and, I like to think that God is:

- good
- has a sense of humor
- allows us to be co-creators
- all powerful, all good and all knowing (but I have serious doubts about this)
- an intervener in earthly matters
- a user of the willing as instruments of change and intervention
- able to really know every hair on my head (however small they may be now)
- listener of prayers
- expectant of my participation

What I think that God isn't is a much longer list some of which simply contradicts what others may believe/think: God isn't:

- all-knowing, all-powerful, all-good (contradictions in this trilogy)
- concerned with how we worship
- limited by time, space or other constructs of humanity
- going to "rapture" those who believe

So, this is something I will muse on for a few hundred years, but the truth is that I don't know anything about God beyond "God is".

You can go home

2010-01-17T10:30:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I attended a funeral at my former church in Winston-Salem - St. Anne's, once known as the Pizza Hut on the Hill because of its roofline. Now, trees have obscured that detail, and a beautiful community building adjoins the church and day school. My partner helped create the interior of that community building before we moved away. I had returned to that church only once - to bury my god-son, Bill, a Vietnam Vet with COPD and a few years older than me.Now I returned to bury a friend, lost some years ago to Alzheimer's.

I walked into the past. The rector who sped my departure was gone, but everything else seemed the same. A few new faces, but the core remained. Everyone sat in their regular places; the choir sang familiar anthems; the retired choirmaster had returned; his wife played some of the anthems on the organ while the new young organist did the rest. The tri-fold board in the narthex was one that I had made. The music room is named in honor of my partner.

The peace pole has a few new pieces. The river birches are taller. The columbarium is still full of people whose graves I dug and whose ashes I placed. They hold the church secure, and we added one more avant garde lady to that assortment. May light perpetual shine upon them.

I cried. I cried for my own loss. And, in psychological terms, I processed a pain so that I can move along. My spiritual development was arrested when I fled; now I begin to feel the presence of God again. My lack of perception has been replaced with a quiet comfort and a gentle jogging: "Okay, back into the evangelism business, back into the pastoral care business." I call it business - because it is a busy-ness instead of the inertia of fear of being rejected, fear that I have failed.

Yet, yet, I knew that the desert time I had spent was essential. Prayer, theology, laughter with God and Godly people. Virtual pastoral care. Virtual evangelism. Not wasted time, but integrative, creative time walking humbly with my God.

Now the time is near for doing justice, assisting God in making the divine mercy recognized - mercy as the steadfast love of God - hesed in Hebrew. I will walk humbly with my God as I have done before, but I will add doing justice and loving mercy as I am physically and emotionally able. Thanks be to God.

Dead is a complete sentence

2010-01-12T20:06:00.003-05:00

Dead is a complete sentence. Expectant faces look hopefully for other words, but dead says it all. Not "gone", not "sleeping", not "departed", not "passed over" - dead. People in the South in particular seem to euphemize the difference between alive and otherwise, commonly known as dead.

I know about dead. My blood relatives are all dead except one cousin. They are gone but not to Memphis or Biloxi; they are dead, buried in graves about six feet deep. While they may have "passed over", I have no knowledge of that, and I'm not sure what some of them would have passed over nor where they might be now. I have never felt the compassion that people would convey in those words.

"Dead" seems to have ancient Indo-European roots and means without life. I haven't researched it much, but it's a concise description of a human who no longer breathes.

I object to other euphemisms, too. I prefer precise terms in dealing with things on earth. I can tolerate all kinds of words for dealing with ideas, concepts, beliefs. For some things we have no words - sexual intercourse with a child or a woman with a child's mind. Rape is properly sexual intercourse without consent. A woman with a child's mind is not capable of giving or denying sexual intercourse; so rape is not appropriate for that senario. Sexual molestation can mean lots of happenings relevant to the body.My apologies, readers. I am one of the small percentage of people who are irritated by euphemistic terminology.

I do not like using the word "saved" in a spiritual/religious sense. Being "saved" means being rescued from destruction or harm; and as surely as we live and breathe, we are going to be dead. Being dead is not being saved from destruction. We cannot know what happens after a person is dead. We do not know that being saved (believing in Jesus Christ as your personal saviour) is going to help the dead person. We just bury the body or scatter the ashes. Being politically correct in our word usage often is confusing. Trying to soften the harshness of the language is not helpful to me.

Being bereft of life is being dead. One dies; one does not sleep without life; one does not pass over into some other land (although one might pass over from the state of living to the state of being dead - sounds like a suicide choice to me - oh, I've decided to pass over, a nonchalant rendering of what might be a horrible decision). I expect to die some day. I will not be sleeping that I might wake for the festivities of my friends during my memorial service. I will not have made the choice to pass over. Yes, I will be gone but not to Texas or on a cruise. My spirit, my breath, will no longer be present in the world.

Okay,end of my rant about euphemisms for "dead".

WIP (Work in Progress)

2010-01-02T11:26:00.004-05:00

Crocheted and knitted coral reef in process - will be displayed at the East Carolina Diocesan Convention in February 2010

Happy New Year 2010

2009-12-31T17:40:00.014-05:00

It was a coolish and grey New Year's Eve when the barge nudged the bank at the boat landing near the house. We did not hear it arrive quietly in the morning hours. The big blue boat pushing the barge looked like a World War II landing ship with it prow that would open onto the bank. Large pilings were strapped to the sides of the barge, but all was quiet around it.

The dark water barely rippled under the ominous clouds that gathered. Rain would come. A stillness permeated the air and damp. No wind wiggled the tree limbs or leaves left on the myrtle. No fish jumped. No boats left their wake in the creek.

The house still held its Christmas decorations like failing spots of joy in the dismal day, but the tall pines stood starkly against the sky, silhouettes of summer days. And, deciduous trees poured upward like dark paint streaking toward the heavens. Birds kept to their nests in the dogwood trees.

The magnolias ignored the gloomy weather, the forthcoming rain and pushed their glossy leaves forward. The white camellia buds continued to ripen unharmed by the cold nights.

Inside, the Wii twinkled it upbeat tune. Cats dozed happily in chairs out of the swing of the controller. The phone was quiet. Knitting, reading, holding hands. A very good ending for the year. Happy New Year 2010.

Being Sick at Christmas

2009-12-24T16:37:00.002-05:00

UP HILL by Christina Rosetti

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

Thanks to The Me That Is

Christmas stories

2009-12-24T04:33:00.004-05:00

Growing up on a small farm in Mississippi in the 50s, we heated with wood stoves. The only time the living room was heated was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day...and maybe the day we put up the tree. Seems like it was colder back then, but, of course, my Dad built the house out of green (unseasoned) wood and it crackled and popped as it dried - for years. Anyway.

The tree always went in the front window. We did string popcorn for it and used the fragile glass balls inherited from my grandmother. We always added things like the little mouse candle by tying a string around its middle. The 5 and 10 cent store where Mom worked also provided some red and silver balls. And, tinsel. Some years we were allowed to just throw it up and see where it landed. Other years we hung each strand piece by piece. But, in the earliest years, I remember that getting the strands of tinsel apart was almost impossible; so small globs were the rule of the day.

My brother and I were sent to bed at a reasonable time on Christmas Eve - usually some time after 10 pm because Mom had to work until 9 pm. Since we did not have a mantle, our stockings were pinned to the back of the sofa, and Santa arrived during the night to fill the stockings and lay out our unwrapped Santa gifts. Sometimes, we could hear noises in the living room after we went to bed, but we never got up, never peeked - especially after we realized that Mom was Santa and that she had to work until 9 pm, drive out into the country where we lived, feed us second supper and then put out all the gifts. After David and I were much older, Mom made us stay in the kitchen while she put out gifts; then we could have them. We all slept late on Christmas mornings then.

Of course, finding where she had hidden the gifts was a real challenge. She usually left the larger gifts at the store, hidden in the back among all the stock. But, our stockings were not always full; sometimes Mom forgot where she had hidden our stuff. When I was 15, we moved away from the farm and, in moving, found some coloring books that had been destined for our stockings when we were much younger - also some blunt pointed scissors and a few other things. What a laugh we had!

My Mom loved fine china and silverware even though we were "dirt poor". I usually got a plastic set of dishes and plastic or aluminum silverware. My first set had fluted edges on the dishes with flowers in the middle. I don't know how many sets of silverware I got but I have remnants of at least four. Finally, when my Dad was stationed in Cuba, I got a set of real china toy dishes. They had a deep red border with flowers, and I loved them. I still have them in the original box with not a single piece broken. That was the year that Mom got her Bavarian Linen tablecloth and a set of silver plate flatware...with daffodils. Getting real china took much longer for her. If I felt like ironing, we'd use that tablecloth for Christmas dinner, but the embroidery on it is so detailed that we had to hire someone to iron it when I got married.

My Uncle Lester and his wife Aunt Clyde loved me dearly. Aunt Clyde sewed beautifully, and she made a lot of my clothes. But, Uncle Lester was a farmer. He learned something of the carpentry trade the year I was six, and he made me a wooden stove. Each detail was carefully painted on and the door opened to reveal a wooden rack inside the oven. That year I got aluminum pots and pans with the baking pans being actually usable...still have at least one of those, too. Uncle Lester was kind and gentle hearted. He also made one for Mother's step-niece.

Aunt Edith also cared about me - I was the only granddaughter in the family. She gave me silk pajamas and then - one year she gave me a large jewelry box - black with two small and one large drawer and a top that opened with a mirror. It was not a gift for a child, but I loved it. And, I suspect that it's in one of those tubs in the garage marked "MM childhood junk". I used that jewelry box for years and years - well into my 50s.

One year, David got a horse for christmas. The horse arrived early in the Fall and David had learned to ride passably well enough for both of us to ride the horse. After Christmas one year, we rode down to Grandma Woods' house so that I could show her my new tea set. I didn't repack the tea set well, and it rattled loudly on the way home. The horse was spooked; David was a relatively new rider, and the horse dumped us. Mom was so frightened that she sold the horse. I cried and cried and apologized to David for making him lose his horse.

me with David's guitar

David wanted a guitar, and his first one was from Sears - a big ole thing with clef note holes. Later, after he learned to play well, Mom went to Memphis to the pawn shops on Beale Street and bought him the sweetest little Martin guitar. I've forgotten who went with her, but he was so pleased with it...and such a great sound. He and his two buddies, Jimmie and Jack, played for hours on our front porch or in the kitchen in winter. The only songs I remember from their practice was "Maybelline" and "Thunder Road", but they tried all the country/western songs. And, they played at Jimmie's pentecostal church on Sunday nights; so I learned a lot of good gospel songs.

Pain and death at Christmas

2009-12-21T13:00:00.005-05:00

My lesbian friends are visiting parents this year - together. And, the pain is often great. One family insists that they sleep in separate rooms, another has twin beds for them, and one family says they aren't comfortable with their staying in the home. Most can't afford lodging elsewhere; so they sleep apart (and what are you going to do in your parents home except sleep, especially when you know the disapproving parents are next door or just down the hallway, or worse in the room underneath you?). Some don't go at all even though their parents are aging; some try to find room with accepting cousins or aunts. Some try to make the journey in one day. Those with children have it hardest. What do you say to a young child who wants to visit Grandma and Grandpa?

On Tuesday, a friend is burying her brother who died of colon cancer. She will be holding tight to her mother who says, "This isn't how it's supposed to be." He leaves two young children.

A memorial service will be held for one who took his own life - a choice he made because the pain of living became too great. We can speculate about causes: Vietnam, lack of family support, alcoholism, drug use, purposelessness.

So, as we prepare for the ritual birth of the Christ child, the baby who was God and human, life goes on with all of the pain, the deaths, the natural disasters as usual...except with a little more of all of it - the joy as well as the sad.

God came to earth to be with us - Immanuel - God with us - God did not come to take away the pain or the death or the joy or the desire. God came to teach us how to choose life. For life is breath and God's first act was to breathe upon the emptiness and chaos. Ruah in Hebrew.

I quote from a poem I learned long ago about friendship: "take what is worth keeping and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away." May God with you be the breath of life that helps you sift the pain and the joy, keep what is worth keeping and with steadfast love and compassion blow the rest away.

Getting Rid of Junk

2009-12-17T20:33:00.004-05:00

(photo borrowed from USPS-my preferred method of shipping using Click n Ship)

In cleaning out my boxes of junk from the garage, I seem to have made many people happy. My cousin called with questions about some of the items - like "What's this black and white fuzzy long thing?" Answer: A scarf I knit for your wife. "Who's in this framed picture?" What picture, describe it to me. A man in a white shirt and a woman. Answer: That's you're grandmother and grandfather when they were younger 1944. "There's a coin purse here with stuff in it?" Coin purse was grandmother's. Necklace inside was great grandmother's. Piece of paper is grandfather's driver's license when they first began issuing them in Mississippi.

A friend: "What's this long black thing with a star shape on the bottom?" Answer: a handy-dandy meat masher to use in non-stick skillets from Pampered Chef. "You sent soap; do you think I'm dirty?" No, it made the box smell good.

Another friend: "Um, why are you sending me bottles?" Answer: so you can smash them up and use them in your glassworks. Where did you get these glass door knobs? Answer: From my great grandparents house in Mississippi before it was torn down.

And, the universal question "Why aren't you keeping all of this stuff?" Answer: I have way too much stuff and no children or grandchildren who might appreciate it.

So look out, buddies. You may be next on the list for a mystery box.

Long time, no write

2009-12-10T07:56:00.006-05:00

My friend Lindy, who up and moved all the way from Texas to Wuxi, China, and surprised us all, has pointed out that I haven't blogged in a while. No matter what I write, it would be boring in comparison to her wonderful pictures and commentary about life there. She played with a band one day - a group of women who were wonderfully dressed and wore dashing red hats. They let her play the drums and then the cymbals and put one of the hats on her and took her picture. Well, +Clumber photoshopped the red hat onto several profile pictures on FaceBook. Two of us got different colored hats, though. One was black, and mine is blue.as you can see from the picture. I'm delighted to have the blue hat and have decided that I will be the flag waver since I don't "do" music well.

Speaking of that, I missed Lessons and Carols at church last week because I was getting ready for our annual Tree Trimming Party - our 10th. But, my first tree trimming party was in 1988. This year we had short pork ribs cooked in the oven slowly with Memphis dry rub (my version, very sweet), then slathered lightly with a more tart wet sauce and baked a bit more. Only four were left; so I guess everyone liked them. We also had some almost tasteless shrimp (a round frozen tray that I bought - won't do that again), my own spinach dip, Lisa's Tex-Mex 5 or 7 layer sort of dip, black bean hummus (again my creation with baked onion in it), sugared pecans, cupcakes from Miss Kitty's bakery, and all sorts of non-alcoholic drinks. That non-alcoholic is because some of us are allergic to alcohol. When we drink, we break out in handcuffs.

I've taken leave from my wonderful job at the yarn shop. No, I'm not sure how long, but not permanently. My mornings are not so good lately. I won't go into detail but simply say that fibromyalgia is worse some days than others, or some weeks. I've been reading about XMRV, a retro virus that is thought to "cause" chronic fatigue syndrome. Most of the symptoms fit me, although my partner disagrees slightly. I've thought of getting tested for the virus, which shows up in white blood cells, but no cure or real treatment is available. Giving a name to my pain and problems might help. And, XMRV might be more believable than fibromyalgia.

Here's my recipe for spinach dip:
1 or 2 boxes of frozen chopped spinach (I used 2 Green Giant - all I could find and they are small)
1 package Knorr's vegetable soup mix
1 16 oz carton of reduced fat sour cream
1 package 1/3 less fat cream cheese
1 cup of pecans
1/2 package of dry Ranch Dressing mix
Garlic Salt (about 1 teaspoon for me)
Cayenne Pepper (1/4 teaspoon for me)

Thaw and squeeze the water out of the spinach.
In food processor (mine is more than 20 years old) chop cream cheese into pieces, add pecans and sour cream. Blitz for a bit. Then add the rest of the ingredients. Blitz some more until the texture is grainy but not chunky. Place in refrigerator for some time to let the tastes mix well. Use finger to clean the food processor bowl, place finger in mouth and close lips around finger. Remove clean finger and savor the great taste. Don't chew the finger; that hurts.

A Sorting Hat was needed

2009-11-15T20:50:00.002-05:00

Not for me but for all the papers I found in the tub labeled "family stuff" in the garage. I filled it full of things I didn't want to see after Mom died. Her scrapbook from high school filled with valentines, gift cards, notes, graduation invitations. Letters from my brother (died in 1961) who was apparently dating three girls - one in Mississippi, one in San Diego, and one somewhere North of San Diego - while he was stationed there with the Navy...and letters asking Mom for money. Three marriage licenses for Mom and two divorce proceedings. Marriage licenses for others in the family, birth notices - birth certificates, baby books for me and my brother, records from the farm. Mom's graduation certificate from junior high school - bound in the softest purple suede.

Letters from my brother's father to Mom, her parents, my Dad, and also letters this guy's parents to Mom. From the tone of the letters, I suspect that Mom met David's father when he was buying whiskey from her Dad, Mike, my grandfather.

WW2 documents and letters and Dad's big book of the 24th Construction Battalion. Rationing stuff.

Lots of receipts, letters from grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, former landlady,

The trash bag got fuller and fuller. My brother is dead and so are his son and wife. I have no children. My nearest relative is a cousin in Mississippi, and I'm sending him some of the WW2 stuff - especially a mushy letter from Dad to Mom when she was in high school and another after they were married. I think he'll get a kick of that - Mom was kind of neutered by Dad's alcoholism. But, I'm keeping the letter from Mabel to my Dad where she refused to marry him because he'd never loved anybody but Lucy (my Mom). And, I kept one page of a letter where my brother wrote about how much he loved me.

I save birth announcements to send to those who were born - perhaps they don't have them. I'll send the graduation announcements to some museum in Mississippi. A few photographs without identification went into the trash.

But, I stuffed all the letters that I'd written to Mom over the years back into the box. I'm not sure I want to know that I begged for money just like my brother or what stunts I was up to when. If I were famous, these letters would bring lots of money because I was always deviously honest with Mom. She could read between the lines and so could anyone else.

My Dad helped build the naval base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and one letter dealt with the men refusing to work. There's a picture of him drinking his better with his arm around a cute Cuban woman. So much for the letters he wrote begging Mom to come back to him and promising faithfulness. Even a letter from a woman he met in the South Pacific who invited him to come back there.

I got cold as darkness suddenly came; so I threw the rest of the stuff back in the tub for another day. More later.

Geometrically increasing pace

2009-11-12T10:04:00.003-05:00

The pace of life and of new things increases geometrically. One new piece of technological hardware begats hundreds of new software applications - not only for that piece but for other pieces. And, the competitor has to keep up or lose business; so two or three or five new similar hardware items pop up - and each one has a different operating system with different programs to do the same thing. After a few years some of the competitors have dropped out of business and their products become obsolete. This is a minor glitch in the geometrically increasing idea.

When I finally finished college at age 35, Cobol II could be used as your language requirement. You seldom hear about computer languages any longer - programs in some of these languages translate ordinary words and numbers and boxes and pictures into the ideas you don't write on paper with pencils. And, we called them lead pencils - they are carbon and you don't need a sharpener.

Inventions and discoveries are abounding. Take Windows 7 for instance. Some technology just doesn't excite me. I don't play X-Box games (and is Nintendo surging ahead?), but I do have a Wii - a gaming device that I use primarily for exercise. And, now Windows 7 has arrived after extensive testing. I spent two minutes with it in Staples last week - now I crave a new computer with Windows 7 so that I can figure out how it does the things I like to do - better - worse - quicker (quicker is always better, huh?) - easier?

My Prius Hybrid can now be adapted to run on electricity alone. A gasoline engine combined with an electric system that has evolved into a different kind of car - one that has been available for some time. However, the Prius has made the idea more popular. It was state of the art. Now, almost every manufacturer is copying its system, adapting it, making it better, going one more step.

International relations seem to work the same way - a new election or coup and we're friends with a country that was our enemy. And, other countries fall into line with that thinking - so for a while, peace is more likely in that part of the world. Hillary Clinton must be exhausted - trying to form coalitions that cause a domino effect for peace and prosperity for all. One domino falls to the side, and the set-up has to be redone.

In my life, this increasing pace is new combinations of fibers for yarns, new operating systems for computers, new exercises on the Wii, new formats for banking (what happened to cash and checks?), new cleaning products (when all I wanted was something for these wood floors), and what happened to that product that I used to help remove or cover up scratches on wooden tables (does the Vermont Country Store carry it now?)?

I don't envy the young people of today. They have to know so much more than I did - along with most everything I knew then, too. Pregnancy was the direst consequence of sex with your boyfriend - now it's a fatal disease. I'm not saying that the world is moving too fast; what I'm saying is that I don't keep up. I have chosen my areas of increasing knowledge, and they are few. I look interested when others talk about things outside those areas. My friend, David Keill regularly writes on Facebook in a lingo that is outside my knowledge. So, I admit my ignorance and go on reading it anyway - maybe someday it will all make sense.

Keep on truckin', kids. The pace is getting faster and the race is getting bigger.

Sunday Cat and Dog Blogging

2009-10-11T18:35:00.003-04:00

We are visiting friends in Denver, CO, and here are pictures of some animal friends:

the forms of space

2009-10-04T10:17:00.003-04:00

This slightly altered photo of an early morning boater on our creek reminds me of the swirls around Saturn and of some other galaxies. How closely akin is the geometry of life to the wonder of God!

Chronological age and diplomacy

2009-10-02T04:06:00.002-04:00

Diplomacy is about relationships. A few young people are true diplomats. Condoleeza Rice was one of those. Although I disagreed with many of her pronouncements and decisions, she knew how to navigate around people who were different from her. Hillary Clinton is another. Indira Ghandi, Margaret Thatcher, Henry Kissinger, Janet Reno. They each had much to dislike, but they made friends among the leaders of the world.

Age can be a great assist in that process of making friends. Think about Hillary Clinton for a moment. She went to law school at Yale during a time when that must have been difficult. She learned about underhanded dealings (common in the South at the time it happened) and how that could affect one's life. But, she negotiated her way out of that for herself and Bill. Having known one of the people involved, I have no doubt that Hillary knew the Whitewater escapade was edgy at best and borderline illegal.

Then, she survived the eight years as First Lady, failing in her attempt to promote and pass a health care reform bill. Was she disillusioned? At first she retreated into silence and good works - forging more and more powerful and not-so-powerful relationships throughout the country.

She was probably a leader is saving Bill's job during the intern affair. Again, not much doubt about Bill's involvement, but I believe she was the negotiator who maneuvered them out of that entanglement.

She ran for Senator from New York and won. Spotlight knowledge of the campaign trail and all the potholes one encounters along the way. She moved into the Senate with aplomb and worked her relationships with other senators and congressional leaders to help pass some good legislation.

Then the bid for President. She ran a good race. She might have won if she'd been prettier or could have smiled more. Barak Obama was younger, good looking, pushy, smiled a lot, seemed to have the ideal family. I believe she lost primarily because of those factors. (Don't get me wrong here; I support Obama and his goals and his energy. I don't think Hillary could have done what he has done so far.) She learned the limits of what a woman can do in the public light.

Now, as Secretary of State, Hillary is moving around the world, making contact with leaders in countries where we need support. She doesn't make the news as often as some of her predecessors, but I believe that she is building strong relationships in places where we need them. She certainly has the skills for saying the right things at the right times to keep processes open and working. She could talk her way out of a garbage dumpster with it on the way up to the dump truck. The nation needs someone with fluent language talents right now. Hillary is quietly making the contacts and gaining the tacit agreement of strong allies. Barak Obama will need those contacts and her abilities soon.

And, she is keeping very silent on the subject of health care. She is not reminding the public that she was involved in that same process some seven or eight years ago. Of course, the conservatives are scared to death of anything that bespeaks more government. I grant you that the US government doesn't have the greatest track record of handling money or entitlement programs - too many steps along the way. Hillary is continuing to show her knowledge about how politics work by staying out the way on topics that might produce adverse reactions.

She has learned a lot along the way. And, so have most of us who have reached that 60 plus age. Young teachers barge into classrooms full of energy and knowledge and encounter discipline and inner-school political problems. They balk at submitting to a negotiating style. They just want to teach, but relationships are throughout the world. I'm unsure what teachers do when they get disgusted or exhausted and leave the classroom, but I am sure they meet similar political challenges in whatever they do.

Young clergy are the same way. They throw themselves into their first church and are frequently reined in by older pastors who know that you can't make too many waves too quickly or you'll swamp the boat. Learning patience and tact is hard; learning assertiveness is also difficult. But, by the time pastors reach their mid-sixties, they choose their soapboxes carefully. One can hope they are less concerned with the trappings of church (though those decisions must be made) than they are with the care of the souls in their congregations. Developing relationships with God are as difficult as developing relationships with countries that have reason to hate us.

Age helps. Experience helps.

Seven different words for "cookie"

2009-09-30T19:51:00.003-04:00

I was reading about diversity among Latin American immigrants in the US, and one article said there were seven different words for "cookie": bizcochito, bollito, craque, galletita, galleta dulce, cuqui, cuque. While recognizing that all those words are generic, I recognize that I have lots of different words for "cookie" but my favorite is "Chips Ahoy". Others include Moravian sugar, Oreos, and tea cakes. European languages have different names for different types of cookies, i.e. biscotti. Some places call them wafers; and in other places wafers are non-sweet crackers.

Life can be confusing in its diversity, but brand names give clarity to our passions. They are specific and not stereotypes.

Guess what we need to do with people is avoid the generalities and stick with the brand names: Miriam H, James S, Mary P. Even with people confusion abounds: here I am sharecropper; on Yahoo groups I am a different name; friends who have known me a long time call me by a nickname; more recent friends call me by my given name; a few still know me by my maiden name; and many who don't know me at all call me "sweetie" (I do live in the South, y'all). Each one of those names has a slightly different perspective of the real person behind the name, behind the writing, behind the crafts, behind the theology and the bs.

Diversity within, diversity without. And, when we've finished writing the nine million names for God, the lights will go out.

Maiden Voyage

2009-09-27T18:58:00.006-04:00

Headed out the creek

Margaret Drives

Lisa Drives

Home after maiden voyage

Still not named. Red Rocket? Arabesque? Peppermint?

Mimetic Theory - part 2

2009-09-20T19:27:00.002-04:00

Shallotpeel asked if advertising, commercialism and capitalism were all part of following the American dream of keeping up with the Joneses.

Of course, they are. The basic question, put in Biblical terms, is why did Eve eat the forbidden fruit? In modern theology, what is the source of evil? Mimetic theory is basically trying to say that evil is the result of envy.

The implementation of it in our lives is much more pervasive. This is imitation in its subtlest form. Spouse abusers are frequently children of spouse abusers. Democrats begat Democrats. Hard working families begat hard working children (sometimes anyway - the author may be excepted). We wouldn't want a flat screen television if we had not seen a flat screen television possessed by someone or advertised by an appealing person.

I wouldn't continue to collect miniature Hallmark Christmas ornaments if it did not bring me compliments or comments - which I translate into love, which is a desirable thing because my Momma told me so. It means that I have something that few other of my acquaintances do - something for which they might envy me. Mimetic theory says that this will make them jealous and so they might either try to steal my ornaments or degrade me in some other way. One way to keep up with the Joneses is to run them off (so goes the theory) - that way, I consider myself to be superior to them.

Seems like a big ego trip to me, but we do undoubtedly desire things because someone else has them. I don't believe all our desires are generated by others' possessions. But, Rene Girard contended that this is the basis of all cultures, and I suspect that he says it is the basis of civilization itself.

Seems to me the painful elaboration of the obvious. Remember, Shallotpeel, when we advertised Arthur Ashe glasses frames? The idea was that, if someone saw the name, they would want to be like Ashe and would buy the frames to make them as good as he was. Logical? Why would someone pay $$$$ for shoes that were named for Michael Jordan? Mimetic theory - imitation of Jordan.

Why do I like the color red? Long ago, did I see someone that I admired wearing red? I know that my desire for independence and being different were generated not only because my home situation made me that way, but this desire also came from seeing the wealthiest woman in town come into the Ben Franklin store in blue jeans, t-top, high heels and a full length fur coat - breezing along, uncaring about what others thought. I admired her a great deal, and so I try to be different and uncaring of what others think about me. So, where does mimetic theory fit in my life? Lots of places, but not so well in others and not at all in some places.

The uniqueness of every human is that which cannot be explained by mimetic theory or by the various combinations of mimetic traits. The theory fails in full explanation for me. But, that's how I've learned to manipulate people - leading them to places they want to be by showing them how they can be like those they admire.

Mimetic Theory

2009-09-19T16:02:00.002-04:00

One set of You Tube videos on Mimetic Theory proposes that 1. We want things because others have them and we want to be like them. 2. Such desires create tension which can escalate into violence. 3. The theory is explained in the Bible and 4. The Bible tells us how to avoid this.

Rene Girard proposed at least part of this theory many years ago. We are mimicking or aping others. While this is acceptably true in childhood, some social scientists contend that it continues to occur throughout adulthood as well. "Keeping up with the Joneses"

Pretty things. Useful things, expensive toys for children and adults. We desire these things because others that we consider "successful" have them. Did we buy our new boat because someone else we thought was successful had a new boat. Well, I don't know anyone with a new boat. Our boat is in the shop; we love being on the water; our boat is no longer serviceable for what we want; so we bought a new boat. Sounds reasonable.

However, we bought a boat that is large enough to take friends out boating with us. Many of our friends do not have boats. We like to say that we have a boat so that we can enjoy boating with our friends. And, we do. But, sometimes I wonder about that. Are we being mimetic in our desires?

Take my yarn collection or my bead collection - why do I keep adding to this when I have more yarn and more beads than I can ever use. Why do things seem to mean so much when they really don't? I have visions of beautiful things made with these beads and this yarn. However, I either don't do it or can't do it. So these "things" go unused. But, that doesn't stop me from wanting more.

Some people say I am trying to fill an empty space in my life - an empty space that only God can fill. Don't think so. God and I get along just fine. Maybe I'm trying to make up for all the "stuff" that I didn't have when I was growing up and as a young adult - poverty can be a great motivator to hoarding.

But, desiring this stuff because others have it - nah, I don't think so. Desiring this stuff because I think it's pretty and it exists - maybe.

As for parts 3 and 4 of mimetic theory according to these You Tube videos - The Bible certainly does give a truthful picture of humanity and offers a pretty good model of what paradise could be. And, perhaps we could trace violence back to wanting what someone else has...but I'm not sure. We didn't fight the Crusades in order to have what someone else had - yet, we perpetrated violence.

I wonder how difference fits in with mimetic theory. Discomfort with strangeness. Yep, all in the Bible. But, also in other traditional stories from thousands of years before the Biblical writing. I wonder.

Gifts and the Gifted

2009-09-08T17:49:00.003-04:00

Most of you know that I work in a yarn store. Many of our patrons and students are involved in charitable works, and I support them as best I can. One such is the Shoe Box Project - decorate a shoe box and fill it with things that someone in need can use - school supplies, toiletries, other goodies. So, I gave them a little donation the other day to help with back-to-school stuff. And, today, Tye came to the shop with a Thank You present for me - a shoe box for me to give to someone.

It's beautiful with a little stuffed animal tied on top. I almost cried.

I who have so much - gifted with something for giving.

Love is that way. The gift that multiplies as we give it away.

PS- I called my godson today. He's been clean and sober now for five months. Thanks be to God.

Communication - the long and short of it

2009-08-30T21:16:00.003-04:00

The other day I wrote about my new phone, but what I really wanted to talk about was how communication has changed. I continue to be amazed at the new developments in technology and how we use them.

I'm thinking about where I began with learning to write in fine script and moving forward slowly then quickly to Twitter. No, I don't tweet, but I followed someone who was during the Episcopal General Convention this summer. Fascinating to know what was happening moment by moment in a meeting across the country.

I found old letters from partner's great grandmother to a friend - hmm, late 1800s - very formal notes with no personality at all. Short.

Then longer letters, still handwritten, from my Dad during WW2.

Typewritten letters from my brother in the late 1950s.

Received a telegram from my boyfriend in 1964...delivered to my office via a machine that transcribed them...a teletype of sorts.

My first email in the early 1980s...in DOS.

IMing with Donna in 2000 or so.

The blog started in 2005 or 2006.

Skype - I can see and talk just like Dick Tracy.

Facebook - short messages, quotes, film at 11, comments, finding friends

Twitter - back to very short messages, cryptic, and some without personality.

The books I read seem to get longer and longer with more description and characterization. Or else they are only a few pages with lots of blank area.

Television commercials once meant holding an image for at least 3 seconds, 90 words in 30 seconds. Now, I can hardly follow the images at all - and I'm sure some of them are there for miliseconds - subliminally creating an attitude inside me.

My mind was trained before television, and I find it difficult to deal with short sound bytes - I want the whole story including context. But the context is global, and difficult to comprehend the cultural, economic, social, political effects that are the whole story.

Still, I am interested in what comes next. Artificial intelligence is amazing. I look forward to it.

I read the whole book

2009-08-30T15:09:00.002-04:00

If you read one of my previous posts, you know that I started "The Help", a novel from the perspective of maids in the 1960s in Mississippi. I was pained by the story and had a very difficult time getting through the beginning of it.

The Help is one of the best books I had read - particularly since I lived in Mississippi during that era.

The pain and fear continued throughout the book. I don't think maids in our little town ever wore uniforms, but they certainly were subjected to segregation. I went to an all-white school - Marks High School. The black school was called Marks Attendance Center. The King Store was a grocery on the other side of the tracks. Blacks did not shop at Piggly Wiggly, but a few ventured into the Kroger store. The only pharmacies were on the white side, but I never remember seeing a black person there.

I remember wondering why I couldn't play with "Ole Joe's" kids when they lived just down the road from us, but none of the segregation fight meant much to me.

Although I spent many early mornings in one of our clinics, I don't remember who was there. Mom could not take off from work to sit with me at the doctor's office; so she would drop me off as she went to work. When I was finished, I would walk the block to the Ben Franklin store where she worked. Sometimes she had to take off an hour to take me home - we lived 4.5 miles out of town - and would be docked for that time. Sometimes I simply slept in the back seat of the car until she got off work.

I was very familiar with the black side of town because my Dad was an alcoholic, the town drunk. He loved to sit in a garage over there and drink. None of us ever worried about my walking through that black-owned garage to the back to get Daddy. They sat on upturned Coca-Cola cases, smoked cigarettes and drank. Sometimes I was with him when he went to the bootlegger to buy more whiskey - that was in the black section of town. Sometimes the black women would give him vegetables from their gardens. He would stop to chat with them. I knew most of their names then.

The book was interesting and sad - so much fear, so much violence that is still present in Mississippi. In 2001 I went shopping for my sister-in-law at the cheap grocery store in town. My new car and my clothing were not the only things that set me apart from most of the people - I was white. They stared at me. A few of them spoke to me. I was uncomfortable wondering what they thought about me.

I was in the rioting crowds at Ole Miss when James Meredith entered there. The following summer, I actually had a class with him; we both struggled with World History, but I never spoke to him. I was too interested in drinking and having a good time.

I worked in Memphis when Martin Luther King Jr. was killed about 10 blocks away. Only then did I really become aware of what was happening...and took an integrationist point of view - one that my kin in Mississippi oppose today.

Back to the book: The Junior League was and still is out of my realm of being, but I've heard stories. I suspect this book is accurate in detail and in pain and fear but also in the loyal and loving relationships. I rejoiced in the freedom of people in the 1960s and in the book. It is well written, and the diaglogue is consistent with what I heard and some of what I still speak when I'm tired. Read it!

My new phone

2009-08-26T20:23:00.004-04:00

My new telephone (not in iPhone) will do everything except talk the officer out of a speeding ticket (no, I really haven't tried that yet) or bleep at me when I turn into the Dairy Queen parking lot. Costly little red critter - even more costly for all the do-dads that can be added. Not only do you buy a program for each application (do-dad) but you also pay a monthly fee and with some of them you use your precious minutes.

However, I now have learned to use the QWERTY keyboard with my thumbs as long as I'm sitting still. I have trouble answering my cell phone when I'm driving and, even with good suspension, I don't do well texting as a passenger, unlike my friend who was involved in a major car accident as a passenger. She and I were texting at the time. She texted, "Wreck, wreck, bad wreck" and then nothing for a long 20 or 30 minutes. Rear ended by a large truck, their little Hundai was totaled. The driver has a vertebrae injury and bruises and scratches for my texting friend and their pup.

Back to the phone. The outside has a picture of my beautiful snowball viburnum as a background, and the inside is the creek behind our home. Many people have their pictures appear when they call, and some even have special ringtones. Not that I recognize them yet - hmm, wonder whose ringtone that is?

I can store music, pictures, documents in the phone memory or insert a memory card to carry all my information. I can sync the phone and its memory with my computer. I can download songs, podcasts and even videos from the internet as well as receive my email if I wish - and I don't wish. Can you imagine trying to watch kd lang with all her expressions as she sings "Hallelujah" on a 2 inch screen.

The camera has a flash and a zoom with 3 megapixels. I can send the pictures to my computer via text messaging. And, I understand that I should be able to send text messages to my phone from my computer. Of course, that seems needless. Costs less just to say it to me...and I don't like talking to myself when I can't answer instantly.

For a small fee, I can read my voice mail messages. Of course, I'm curious about how voice recognition programs can translate sounds into words accurately - could be some interesting voice mails. LOL

Mostly, I just want the blasted thing to send and receive phone calls well. Now that Alltel has merged with Verizon, calls aren't going through as quickly - you hear that blip, blip, blip.....all too often. Other than that, it works pretty well. A new toy!

The Help

2009-08-25T20:43:00.004-04:00

You can't look inside the book from here because the image came from Amazon.com where you can not only look inside but also buy the book.

I was born and grew up in northern Mississippi, about a hundred miles from Jackson where this novel is set. We did not have a maid, but we did have a black woman who came in to help Mom with the laundry occasionally - and I think to do my diapers because Mom was not well when I was a baby in the mid to late 1940s. She was much loved by our family. As we went past her house on the way into town, I would often ask if we could stop and visit her. We only stopped once.

No one that I knew had a regular maid though they did exist in my little town. I don't remember that they wore uniforms, but by the 1960s I don't believe anyone except the wealthiest people had maids in our part of the country. Mom's boss had a maid until she died in the late 1990s - a wonderful woman who cooked and served a brunch before my wedding (the boss' gift to me).

I was blessed with Caroline, a black woman whose husband farmed a small acreage down the turn row from us. I visited her often in the summer. She cooked turtle soup and the best biscuits in the world. She never let me eat at the table with her and her husband. I had to eat on a white cloth over the sewing machine in the living room. I always begged to be at her table because I loved her dearly. Perhaps it was Caroline who taught me how to make tiny stitches for mending or how to season food by smelling what was needed or how to get that foot motion just right on the treadle sewing machine.

I am a white woman now in my mid 60s. I was a white child in a poor family. I cannot imagine the conversations of the white women in this book. They are painful to me. Although I've read only the first 100 pages and the last few pages, I can see the plot developing. The same hoity-toity talk continues throughout even if some honesty and devotion does develop.

I'm not sure I can handle the pain of those conversations and the duplicity of both white and black women. Race, money and position were powerful then and now. Empowerment is situational. Mae Mo, the child in the book, may be told over and over that she is good and kind and such, but she will discover that power can make you feel hated and worthless at times - no matter how much you tell yourself differently. Race, money and position still rule the world.

As my previous post mentions: sometimes I'd rather live in blissful ignorance and forgetfulness.

Politics, Church Politics, and Blissful Ignorance

2009-08-25T19:40:00.002-04:00

The Dems and the BlueDog Dems are feuding. The Reps have gone bonkers. One of my high school friends is pegging Sarah Palin for something - maybe she needs the "Balls of the Month" award or something.

Churches are pulling together and pulling apart. Rectors are trying to keep everyone happy while they convince people that LGBT people are really human and not perverts or worse sinners than anyone else. Activists are angry that the President and the rector have not taken a firmer stand on rights for LGBT people.

I see the pain, I hear the cries, I read the literature, I Facebook about my latest knitting project.

Some days, you just have to keep on truckin' and forget about the rest of the world.

Sad commentary on welcoming the stranger

2009-08-13T18:29:00.000-04:00

I wanted to make a point that humanitarianism is not a crime, and water’s not littering.

- Walt Staton, of “No More Death,” convicted in Tucson, Arizona, for littering after leaving water bottles for immigrants along trails in the desert. (Source: Los Angeles Times)

My brother's 70th birthday

2009-08-01T00:16:00.003-04:00

Top - David at Mangrove Bay in Bermuda in 1959
Middle - David at 15 or 16 with Uncle Ralph's red/white Olds 88.
Bottom - David at 21 with his wife, Sue.
Today is the 70th anniversary of my brother David's birth. Of course, he's not around to celebrate - at least not in the body. His spirit may be here somewhere, and I can almost hear him, "What are you doing up? Go back to bed." He said that many times when we were growing up. He would awaken and find me crouched with my face to the window where the cool air came in, my back against the side rail of his bed.

After more than 40 years, I still miss him. He's never aged in my heart or mind. I cannot imagine what he would be like. To me, he's still the wannabe "tough". He was learning a profession - welding - but I absolutely cannot imagine that. He had long slender fingers that were made for music, which he never mastered. I think of him as delicate even though he had good shoulders and body strength.

I cannot imagine him as a father or coming home as a husband after work to his wife, Sue. He has never grown up - Peter Pan.

Belief - like with Puff the Magic Dragon - my belief in him is strong. He was my advocate, my idol, my teacher, my friend. He loved me without reservation, and he put up with me even on dates when I was in 5th and 6th grade. He took me to school with him before I was old enough for first grade. He and his friends played with me and taught me the rules of "brotherhood". You take your licks, you don't rat on your friends, you share what you have, you play close to the edge but safe, you call for help, you give help when needed, you respect your elders and mentors, you have time alone, you have time with others, you dress the part, you play your cards close to your chest.

You clean your gun when you come in from the woods; you hone your knife and oil it; your take care of your tools and your toys. You don't point a gun unless you intend to shoot it. You don't pull a knife unless you know you can keep it. Desperate situations call for desperate measures. Running is better than dying or being hurt. You laugh about the close calls. Quiet means safety.

I don't know if he taught me about winning but possibly - you figure out who has the power and what you can do to use their power for what you believe. You pay back or pay forward for favors received. You are thankful for what you have. You know that God is with you whether or not God is on your side because God may not choose sides. Praying is what you do in conversation.

I never went to kindergarten; so I never learned the rules of life that you're supposed to learn there. But, my brother who died when he was 22 had already learned those rules and thought his little sister ought to know them, too. Thanks, buddy.

Happy Birthday, David.

Recent Sunset

2009-07-27T14:52:00.001-04:00

What to be when I grow up?

2009-07-27T14:27:00.002-04:00

Perhaps that title should read "What to be when I grow old?" I've been a lot of things. Baby, daughter, niece, sister, smart kid, storyteller (not liar), journalist, draftsperson, staple remover, truck driver, waitress, adulteress, married to a man, lesbian, co-owner of advertising studio, graphic designer, printer, social services program manager, bean picker, bean counter (bookkeeper), public relations guru, photographer, hoarder, collector, thrift store manager, ecumenical ministries director, newspaper headline writer, moocher, independent, smart, pastoral counselor, teacher, retreat leader, closet cleaner, listener, fund raiser, television ad writer, rodeo barrel rider, poet, screen printer, computer guru, theologian, student....

Each person has many titles and many "beings", but I hope most of you have not held as many jobs as I have. Still, it's good to be a Renaissance woman. I can bake biscuits as well as repair lamps and lift heavy things. I have some artistic talent and I love learning.

I know and believe that each person has intrinsic worth simply because he/she is. But, that seems to be about other people, not about me. When I'm meditating (and distracted), I muse on what I am and am not doing with my gifts and talents. I have lots of great ideas, and I frequently start many of them. I have so many unfinished projects in so many different areas that I would not know where to begin to finish any of them. And, the ideas keep abounding, growing, multiplying like rabbits and mice.

The strange part is that I feel I need to have a passion - something that I love to do to the exclusion of the multitude of others. I like to knit, crochet, design, paint, draw, build things, organize, be pastorally caring, listen, work with computers. And, the tools with which to do these things are all here and multiplying almost as quickly as my ideas. I work part-time in a yarn shop, and I love meeting the people, arranging the yarns, working on the website, making good displays. And, some days that's a passion. Some days I really dread going to work, and I feel drained when I get home.

Some days I want to go out and change the world so that the people for whom I've provided pastoral care and survive in this world - most never make it out of their poverty or illness or situations. Some days I have images in my mind so strongly that the colors I see influence my moods (both for the good and the bad). I envision a crochet/knit replica of a reef, which I began some time ago - and quit. No project or occupation seems to last. My interest wanes, hope disappears, and I just quit.

I have a book from my therapist, "If the Buddha got stuck", and I suspect that I need to read more of it. Propping it at the edge of my computer screen does not help me. But, my life has always been such a mish-mash of projects and passions that I cannot concentrate on one thing long enough to finish it or to become truly an "artist". I get just good enough and I quit.

So, what use am I? Now that I'm growing older, what do I want to be/do? Why isn't who/what I am enough? Why do I feel that I should be/do more? And, why don't I do/be it?

Okay, so now I have the questions. Feel free to add your own questions and/or answers.

Being Lesbian in a Straight World

2009-07-22T10:04:00.005-04:00

In the July/August 2009 issue of Yale Alumni Magazine, Mitchell Reich said, "My epiphany (coming out as gay) was always supposed to expand my world, never to limit it, and I'm disappointed in the contraction of my social panorama." (p47) His coming out was about 4 years ago, not nearly long enough to have accustomed himself to living gay in a very diverse world - not just straight (heterosexual) but also one that includes people who want to kill you for who you are. Terrorists want to kill us because we are American. Some Muslims want to kills us because we are sinners. Mothers and fathers fear us because we are not what they want their children to become...or for other reasons. Churches ban us because they interpret scripture differently than we do.

So we do cocoon (to use Mitch's word). We tend to gather in groups of people who are very like us, people who look askance at heterosexuals in their midst. At least that's what we do in the beginning of our "coming out". Some of us never make it past that acclimatization. I retreated into heterosexual marriage after those first four years. Of course, the world was very different then. Police could arrest you for being in a gay bar - the dreaded vice squad. Landlords could refuse to rent to you, and employers could fire you.

However, after living in a world that included lots of straights and gays for many years while I was married, I can return to being openly lesbian without the cocooning. In fact, I would miss my hetero/married friends and their children. I cannot let being lesbian dominate my life - how boring! Nor can I deny my marital status - civil unioned in a far-off state, holy unioned in a conservative town, but openly partnered with a woman.

We are part of a group that is striving for acceptance within a church - a small piece of giving back for the comfort that we feel and the financial ability to say, "I'm not sure what you think of me matters very much." Our parents are dead; her son lives a rather bohemian lifestyle in a large city. We don't have consider the consequences for our families.

But most people around here really like us: the older ladies where we go to church, the men who work on our home and our yard, the people we meet where I work, church people that we come to know, twelve-step people, and other groups who might be more traditionally unwelcoming. We've met very little bias, anger, fear or repression. We are truly blessed.

Our parties include some gays but many others - singles, heterosexual marrieds, partners of various kinds, children. I would miss the richness of this blend of people. We even have conversations - some in person, some on the internet - with those who think that our sexuality choice is an abomination. One of my dearest "children" from a time when I worked at a college has very different opinions about what the Bible says about our lifestyle - and some other things also. We occasionally talk about that, but mostly I want to hear about her children, her move, her running accomplishments, what kind of French meal she is preparing for celebration of the Tour de France. I follow her notes closely on Facebook.

Yes, Mitch, I understand your cocooning during the first four years after coming out, but now you have to come out again. In order to expand, you need friends from all sorts of lives and all ages. If you continue to cocoon, you will not be "becoming more fundamentally honest, learning to share myself more deeply with other people." You will become what you were called when you first ventured away from the cocoon: a faggot. You must not let being gay become constitutive of your identity to the exclusion of other parts of you.

I offer you my blessings and my prayers for the man you wish to be. May others find that same diversity within themselves.

Old spam, new perspective

2009-07-21T06:10:00.004-04:00

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

This story makes me wonder what "seeing" has to do with perspective/attitude and happiness. Perhaps that's why gratitude lists are so important. Gratitude lists are enumerations of the things we can "see" in our lives that are good. What if we made gratitude lists for the things we can only imagine? When I am depressed and hurting, what if I made a detailed list of a trip that I want to take but have not taken yet? What if I described in detail the people I would meet and the sights I would see?

In such a gratitude list, I could even include the impossible events as well - hugging a clean polar bear, rolling around in the snow with a cub in safety. I could describe how the snow feels in that part of the world - slightly dry and raising puffs of white as we tumbled along and I butted heads with the cub. Rubbing my head with snow covered gloves and having the cub imitate my action. I could imagine my eyes tearing and the tears freezing as they stuck to my face. As I turn to leave, the mama bear gathers the cubs near her and they watch as I get on the tundra buggy, staying still in that position until we are out of sight so that my final image is of "my" polar bear family.

In other lists, I could describe the serenity of places I have been and people I have known - things for which I am truly grateful - not just single words or phrases on paper but recalling the joys of being present to beauty, to love and to goodness.

I'm good with descriptions, but the plot would simply be gratitude that I was there or that I am there in spirit.

I missed the Independence Day fireworks again for the umpteenth year, but no fireworks could be as beautiful as those I see in my mind. I close my eyes and the swirling sprinkles of minute light bursts imprint themselves on my mind. The colors are varied, ranging from multi-hued magentas to bright yellows and mind boggling blues against a dark blue sky. And, the greens that umbrella over the crowd. The one red sparkler shot that seems to fall directly over me, and I can feel the bits of ash that haven't blown away above the trees as they fall to the ground around my feet, evidence of the specialness that I am. The red one was for me.

Our creek is wide where we live, but miles up, the branches overhang the shallow water. A deer drinks quietly from the bank as I round the corner (actually happened) on my propelled watercraft. I quieten the motor and drift for a few minutes. Today I'm dressed in the colors of the creek - a bit of green, dark pants that match my craft and the water, even a few sparkles to reflect light as the water does. The great blue heron continues to stalk a fish as I watch and moves into the edges of the cypress knees as I pass. White lilies that I've seen at a distance brush the edges of my craft as I ease by. And, there - just a few yards away on the bank - the white alligator that people claim to have seen. I am frightened, but I take a deep breath and gently turn around - moving the water so little as not to be noticed. The alligator is very large and the sun is warm on its back as it appears to doze in the afternoon. Easily, easily, I move back down the creek toward home. The alligator continues to doze. Nearer home, the turtles still slide off the fallen trees into the water as I approach. And, then, home appears around the curve of the creek. A boat slows and waves as I approach my docking spot.

I can encourage myself with descriptive sightings - those of the outside world, those of my inner world of peace and delight, those of memory and those of hope.

God, let my fingers do the talking when I am sad or hurting.

Episcopal Church Resolutions

2009-07-15T21:32:00.004-04:00

(Please note that the opinions expressed herein are those of the author and not of the Episcopal Church or any part of the Episcopal Church. The logo is used to indicate the subject of this opinion.)

Even in their watered down versions, the General Convention has passed two resolutions that will extend the full sacraments of the church to all baptized members. First, both houses (bishops and deputies) passed a resolution that will allow gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people full access to the ordination process and, if ordained, to all positions including bishop. Second, the House of Bishops just passed 104/30 a resolution for creating theological and liturgical basis for blessings of same sex unions as well as allowing a generous pastoral response, especially in those states where they are legalized. This resolution now goes to the House of Deputies.

The rector of the main Episcopal Church in our town has called a parish meeting between services on Sunday to explain the first (and, I suppose, the second) resolution to what he believes is a strongly conservative congregation. He is a man walking in fear of schism in his parish. He also walks in fear of losing pledge dollars and, possibly, has not dealt with his own feelings.

Truth: Such changes do cause people to leave the church, but they also cause people to join the church. While I have no evidence for this belief, I believe that more people will be led to the Episcopal Church than will leave it.

Over five years ago, the dialogue about GLBT folk began here. Subsequently, a support group was formed. They held a short retreat to decide what they wished to be, to do, and to be called. An article was published in the church newsletter about this new group with its name, LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered) Ministry. This newsletter was published while the rector was away. When he returned, he pulled the article from the on-line version of the newsletter, but several hundred printed versions could not be recalled.

At the following meeting of the group, he made clear that he did not want the ministry to be so named nor did he want the words Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered to be mentioned in connection with Christ Church. At the diocesan convention in February, he had the poster for the display changed to the LGBT Ministry of the Diocese meeting at X Church. He said that he had gotten much negative feedback about this ministry. He wants the group to form a five year plan - that's five more years than have already passed.

About 20 people are active in the LGBT Ministry, and I personally feel that we are welcome at this church only if we keep a part of our lives secret. My partner and I had our picture made together for the church directory. We cannot deny this part of our life - which is only a minor part as regards the church...in fact, I don't recall inviting the church into our bedroom or into the working relationship of our household.

I am grateful to the bishops and deputies for the emerging understanding of differing lifestyles and the spirit of inclusivity they have exhibited at this General Convention. I pray that the same understanding and spirit may engage the hearts and minds of those at our church who would exclude me and others like me.

I agree with the Pope

2009-07-08T14:28:00.003-04:00

"While the poor of the world continue knocking on the doors of the rich, the world of affluence runs the risk of no longer hearing those knocks, on account of a conscience that can no longer distinguish what is human." Pope Benedict XVI in Caritas Veritate, his new encyclical on the world economic system. (Guardian)

While I disagree with the Pope on many things, most things, this statement has a ring of truth, particularly if you change the word human to humane. This makes the statement more understandable to the rest of the world. The Pope and I already know that to be human is to be and act humanely.

Now, we have to convince the very rich that sponsoring children in Africa, adopting orphans, building fairy-tale ranches and such are not the full way of treating the rest of the world as humans. Do my beliefs mean that I'm going to give up my pleasures? NIMBY (not in my backyard).

We have more than enough, but we're not rich like Trump or Jobs or some movie stars or entertainers or jocks. Or Madoff. In fact, rich today seems to mean someone with nine figure assets or income. Wow!

Or does it mean someone with six figure assets and income? What determines richness today?

Better yet, is richness determined by monetary worth? And, if it's not, then how do we keep a conscience, enjoy our blessings (of all kinds) and remember what being human means.

Returning to Church

2009-07-05T21:20:00.002-04:00

Some of you have read my story of non-ordination and the ensuing 20 years of ministry, and some of you know that I have not been a church-goer much less a participant in several years.

Today I attended a small church in Jacksonville, NC, and felt as if I entered a place of blessing. One Sunday, one communion, but a changed attitude. I remember singing, "Just as I am......." ad infinitum in the Baptist Church, but always being moved by the simplicity of its message. The simplicity of getting in the car and driving to this church, walking in the door, and participating in the liturgy made me feel as if I had never been away.

God and I have been getting along rather well, but I suspect a new ministry is going to present itself to me soon. I've been having dreams of being in the wrong place but having to bide my time for the right place.

So, Baptist or otherwise, I continue to sing "Just as I am...." and "here I am, Lord"
and, if I can only touch the hem of the garment....

Friday Five

2009-07-05T21:01:00.002-04:00

Topic is our closets - whee, dogie!

1. Are you a hoarder, or are you good at sorting and clearing? I sort and clear very well when the stuff belongs to someone else, but I'm about to mail one of my great grandmother's dresses to a relative. Obviously, the females of my family have been hoarders. I have neatly marked boxes in the garage - Childhood -useless junk, Too Little, Computer parts, Files, Winter, Fleece,..... So, I hoard in an orderly fashion.

2. What is the oddest garment you possess and why?
I am not ordained, but my friend Alison was convinced that I would be someday. She gave me an antique red silk chasuble, stole that is too short for anyone over 5'2". I have it safely packed away with no anticipation of needing it soon. And, my great grandmother's dress and my brother's sailor suit when he was 2 years old, etc.

3. Do you have a favourite look/ colour?
I just like color - although red is my favorite color, I also enjoy turquoise and bright blue. And, I have hats and jewelry to match most things.

4. Thrift/ Charity shops, love them or hate them? My hats mostly come from thrift shops, and some of my clothes - few in my size where I live now. Love them, love them. Buy broken jewelry to make into other things - also belts that I deconstruct and purses and ....hmmm, you get the idea.

5. Money is no object, what one item would you buy? A swimsuit that fits and looks good.

Now the truth of my closets is that I have one closet of pants that fit my larger (now) size. I lost a few pounds a year or so ago and bought new clothes. Gained the weight back. Forgot where I put my clothes. Bought new ones. Now have twice as many clothes as I can possibly use, but I rotate them, and I wear them out and nothing goes to waste. I recycle when they cannot be worn any longer.

Happy Fourth of July!

2009-07-03T20:13:00.001-04:00

Empathy and Who Gets The Job

2009-07-02T20:40:00.003-04:00

"Mr. Ricci and his fellow petitioners understandably attract the court's empathy, but they had no vested right to promotion, and no person has received a promotion in preference to them."

- Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, dissenting from Monday's Supreme Court ruling that white firefighters were the victims of discrimination when the city of New Haven, Conn., discarded test results that revealed disparities in scores between black and white applicants for promotions. Her choice of the word "empathy" in her spoken statement seemed to reference conservative criticism of President Obama for saying he wants judges who can show empathy for those who are vulnerable. (Source: Los Angeles Times) (I picked this up from Sojourners Online. Emphasis is mine.)

The word "empathy" may be referencing President Obama's desires in a judge, but certainly during her lifetime, Justice Ginsburg has felt the kind of discrimination that results from discarded tests and preferences that had nothing to do with qualifications. I heartily support her use of the word. And, in most cases no one has a vested right to promotion. Most promotions are based on many things including written materials, length of duty, color of skin/eyes/hair, leadership qualities, obvious abilities/strengths, politics, political correctness, financial support and the like. While most places try to promote on the basis of concrete qualifications, that's almost impossible. Our internal biases and preferences as well as initial impressions do make a difference in who gets the job.

2009-06-28T20:40:00.001-04:00

A Texas Joke

2009-06-25T10:37:00.000-04:00

Texans

Gabriel went to the Lord and said, "I have to talk to you. We have some Texans up here who are causing some real problems ....

They're swinging on the Pearly Gates, my horn is missing, and they are wearing T-shirts instead of their robes; there's barbecue sauce and picante sauce all over everything, especially their T-shirts; their dogs are riding in the chariots and chasing the sheep.

They are wearing baseball caps and cowboy hats instead of their
halos... They refuse to keep the stairway to Heaven clean, and their boots are marking and scuffing up the halls of Wisdom. There are watermelon seeds and tortilla chip crumbs all over the place. Some of them are walking around with just one wing; and they insist on bringing their darn horses with them."

The Lord said, "Texans are Texans, Gabriel. Heaven is home to all of my children. If you want to know about real problems, call the Devil."

So Gabriel calls the Devil who answers the phone and says, "Hello --
hold on a minute."

When he returns to the phone the Devil says, "O.K., I'm back. What
can I do for you?"

Gabriel replied, "I just want to know what kinds of problems you are
having down there with the Texans."

The Devil said, "Hold on again. I need to check on something."

After about 5 minutes the Devil returned to the phone and said. "I'm back. Now what was the question?"

Gabriel said, "What kind of problems are you having down there with the Texans?"

The Devil said, "Man, I don't believe this ... hold on."

This time the Devil was gone 15 minutes and when he returns he says, "I'm sorry Gabriel, I can't talk right now. Red Adair has put out the fire and Brown & Root is installing air conditioning.

Codependent

2009-06-22T20:14:00.002-04:00

Welcome to my world of codependency. Here life moves along lines that attempt to be parallel to each important person in my world. For instance: if my partner feels unhappy, I feel guilty for not making her happy. Even though she may be unhappy about things beyond my control or knowledge.

When my boss laments the drop in business, I immediately try to do something to increase traffic in the shop or sales. Even though - people may not have the money to buy yarn or may be involved in doing other things since summer is here in full force.

My guilt is that I cannot fix their unhappiness, lack of business, achy bone joints, lack of understanding, illness or other malady. I should be able to do that. Isn't that part of my job?

Oh, wait. I forgot again. I'm not God, nor god, nor godde, nor goddess. I'm not even a successful business person, or a priest or a counselor or a doctor. So, here I sit feeling guilty that I am not a person who works miracles immediately.

Alas, I can do nothing about that either. Therefore, I will simply take my medicine, gather my clothes for work tomorrow and prepare for bed with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart - gratitude that I don't have to make everyone happy or fix anyone's problems - not even mine.

energy versus money

2009-06-14T08:25:00.004-04:00

Scientists say that the energy in the world is limited. That's part of Einstein's theory of relativity. Value or money is not limited. Or is it? The amount of stuff that my money will buy seems to be limited by the value placed on that money by the great god of finance. If the United States has a deficit, then that money (or its value) has to have gone somewhere. In this case, much of it has gone to nations overseas. They have bought the value of the United States in buying stocks and making loans.

Okay, so this is convoluted. As the number of people in the world increase, does the value of money increase. Supposedly, productivity increases value. But, productivity also decreases the resources available and should decrease value. If we use up all of our oil resources, then our value has decreased by that amount. We don't seem to be able to convert whatever energy the use of our oil resources creates (law of relativity) into value. Instead, the use of our oil resources not only decreases our value of resources, it decreases the value of the earth as a whole by producing gases that make holes in our ozone layer leading to global warming and all that jazz.

Wait, I'm getting to a point where I understand something. The more people in the world, the more we are using resources that have value and producing something that decreases value. So, the more people in the world, the less value is possible for each person. The more value/resources/money that one person has decreases the value possible for other people.

The balance between the law of relativity and the law of value is alike. We cannot reconvert the "by products" of using resources into another resource - like energy converts into matter and vice versa - one valuable resource must convert into another for the balance to be maintained. That's not happening.

We are using our resources to burn ourselves out of existence because we don't know how to reconvert the by products of our used resources into different valuable resources. We cannot go on this way.

The points of this post are
1. We are using value faster than we are creating value.
2. The more value that I accumulate, the less someone else has.
3. Value is limited because we cannot convert "by products" back into value.
4. Someday the people of the world will use up too much value and people will die.
5. I wish this were not happening in my lifetime.

Today is different

2009-06-03T09:03:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I was really down. I felt that I had lived all of life that I really wanted to live. I was okay with just dying last night. As I prepared for bed, I figured, well, I'll either wake up or I won't, and I don't want control over which happens. I took my normal medication, did my stretch exercise, knitted a bit, put on my CPAP mas and turned out the light. So, I went to bed, and I woke up today. I didn't die.

Today is different. Today promises the same heat, the same chance of thunderstorms, the same job (which I love most of the time), the same partner, the same bed, the same dent in my nose from the CPAP - but today is different.

Yesterday was sad. Today may be also. But, today's sad will be different from yesterday's sad - and I like different. Most of you know that I'm an eclectic person. I've had so many jobs that I don't remember many of them. I lived in lots of different houses. I have lots of different acquaintances. I've lived with lots of different money situations. I thought I wanted to try suicide once and got rid of everything that could be used to do it (about 25 years ago).

Today, one of my friends has an operation for cancer. Today, I go to work. Today, a yarn rep is coming and I get to see all the lovely new yarns. Today, my partner made my lunch. Today I woke up early. Today is different than yesterday. And, I appreciate that.

So, whatever the day brings, I choose to see it and be it and do it. And, if I'm down again tonight, I'll just eat something crunchy, pet the cats, and go to bed early. After all, tomorrow will be different.

2009-06-01T15:14:00.001-04:00

On my needles

2009-05-28T21:32:00.002-04:00

Here's what I'm knitting now. Two feet done of a table runner, about 15 inches wide in Fiesta La Boeheme Carribean colorway. This is a mohair and rayon boucle double strand dyed together. The stitch is from Harmony Guides: Knit and Purl called Wave.

Avalanche by Leonard Cohen

2009-05-27T19:45:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Badtux

How well do you know me?

2009-05-25T01:57:00.003-04:00

Facebook has a lot of these questionnaires popping up now. We who are addicted to Facebook take a lot of quizzes and post the results. For instance, the classic movie star whom I am most like is Katharine Hepburn. Well, who wouldn't want to be like her? I can list my favorite movies (difficult since I don't watch movies much), my heroes, and I can compare these choices with other friends' choices. I can compete in games on Facebook.

Still, "How well do you know sharecropper?" seems a bit presumptuous to me...more than a bit egocentric. But, then, Facebook is egocentric in its concept. Why would I think that others might be interested in what I'm doing at any given moment. The cartoon showing Roland Hedley who uses Twitter to communicate everything is how I once felt about Facebook. And, I can't imagine using Twitter.

How well do my blogger friends know me? I'm tempted to insert a quiz right here, but, unless you have met me personally, you know only what I want you to know and what I let slip or what you can surmise.

You know that I live on a creek and enjoy my jet ski. You know that I have a partner. You know that I like fiber arts and work in a yarn shop. You know that I'm retired and have some deep psychological probings at times. You may know that I was an invalid for a few years and am now getting better. You know that I'm a liberal and more or less a Christian.

You may not know that I cherish each friend who posts a comment here. Or that I pray for people I know (in person, online, alive, dead, otherwise). Or that I thought I knew a lot about computers until I bought a computer magazine and discovered a whole different terminology than I had learned.

You may not know that I spend a lot of time in thought and have gotten very quiet over the years. I once had an opinion about everything; now I'm not so sure about anything. You may not know that I grieve deeply over deaths and resolve to keep those people alive in my heart.

You know, if you look at posting times, that I am awake in the middle of the night more often than I'd like to be and that I take long morning naps to compensate.

You may not know that, while I am very successful in what I do best - love people, I have never kept a job very long and have had such a variety of jobs that I often forget some of the things I've done. I think this just illustrates my insatiable curiosity about the world and how it/we work(s).

So no quizzes tonight - just sleepy-eyed reflections and revelations. And, yes, I am addicted to Facebook as much as I am to this blogging business.

Responsibility, Depression, Saying No

2009-05-24T09:28:00.003-04:00

Now that we're 63.5 years old, we have developed a sense of responsibility that can get us into trouble. And, we lag along sometimes - tired, out of sorts, me eating everything in sight-partner eating little - refusing to do anything about our depression on the days when we recognize it and forgetting it on better days. Our backgrounds enhance our ability to nod instead of saying no, and we find ourselves over doing, which works along with the depression and the sense of responsibility to produce exhaustion.

So, the crux of the problem is exhaustion. So, I'm going back to bed as soon as I finish this. By the time she gets back from church, I'll feel better. I hope they sing some great music because that's partner's only hope of coming home feeling better.

thanks be to God that it is Sunday and we have little that must be done. We can recover gently from our overweening sense of responsibility (I worked 3 days this week and she's serving for the third time this month), our depression (maybe a jet ski ride late this afternoon) and our inability to say NO (even though we know it is a complete sentence). We have some visitors this afternoon but I trust they will not assume this is KOA and stay too long.

Rest, comfort, rest, and the next week will look better.

President Obama, can you hear?

2009-05-20T21:20:00.001-04:00

Thanks to Pseudopiskie

A minor disaster

2009-05-18T15:30:00.004-04:00

Lost this box, not the pieces

I am a Coca-Cola collector, and I love my Coke jigsaw puzzles. I have a number of them, and many have been stored in the garage on shelves in boxes.

The shelves above contained unopened cleaning supplies including bottles of hand soap. They turned over and leaked out in the back of the shelves - open plastic shelving. One of my puzzle boxes was completely ruined, but the puzzle pieces were in gallon plastic bags; so they are okay. Two other puzzles lost their box bottoms, but the puzzle pieces seem okay. Another puzzle I just set aside.

I've been so good in the last few years about putting puzzle pieces in plastic bags inside the boxes; but somehow these older puzzles were before I began that practice. I am grateful that I still have the puzzle pieces and distressed that the boxes were damaged. I've looked online very briefly and none of the puzzles are listed. Don't know how long I've had them, but they are big Springbok puzzles.

Needless to say, the puzzles pieces are all in bags now, and the boxes are no longer stored on that particular set of shelves. The hand soap containers will be stored in plastic bags now. Bleah.

Oh yeah, I found a box of junk with the junk still intact and the box totally ruined and a box of old financial records that I didn't even bother to move right now. And, all I wanted was another bottle of toilet bowl cleaner. Thank God that didn't leak onto the boxes.

Uncloseted Pastor

2009-05-16T22:28:00.005-04:00

The blogsphere brings friends of many different kinds and natures. One of my friends has been The Closeted Pastor, and through her blog, her friends have loved and prayed and rejoiced and cried as she struggled with her authenticity and openness. This past week, she came out of the closet and told her congregation. The response has been positive mostly. Still, her denomination has rules and such that may make a huge difference in her life.

Changing one's attitude and belief system can be done only through experiential access to what one fears or rejects. Her congregation has experienced her faithful preaching and pastoring. They have become the loving Christ.

In the church here, we have begun an LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) Ministry. The rector suggested it a couple of years ago. This past year, the meetings moved from homes to the church center. Then we held a retreat to set goals, define our vision and decide that we had an identity. We chose the title LGBT Ministry. As communications person for the group, I wrote an article about how a new ministry had begun at this church. Briefly, the article was on the front page of the monthly newsletter (and still is on the print version). The rector pulled the article from the online version of the newsletter and reprimanded us stiffly for being militant and "in your face".

Today we buried one of our founding "members" and tomorrow the priest who supports us is moving to another church. We remain cohesive as a group, cordial to the rector, and growing plans for how this ministry might continue. Our diocese has adopted the song "All Are Welcome" and its message; obviously our individual church has not. The message we are getting is that we are welcome only as long as we do not make ourselves known authentically.

Yet, everyone that I've met has been loving and kind and accepting. Getting mixed messages is disconcerting. Okay, I admit that I haven't been in the church itself much. I've been at functions and a few services. I've felt welcome at the functions and out of place at the services. The church was founded during the reign of King George II, and the rector claims that some of those people are still around. Ugh.

Authenticity is important. I am authentically a practicing Christian who believes in universal salvation, inclusivity, and proclaiming the Good News. That's my relationship to organized religion. The Baptists didn't want me at age 16 because I danced. The Catholics didn't want me because I'd been divorced and remarried. Now, my once-welcoming Church wants to consider similar aspects of my life that bear no relationship to being a Christian.

What does my retirement, my savings account, my sexual orientation, my part-time work, my car, my friends, my love of computers have to do with worhsipping God? I don't think I'll ever make it from the church center and functions to the big building across the street and services...at least not as long as those founding members are still working their exclusivity with the rector.

Antebellum

2009-05-15T21:36:00.003-04:00

How many existing antebellum homes did not get burned during the civil war? All of them.

Now, on to the point of this discourse. The word antebellum is inconsistent with history. While we Southerners have taken it to mean before the US Civil War (or that recent unpleasantness), the word just means "before war". As far as I can tell from reading all sorts of histories, the world has never seen a time without war. Before war would mean Eden to those who follow Father Abraham and the tales found in Genesis. Like the Fountain of Youth, the Garden of Eden is probably a pipe dream.

Likewise, the idea of antebellum. The South did not live in peace before the Civil War. Just ask the poor white people and the descendants of slaves. The big white houses and huge green yards of plantations did not mean peace. The owners of those were cut throat bargainers for slaves, for cattle, for land, for all those things that seem to make life idyllic for the owners wives and daughters. Fights broke out in Washington over who had the right to tell someone what to do or not to do...the federal government (which wasn't very strong), the state governments (which did whatever the wealthiest people wanted done), the plantation owners (because they controlled the land, the food, the money). Certainly not the individuals who did not own plantations.

Before the war! I'd just like to live after the war. Let the fighting cease now - everywhere. Of course, that would not solve the problems of enough resources for the people of the world, but lack of inter-tribal, inter-national fighting would make life easier for most people. Then we could work on seeing that all people have food, clothing, shelter and those things necessary for life.

My idea of what's necessary for life and others' ideas of what is necessary for life are necessarily different. I need food that I like, a house that gives me space, clothes that are becoming and fit, a doctor that I like and access to the medication to make life good and easier for me as I grow older...you know the routine. My goddaughter would probably settle for enough t shirts and stretch pants without holes, some meat for the pot and milk for the table, a house where the windows don't fall out, and doctors that actually considered her situation. Elsewhere in the world, some mothers would want only enough food for their children, shelter from the monsoons or dust storms, water, and a medicine man that could ward off evil.

After the war. How would we act after the war? Would we, the richest countries in the world, seek to help those who don't have even enough water? Would we insist that the families move from their native lands to places where water is more abundant or would we find ways to give them sufficient water where they live? Would we insist that they do things our way or would we help them work out ways to do and live within their mores and beliefs?

After the war? Would we begin to care for the earth? Would we be driven to make more and more money - to gain prestige?

After the war? What would we make of peace?

Oh yeah, that Southern symbol - the magnolia tree - opened its first blossoms here this past week. What a delicate peaceful flower that begins to turn brown and lose its glamour when it's picked.

Winter Clothes

2009-05-11T15:57:00.002-04:00

My winter clothes have been stacked in somewhat neat piles on the floor of my bedroom for a month or so now. Since we are having company in June, I decided that packing them away was a good idea. Most of you know that I love clothes, and I tend to buy the same things year after year.

That year after year stuff has made me realize that I don't have the energy to maintain such a large wardrobe. Long sleeved mock turtlenecks look great on me, and my colors are black, white and red. I have some that are 10 years old, some that are five years old, some that are three years old and a few that are more recent. Some are too little (but I'm still hoping that the pounds will miraculously shed from my body), some are too short (after many years of shrinking) and some are pilled across the chest. Some are in great condition, but they are all in the same tub.

Why? Why don't I get rid of them. Well, that requires energy to figure out which ones should go away. Is that really too short? Do I have to try them all on? Why didn't I do this when I unpacked them?

I do understand why we find boxes of clothing in our parents' homes - boxes and closetfuls. They just don't have the energy to sort through them. At least that's my excuse for today. Next year, I will dump all those that don't fit, are too short, or are pilled. Next year.

For now, it's enough that get them off the floor of my bedroom - and the stacks of summer clothing that fall into the same category. Maybe I can get rid of some of them before I hang them or put them in drawers. I know that the executor of my will would appreciate that. Not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but I suspect I may have 30 year old mock turtlenecks by then. Sorry.

Two deer

2009-05-10T03:19:00.004-04:00

As I have mentioned before, we live near the edge of a large national forest, and a few weeks ago a bear looking for food prowled about the back yards of a neighborhood near us. A bear in our back yard would not be impossible, but unlikely because of the water and the chain link fences.

However, as I was up for my nightly break, I was drawn to the back to look at the full moon on the creek. My backyard was bright with lovely shadows from the hickory trees. A moving shadow crossed my vision. I blinked to clear my sleepy eyes, and immediately it returned - no, it doubled.

Two deer were patiently grazing in my back yard. They could easily have gotten into the yard on one side because the fence gate is open or have jumped the low fence, but the other side has a six foot chain link fence around it...not so easy.

When they finished grazing or heard me cough, they began moving back and forth along the water line and over to the tall fence. One deer returned, walked onto our low dock and jumped onto the sand or into the water - not sure how deep the water is tonight. I guess the other jumped from the edge of the fence because they did not return.

I do love to watch the wildlife eating at night - and I might even welcome a bear in my backyard - as long as my cats are in the house and the bear doesn't tear up my screened porch - a lot of deck to cross before the porch though. I remember many nights in other places of watching deer graze in my yard. My Daddy was the one to teach me much about wildlife.

Thanks, Daddy/Godde, for the delight tonight.

Deaths

2009-05-04T15:06:00.003-04:00

Uncle Myrvis on far right, my Dad behind Papa back left.

My uncle, closest living blood relative, died last night at age 88. His funeral is Wednesday. His first cousin who has taken care of his money and lives near his assisted living place called me at lunch today. I suppose I could bag a quick flight from here to Memphis and rent a car and make it to the church in Mississippi by 10 am on Wednesday, but it's not happening. Cost would be exorbitant, heat would kill me. However, I resent not being given the choice of attending his funeral and burial. He will be buried next to my father in French Camp, Mississippi. I wasn't given much choice at his funeral either. My aunt made the choices and then told me.

Just one more time when that family hasn't considered me really a part of it. Just one more time of feeling like cow dung in their eyes. Just one more time .....

Yet, my loyalties lie elsewhere. My boss had several family deaths last night - you probably read about it on the news - man kills wife and two children then himself. He tried to kill the 13 year old son who escaped. Boss' nephew. She is flying out today, and rightly so, to comfort her sibling. The three of us who work at the yarn shop are holding down the "fort" until she can return. Please keep that family in your prayers.

I keep asking, "Why, God, are people so cruel to one another?" Still it happens, another castoff, another insane event, so much hurt and pain.

My uncle was a purple heart POW from WW2, shot down over Germany, lost his leg, didn't know anything about PTSD and sentenced (in effect) to a life of alcohol on a small farm in Mississippi. Most of his life he slept on a single bed in a room barely wide enough for him to stand beside the bed. No plumbing. Living with his parents. Not coping with anything. Then he went to work for the post office and delivered mail for many years on the rural route where we had lived. Finally, he became unable to care for himself and went to a Veteran's Home where he was seriously unhappy. Cousin had promised she would care for him if needed; so she took over his finances and moved him into an assisted living place a block from her home.

That was at least five years ago, and I'm know that she and her family cared for him faithfully. At the same time, cousin fought for custody of her grandson and won and raised a fine young man. I'm sure she wants this over quietly, quickly and in proper manner.

May God grant all of us peace, humility, comfort and grace. Amen.

A blogger award for me?

2009-05-04T05:43:00.003-04:00

PENolan has given me the Bella Award along with the instructions that I give it to 15 other bloggers. Too early for me to contemplate that, but watch out! Today is another day, and after a bit more sleep, I'll think of you.

Much as I like awards, the roses, somehow, remind me of how I feel when Michael calls me "Sweet Sharecropper" - who me?

Looking Backward

2009-05-02T09:04:00.003-04:00

Except in therapy and therapy homework, I don't usually spend a lot of time looking backward philosophically. Occasionally I wonder what I might have been like if a certain event had happened differently, and I add my memories to those of others when we're talking about what life was like back when.

However, I've just read two blogs where people talk about life changing events and one is sad, the other simply matter of fact.

I lost my first job as assistant editor of a trade magazine when they renamed the positions and didn't want a woman as editor. What if I had become editor, continued with the training I had, finished my degree in good time and stayed there for years? Certainly life would have been more stable, but I think of all the things I would have missed in my wandering, multi-careered, - well, hither, thither and yon - existence.

I would never had clung to a sign pole saying "Welcome to Arizona" with the wind almost flinging me sideways down a gully. I would never have met and enjoyed my first African American friendship as I finished me degree 18 years after I began. I would never have seen the lush fields of cotton (that I thought existed only in Mississippi) near Fresno, California; nor would I have driven through Needles, California/Nevada, at midnight without air conditioning and the temperature at 101. I would not have known the heartbreak of being betrayed by a woman lover when I was so far from home and support.

Who knows, I might never had have a woman lover, and certainly I would not have had the pleasure of living with the wonderful woman with whom I will celebrate 10 years of covenanted joys and sorrows this year.

I might never have considered seminary and certainly not so far away as Yale. Would I have gone mountain climbing in a semi truck - 10 wheels grabbing the dirt and pulling us up narrow little tracks meant for much smaller vehicles?

I would never have had the joy of working with the Hispanic community in goal-setting for their own organization - when I don't even speak much Spanish. Here we are on break during a day-long session - outside doing stretching exercises. What fun!

I've never been to a reunion where others had successful single or double careers and families and lives that appear nothing like mine. Would I have felt shame at my wandering? Possibly. But one thing I know: I am a success for I have loved deeply and shallowly and sideways and in retrospect, but I have loved most of the people who came across my wandering way. Isn't that what God calls each of us to do?

It's all about me

2009-04-29T20:01:00.006-04:00

It's all about me - but only in this blog. Elsewhere in my life, other people and other things take precedence. I listen. I smile. I cry. I work. I sleep in the recliner. I eat (a lot). I listen. I knit and crochet. I play on the computer. I listen.

What's really nice is when someone listens to me...when someone takes the time and interest to ask about me. Most of the people I know talk a lot about themselves, about their interests, about what happened in their day, about what they have accomplished during the day or during their lives. I don't talk fast. I don't interrupt (not often and with very few people). By the time I find an opening to speak, the conversation has gone far beyond me. So, I just don't talk.

That's why bits of my life just go unnoticed. Occasionally, I will talk during supper about who I saw at the shop or what new yarns arrived. Mostly, I smile and listen to others who speak faster and interrupt each other and talk loudly and trade stories. I'm interested in these things about which they talk. That's how I get most of my news and gossip.

However, conversation as an art is not part of this life. Take Facebook, for instance. We presume that others are interested in pieces of our lives. And, some people elicit more comments in response than others. We learn a lot about each other - unless we are quiet and just listen/read. Sometimes, it's hard to slip your thoughts into the flow of the world. Twitter, cell phones, text messages, blogs, Facebook, email, voice mail, IMs, and I'm sure new ways are being used that I don't know. The world is full of sound bytes and abbreviated word bytes and short takes.

I recently googled a friend named Mary Stuart, and a lot of the findings showed photos of the late Queen of Scotland. If your name is not Mary Stuart, I wonder how much you know of her story. If we use all these short forms of communications, what happens to our stories? We become like entries on a spreadsheet. You fill in the columns with information and PRESTO you are known. Stories are more than information; stories are metaphors and flashbacks to other persons' lives. Stories are universal. My thoughts and feelings at a particular time may fit your thoughts and feelings at a totally different kind of time in your life. Our concluding resolutions may be similar; our decisions may flow in totally opposite directions; but for a few moments, a few words, a few feelings, we were the same.

I like the stories - the facial expressions, the obvious feelings, the empathy and sympathy and antipathy, the way we are surprised by the storyline and the characters, and I like the endings that are usually filled with hope. I want you to hear my story, to see my grimace when I am sorting out what I felt and remembering what was said. I want you to laugh with me, cry with me, and be a part of my story.

A professor gave his students a one question final exam - pass or fail the course - some psychology thing. What is the name of the woman who comes in as you are leaving to clean this room? No one could answer.

What is your story? Does anyone know your name? Do you listen?

Philosophy or Psychology

2009-04-25T18:04:00.002-04:00

The purchase and stashing of yarn creates an interesting discussion between those who stash and their spouses. We who stash are accused of irresponsible spending and ignoring the laws of cubic space when we think that new purchases will fit in the space already allotted but seemingly full. Spouses are accused of not understanding and insensitivity to art, color and tactile sense.

I personally think that the division is between philosophy and psychology. Philosophy for all touting that it is reasonable is tailored to each person. A perception of what is art to me - my philosophy of art - is mine, not anyone else's. Each skein of yarn represents a piece of art to me - art in the touch and sight of it as well as in the vision of what it might become.

For spouses, the issue is "Are you crazy?" Another unreasonable "science" but different from philosophy. The answer to the question does not depend on what an individual may think but with what the DMMA IV defines as abnormal. The purchase of art is not abnormal much less crazy. Therefore, the question of craziness is answered with "No."

My philosophy of yarn is that I need at least one ball of each kind and brand of yarn in the world - at least one. I cannot judge the usefulness or the art-ability of any without comparing it to others. Plus, I must have a variety of colors in order to judge the quality of color and dyeing. So, I accumulate the necessary parts for appreciation of the art of yarn.

So far, this appreciation has covered one wall of my wall and flowed onto the floor in tubs and cloth boxes and baskets and canvas bags. My UFOs (unfinished objects) are multiplying as I just can't resist trying the new yarn (or new needles that just arrived to be compared). Occasionally, I must sort through the jungle and jumble to find needles that I need and pull the UFO off, tie it through with string and restore it to the UFO basket. Meanwhile, the freed needles immediately begin what might well be another UFO in a few days.

My spouse's question has changed to, "Is there a path in your study so that I can get to your computer if I need it while you're gone?" "Yes, but watch your step."

Peace and happy needling.

Stitches, Food, Tired.

2009-04-25T17:44:00.003-04:00

It's hot as blazes in the sun here in Atlanta...nice on the back porch.

The pup, Ruby, is wonderful. She and I had a nap this morning. I'm in love.

Stitches South was interesting. My first class was Making the Most of Self Striping Yarn, and I thoroughlyl enjoyed that. I learned about counting stitches on a swatch for certain colors and figuring out how they would fall in a pattern. Then we began a mitered square cap, which I will finish later. I love mitered squares...especially with short length self-striping yarn. Otherwise, they just look funny.

Elise, who taught the first workshop on Knitting one Below and presented a fashion show of pieces done with that technique, was a personable and thoroughly human woman with great ideas. The guy who was her model was also fun. She wanted to show us the backside of the sweater he was modeling and pulled it up in front - now mind you, the room is full of women of all ages. A delighted hum went around the room as his midriff showed. Elise turned almost purple and had him turn around to the back. As she pulled the back up, she realized that his underwear would show a bit at the top of his pants; so she quickly pulled the sweater back down, we all laughed - including the model. At the luncheon afterward, he again modeled the sweater and was laughing along with all these women. Such a good sport.

The Market opened at 5 pm and I was there - until 8 pm. I had done about one third of the show, when I decided to go eat. No eateries within walking distance except a sports bar and the hotel restaurant. I ate in the bar area. Since Atlanta has a no smoking rule, that was pleasant, but the noise and laughter got louder and louder.

Friday morning, I slept through most of my class; so I gave it up for lost and had a long shower. Then I went back to the market. I was somewhat disappointed with the Market - no really good sales, and I think nearly everyone was looking for wholesale prices at what is apparently a retail show. A few places had very good deals,and some places had yarns I had not seen before. I was going to buy some bison yarn, but it was $80 plus a skein. The muskox was similarly priced. Both were very soft, but the muskox fiber was fragile - not suitable for sox - most used in lace shawls and scarves and such. The bison was much more durable and soft and came in two different weights. The dealer was also selling bear hides, tanned and brushed to a magnificent softness.

I was hungry; so I purchased a soy/meat hamburger and coke and sat down. Across the aisle was a table with huge bundles of yarn piled shoulder high to me. I kept staring at the gorgeous colors. Finally, I went over to look - sock yarn - over a thousand yards of sock yarn in each bundle. So, I found a great color and bought it. Then I struggled back to my room with a bag of books and a bundle of yarn.

My friends arrived at the hotel and we went to eat - soooo good. Ted's Montana steak house - and Wow! What a steak! We'll be having that for supper tonight.

Pleasures and Chores

2009-04-04T20:37:00.002-04:00

No deep theological thoughts. No fiber art. Just a few ordinary comments about my day. I'm doing laundry - always too much. I'm not breathing well because of all the pollen and other stuff in the air with the wind blowing. I've just had a Dairy Queen chocolate malt - small - following an Andy's hamburger (so good). Found a parking place at Wal-Mart and bought cereal and toilet paper...one begats the other.

However, this morning I was pleased to see the eagle picking at the latest catch - in a tree just across the creek. The eagle is growing. Mama Osprey was sitting very still on her nest during this. They will need to guard their eggs and young offspring quite well with such a neighbor.

And, I saw large fish jumping, people kayaking smoothly up the creek. Bright sunshine encouraged me to finish putting away the Christmas garland that has been on the back porch in garbage bags.

Plus I found the Easter baskets and empty plastic eggs that I will stuff for my friends for our traditional Easter Egg hunt. Not sure what I'll put in the eggs this year. My puzzle pieces are too large for the eggs; so they may have to contain witty and wise sayings. No one eats (or says they eat) candy around here. One year I put foam stick-on letters in the eggs, and everyone sat around making words and swapping letters. Hmmm. Maybe I'll divide the sayings into halves and let them put the sayings together.

all in all - a good day...except for a couple of very bad coughing spells at all the wrong times. Allergies are not good.

Death

2009-03-30T20:00:00.003-04:00

On Wednesday a friend in another city died after a long effort with cancer, but we couldn't find out any information until Saturday. Go, Annie, Go!!

On Sunday, an online friend committed suicide and left us a note on his private blog. May he find peace and acceptance.

Tomorrow is my mother's 91st birthday; I hope she's enjoying it in heaven; she didn't enjoy a lot in her lifetime.

I've been re-membering the people in my life who have died during this Lent. I don't want their memories to die for me. Some are pleasant; some are not. But, none deserve to be forgotten.

The bootlegger's son who taught me to shoot a bow; he died in a car accident shortly after we graduated from high school.

Kaffee, who prompted me to try for a loan for divinity school and helped me through the process - encouraging me all the way - from breast cancer a year later.

Alison, who was my pal in divinity school - the cigarettes eventually got her through metastasized cancer.

Tim, my next door neighbor in divinity school, who died of AIDS and left his walking cane by my door.

Chelsea, the organist at my wedding, who also died of AIDS and was ashamed to tell.

Bill, my godson, who was older than me, but called me "Mom" because I sponsored him for confirmation, a Vietnam vet who died of illnesses contracted there.

Debbie, a church friend, who let me walk her "helping dog" after the church service and became a special friend.

Bill, who put me on the road to good sobriety, good counseling, good medical help, and offered me his vulnerability in seeing his dark side - of prostate cancer.

David, my brother, who died needlessly in an accident on a oil line repair barge in the Gulf when I was 16 years and two weeks old.

Marty, my nephew, deaf after a baby illness, who committed suicide at age 34.

Sue, my sister-in-law, who tormented me through young adulthood and became my sister in the process - in an operation to repair a stomach ulcer.

Martha, a patient in the Alzheimer's Unit in Wallingford, CT, where I did my CPE - she forgot how to eat and I sat with her for two weeks.

Dixie, an elementary school buddy, whose mental illness finally caused her to end her life.

Aunt Clyde, who loved me and was ashamed to tell me that she had sclerosis of the liver because she didn't want me to think she drank - she did when she was young but not for many years.

My first husband's niece who died at birth because both her parents had used many drugs and she was born with a partial head.

The child who was buried in a pasture in a shoebox, wrapped in a new baby blanket that my Mom bought for the family.

Untimely deaths. Yet, one by one, I remember all that I can and hold them to the light, knowing that they live.

crocheting an imaginary coral reef

2009-03-28T17:16:00.002-04:00

More on personal economies

2009-03-27T19:27:00.004-04:00

So, income is certainly going down a good bit - estimates from financial advisors range from 20 percent to 50 percent. Twenty percent, we can handle; fifty percent scares me. But, fear is good. This makes me more aware of how life used to be for me. Even at 50 percent of current income, we will live without fear of losing necessities.

And, our advisors estimate that the economy will begin to turn upward again at least by this time next year. I'm not so sure. Maybe for us that will be true, but for the general public that live on labor intensive income (i.e. working for a living), they are looking at some lean years for perhaps a decade. And, if the war in Afghanistan doesn't get better soon, the whole plan could be skewed for all of us.

I'm glad we made up a line-item budget so that we can see where we might cut expenses. I'm sure that my yarn budget is getting used up by the trip to Stitches South in April. And, we're not taking any big trips - like a cruise. Cutting the electricity bill. Not buying gifts. Kayaking instead of jet skiing. Yeah, those are the kind of cuts we'll be making.

Fortunately (so far anyway), my goddaughter's income is not being cut - social security disability, SSI, that kind of stuff - and she will still be able to buy food. You can bet that one gift I won't be giving up is the food help that I give her.

In comparison, my budget cuts are absurd. The local soup kitchen clientele has doubled. Their shelves are almost bare of food - but they have lots of clothes from the people like me. Some elderly people will die this summer, because they don't have air conditioning and they are afraid of violence if they open their windows.

Poor me. I'm just turning off lights and appliances that I don't use much. Poor me. I'm not taking a cruise. Poor me.

Mind you, I'm not in that top category of getting a million dollar bonus. I wonder what Oprah is giving up...or Donald Trump...or Dick Cheney? Even the middle class worker (who may be laid off and losing a home) would wonder at the extent of luxury that I enjoy, never mind those higher on the income scale.

Am I going to be like the young man who wanted to be saved and asked Jesus what he might do to attain the kingdom of heaven? The answer was to give all you have to the poor and follow me. My answer is "No way." I like what luxuries I'll keep. But, I will be more mindful of those with less. While gifts to my peers may be cut, gifts to help others with less will not. How are you cutting back or giving up or giving away?

Eagle

2009-03-21T09:40:00.005-04:00

Here's the eagle sitting in the tree next door. I spotted him from the high window in my bathroom as I'm watching the osprey circle around.

Too much knitting information

2009-03-21T02:54:00.005-04:00

In the process of trying every yarn in our shop, I have come to some conclusions about the various fibers available. Protein yarns (wool, llama, camel, alpaca, etc.) stick together and are easy to knit and crochet. Cellulose yarns (cotton, linen, sugar cane, bamboo, rayon, tencel, etc.) often separate easily and are more difficult to knit. Even some wool that has been treated to prevent shrinkage (washable wool)splits a lot.

The finished product, however, is worth the time you take in preventing splits.

In my visit last month to Virginia Beach yarn shops, I did see that small installation of hyperbolic crochet to form a replica of coral reef. So I brought home a brochure about the display in California and looked up the web site. I was amazed at the creations...and fascinated. Most of the pieces were made from acrylics because they hold the form so firmly.

I love Peaches & Creme cotton worsted and double worsted. So, I pulled out a ball of peacock (turquoise) worsted and began with a straight line of 20 crochet chains. I increased every third stitch. This afternoon at our knitting group, the ball was finished and the piece is beginning to look like brain coral, crenelated (doubling back on itself, wavy, ruffled)somewhat but not too much. I'll post a picture tomorrow (uhhh, today later). This is how coral grows, and the photographs of the Great Barrier Reef and other coral reefs show many shapes of growth.

Okay, so now I'm hooked (pun intended) on making a small display of coral reef growth including some of the sponges and other types of coral. I might even try a fish or two. But, instead of using acrylics, I want to do it in P&C cottons mixed with some eyelash and maybe some wool for felted pieces.

Sea slugs (sounds horrible, doesn't it?) are actually beautifully colored creatures that look little like the slugs we find on our plants and walkways. They fan out from a center hole (mouth) and are bright colors. (Picture nicked from the NOAA site, I think)

To get this striation, I think I'll have to use a variegated yarn or a worsted weight color crocheted with a size 10 white and pop a bright little scallop on the edge. If you want to see some beautifully shaped and colored pieces "google" coral reef crochet. Margaret and Christine Wertheim were the co-creators of the reef structure in California and others contributed to the setting - including Sue Van Ohlsen (sp?), whom I met at her yarn shop, The Knitting Corner in Virginia Beach.

Back to protein versus cellulose yarns: To achieve some of the textures in constructing my crochet (and probably some knitted) reef, I will need to use both kinds of fibers. Perhaps such a project will teach me some patience in my fiber work. Not only will I have to be careful with splitting fibers, I will have to figure out how to do that odd shaped opening that will be the beginning of my soon-to-be-begun sea slug. Ideas are welcome.

Happy Birthday

2009-03-15T17:05:00.004-04:00

Several friends are having birthdays today. I've wished Jill Bethune Wood, who was a journalism major at MSCW at the same time I was, a very happy birthday on Facebook.

However, Freida McDonald, once of Daphne, AL, happy birthday wherever you are now. We lost track of one another when I moved away, and I've missed you.

Also from Daphne, happy birthday Anne and Gary Underwood; we were at Cursillo together, I think.

Strange to look in my birthday calendar book and find names I barely remember. I've moved around so much that I'm not sure where I knew some of these people. Marcel from Burundi worshipped at our church in Winston-Salem for a while. He had applied for asylum here, and I don't know where he is now. Sally and Lucy whose parents separated and they moved away. Mary Robert, priest and friend, who loved my EFM classes. And, on that same page, my grandfather Mike, who died when I was five. I adored him even though I know now that he was a philanderer, a hard worker when he worked, an alcoholic, super conservative, and possibly abusive to his family. But, he loved me.

How the friends from other places slip away unless we make a real effort to stay in touch. I admit the computer makes it easier now. I would never write letters to all the friends and family that connect with me through emails, Facebook, instant messages and such.

So, Freida, if you're out there, leave me a message.

Thoughts on the Economy and Spirituality

2009-03-12T13:30:00.006-04:00

Our income will be cut by 20 percent in the next few months because of the declining value of our retirement portfolio, which is half of what it was a year ago. Amazing, isn't it, that something so amorphous as a portfolio, which really isn't on paper at all but in a computer bank several places, could affect our lives so profoundly? Paper money has baffled me from the beginning. When they recalled the silver certificates of one dollar bills, I realized that the actual one dollar bill had no meaning at all except that which "the economy" gave it. And, it actually costs more to manufacture a penny than it's worth. You can sell pennies for scrap metal and make more money...except that I suspect the law prohibits that.

Back to our declining income. I admit that "I see, I buy". Usually it's yarn or clothes, sometimes books, occasionally beads. However, I already have so much that I don't need more. My therapist says that sometimes I'm trying to fill the "love tank" because I don't get the responses I need from those who love me - not that they don't love me enough, but I don't recognize their ways of expressing that love enough to fill up my needs.

I know that my partner loves me, and I know that God loves me. Whose love am I missing? Both. Do I fail to see/hear/know God's love for me? How does God show that love to me? How does my partner show love for me? Why don't I recognize it? Why do I feel compelled to do things that "make me feel good" to supplement love?

Of course, you know that I don't have answers to those questions. And, you may be wondering what declining income has to do with recognizing love. For me, I spend money if I don't recognize love...partner's love, God's love, friends' love. In a month, I will have much less to spend, and I will need to be able to recognize that love more and more.

I am minded of Janis Joplin's "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." If I have love, then losing income won't matter so much. We will have enough for our basic needs and more. My concentration could be on filling my basic need for love by perceiving how much I am loved.

My prayer is that I learn to recognize expressions of love and let them fill my heart and soul and mind and body.

Minimalist Structure, Maximum Effect

2009-03-08T19:55:00.004-04:00

Today's retreat for our flowering LGBT Ministry was much better than I expected - in fact, not what I expected at all. Led by a wonderful man who has been affected by the discrimination shown LGBT people, the retreat proceeded from why we joined the group originally to how the group has/is changing/is being now to what we are about to naming the group ---- and only then did we consider structure. We decided on a steering group with leadership functions instead of positions. Of course, functions have names - a coordinator because someone has to be named for contact, a finance person to handle money, a scribe to handle minutes and a communications person to handle getting out the word about the LGBT Ministry. We decided that four people were not enough; so the fifth person volunteered to help do the work in the steering group. No votes were taken except for the name and that was by consensus.

I even volunteered to be the communications person for the group...so I have all the big worksheets to transcribe and send to the group. I like doing that. Since I spent about 20 years in advertising and public relations, I should be able to do that job well. And, I can do most of it from home without worrying about being somewhere early in the mornings (which I don't do well).

This minimalist structure and the cohesion of the group will lead, I believe, to having a maximum effect on the ministry actions that we hope to attain. We are writing a mission statement that will help guide our work - welcome, ministry, action. Our first effort is hosting one of the Thursday soup luncheons during Lent.

Much emphasis was put on membership in the group being OPEN. No requirements for doing other things in the church, no requirements that you be a member of the church, no requirements that you be Christian, no requirements except respecting the dignity of all people, which is in our baptismal covenant. I like that. All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.

We had eucharist at the end of the retreat work, and I thought, "This is my church. Someday I may move into the church building across the street, but, for now, this group, this confederacy is my church."

I bless God for giving me such an appropriate community in which to worship.

Christ Church across the street

Spirituality and Structure

2009-03-08T11:55:00.005-04:00

After Jesus death, the 12 male apostles didn't take long to form a heirarchy with Peter and James vying for leadership. Peter was the apostle to the gentiles and James stayed in Jerusalem. Both died as martyrs. Their followers should have learned from that that heirarchies just don't pay; however, during that first century or two the Christians, as the began to be called, seemed to be heavily into S&M. People kept getting thrown to the lions or tigers or whatever hungry beasts the Romans could find - mostly because they claimed that Jesus was King. Other terminology might have suited them better. Maybe they could have practiced expansive God-language, a choice that more and more liberal churches are using now.

When I took CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) in seminary over 15 years ago, the model was to be abusive of your peers in sessions - because we learn from pain. No, no. My group agreed up front that we would not be abusive toward one another, that we would work together to help each other learn the best ways of being pastoral, of being the hands and feet and mouth of God in helping people. And, we did. We did not set up the heirarchy of the leaders being in charge; we saw that they were teachers and learners just as we had some things to teach them and were willing to learn from them.

Structure in the organized church seems to mean business-like goal-setting, heirarchies, and formal meetings. Much good is done in the world by these organizations. Even evangelism in the mega-churches is done this way. However, some studies show that one to one invitations work better than anything else. Word of mouth is better than advertising. Smiles at the door are better for getting people to return than ushers who seat people formally.

Spirituality is done now with spiritual directors instead of people journeying together. While our teens are encouraged to be leaders within their groups, they meet the full force of structure when they are invited to diocesan conventions - mostly as observers of how to do it right. Delegated authority quickly becomes heirarchy, even when it's rotated every few years. The position holds the power, and some of that power rubs off on the person who holds that position. More often than not those people who have held the position in the past are elected again when they become eligible. That's structure. Leaders form positions, groups set mission statements, goals and actions. When someone strays from the structure the positions gently encourage the person to return. If the person does not return, the structure goes on.

About spirituality in structure: very seldom works, especially for the loners. We loners often have a spirituality that is inclusive and works in mysterious ways in all sorts of directions. We understand structure and organization, positions and goals, but they don't apply to our understanding of spirituality or pastoral care or being with God. We stray or we rebel. We are left to wander or we are kicked out (either in reality or ignored until we leave).

More about spirituality: Being with God is what spirituality is all about. Conveying that experience to others and helping them find it is pastoral care. We do it every day of our lives. Being alone with God is wonderful, but we also need to be with others who understand spirituality as we do. So, we go to church and we tolerate the heirarchy, the structure, the organization until it overshadows our souls. Then we feed elsewhere. Balance is hard to find.

Lord, help me find balance.

When things work right

2009-03-07T12:21:00.003-05:00

Gratitude. This morning I made a long gratitude list as I lay snuggled in my comfy bed with two cats, listening to partner's coffee making and the birds chirping. When life is comfortable we can make gratitude lists. When life is uncomfortable, we seldom can think past our discomfort to make such lists. However, when a friend called this morning with a migraine, I was deeply grateful that I don't have them any more. No matter how much pain I have with my restless leg syndrome or the fibromyalgia, I don't have migraines.

I rinsed out the sink with the sprayer and thought about how much water I was "wasting" when some people do not even have safe drinking water. Our water doesn't taste good but it's safe. I want to help others drill wells so that they don't have to use river water or search for springs that may have gone away.

The owner of the store at Merchants joked with me this morning - spring must be getting in his blood because he's been glum all this winter. And, I'm grateful. We joked about the upcoming bike rally here in May and looked enviously at the bike riders who were buying gas and water for the day. And, I was grateful for the smiles and the joy of those who were enjoying our beautiful day.

I walked to Merchants - just two houses away - something I could not have done six months ago. And, I was grateful, even though I only lasted six minutes on the treadmill this morning.

My grocery list is made, and I know I have enough money to buy everything we need and probably some extras. My goddaughter struggles each month to feed those in her household - buying in bulk, looking for mark-downs and out-of-dates, and going around to various churches seeking food. She has no car and getting over to the church where she can get "angel food" boxes is now impossible. Buses don't go there. and, I'm grateful for good food to eat.

However, several nights ago, my restless leg syndrome would not be quieted and I slept little - up and down - heat, stretching, more medicine - finally still enough to sleep, but exhausted, about 4 am. I'm not sure how thankful I was then. I had a warm house, warm clothes, computer games, two loving cats, and plenty of room to walk around. In retrospect, I'm grateful.

Perhaps next time I have troubles, I will be grateful for the blessings that I do have instead of focusing only on my problems...but I doubt it.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference - and the mindfulness to be grateful at all times.

The Parish Retreat

2009-03-02T20:06:00.003-05:00

I always take several deep breaths before I begin a blog entry and they usually end with a large sigh. I'm confused, ailing, bewildered, angry, happy, but always having some large emotion. Tonight I'm reflecting on the parish retreat of this past weekend.

Large church, partner attends, I don't. She talks about many people, and I have faces for most of them now. But, they seem a generation before me or a world away. Most have grandchildren. Most have been married many years or are widows. Many really are an older generation. But, even the younger ones have families. Many of them still work every day. Most are doing okay financially even in this crisis.

They were pleasant people. The music was good and reminded me of my long-ago Cursillo experience. In fact, some of the music transported me back to that time, and I could lay to rest the discomfort that has continued for so many years. I'm not attending to please the bishop (he wasn't there), I'm not seeking ordination, I didn't have anything to lose at this retreat - only to gain.

The program likened our journeying to an Appalachian hike - the trailhead, the base camp, the decisions about directions, the barriers, the hope, the going forth. I've never hiked, but the symbolism made sense. And, he said several key phrases and words that brought my current spiritual/worshipping self to mind and challenged me to find answers.

We stayed at our condo about a mile from the retreat center, and I slept through the Saturday morning part...a much-needed rest after working three full days last week- three very busy days. The retreat was good for me, but superficial. I was not moved in any deep way.

However, as I discussed it with my therapist this morning, several good things that happened arose in our conversation. My putting away the pain from Cursillo, my not feeling threatened by any hierarchy, my dreams not depending on someone's opinion of how I acted at the retreat. I was present and smiling for my partner.

Too Much

2009-02-27T10:57:00.002-05:00

Our Lenten reflection last night was about poverty and wealth, about having too much or too little, about using what you do have wisely and compassionately. As we reflected on how much we have and how many people starve, we became humbly grateful and renewed our desires to use our resources to make the world a better place.

Yet, these desires must be taken in the context of the whole person, the situations in which we live, the ability to affect change in the world. Mother Teresa said something about the fact that she could only love the world one person at a time. We can only make small changes one by one.

I am unable to go to another country and build houses or help with clinics or teach new skills. But, I can give to the fund which makes loans for people in those countries to begin their own businesses and become self-sustaining. I can make baby hats for babies all over the world. I can make food for volunteers who help others build homes. I can do one small thing at a time.

In 1948, over 50% of the wealth (don't know how this is measured) was resident in the United States with about 6.3% of the world's population. The idea then was to keep at least that proportional disparity so that we would be a strong nation. In spite of the economic woes current, the USA is a strong nation. Many call the USA a Christian nation. If that were true, how would we go about making the world a better place - as a nation. We give food and aid to other countries. We make war and destroy infrastructures in other countries (and let our own infrastructures degrade and become outdated and dangerous).

Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.

If more and more of us would do that as individuals, then corporately, we could become the strongest nation in the world as well as a truly Christian one. I'd like to see some politicians, bankers, and CEOs wearing those bracelets: WWJD?

Fellow blogger is visitor

2009-02-21T17:41:00.002-05:00

Okay, I know I haven't posted much lately. Went to Chesapeake with partner to her conference and bought yarn while visiting four yarn shops - thanks to Mapquest for getting me around. Then came home with stomach virus. Stomach still sensitive and my appetite is not.

But, wonderful, wonderful, Shel of Some Disagree with Mom is visiting. What a great time! We're reading blogs and making videos (see on Shel's blog) and taking pictures and making the cats not jump in her lap - they really like her and talk with her. Introduced her to our little town and my running buddy Paula today.

She and partner are going to church tomorrow. Probably too early for me, but we'll see.

So, I'll be back later with deep thoughts, Southern ponderings, and strange musings.