Beach Pictures

These were taken a couple weeks ago
on my twice a year retreat
to Anna Maria Island
on the Gulf Coast of Florida,
south of Tampa.

Here's hoping a week in Arizona
is as renewing
as walks on the beach.

Wiser

I was thinking
as I drove home
in two laned traffic
putting along at 5 miles per hour...
about all the things I KNEW in high school.

I was a bright kid
who knew math and science
and history and literature.

Well rounded academically
and I scored well on those blasted standardized tests.

No social skills, but many marbles in my head.

In college I jumped off the academic track
and coasted in non-challenging yet interesting classes
and worked on figuring out a few social skills.

Seminary, for all its academic challenge
was still much more about learning who I was
and how to live in the world.

These days, all that science and math from high school
seem but a distant, vague memory.

I remember knowing things
but I don't know them any more.

Funny thing,
I'm a lot happier than I was in high school.

The people I visit
demonstrate to me
that in a few years
I will know far less
than I know now.

It is the natural progression of life.

As time goes on,
I only ask to remember these things:
kindness,
gratitude,
contentment,
generousity,
humor,
compassion,
and a sense of the divine holding the world gently.

Ernie, Part Three

Well, my man Ernie
is taking his medicine with relatively little fuss.
For a cat.
He does flatten himself to the floor
when I grab at him,
but he shows up on time
and sticks around enthusiastically
for the canned food that follows.
I think he feels better.
We start the thyroid medicine soon.

I've been blogging in my head this week,
but have had little computer time.
Too much living to write about it.
I'm sure I'll catch up as the summer grows hotter.

This week we got the last of the summer veggies planted,
played with visiting children,
cleaned house,
went to work,
attended various services and meetings at church,
cooked out for Memorial Day,
read books (some just for FUN)
and planned next week's Arizona jaunt.

All in all, a pretty good week here in NC.

If you look closely at this picture of Ernie
you can see some of Daisy's beany babies in the floor
behind him.

The Skinny Old Man, Ernie, Part TWO

For picture of Ernie, see PART ONE.

For the last few months, Ernie has been losing weight.
'Tis not for lack of appetite. He loves his food.
Concerned that his old teeth might be a problem,
we've fed him increasing amounts of canned food,
for which he cries and sings and begs.

This week, after an odd "out of litter box" experience,
we hauled his butt to the vet.
Beyond a bladder infection (hence the displaced pee)
the vet thinks he has an overactive thyroid.

He's lost almost three pounds,
from his previous lanky 11.5.

We're currently giving oral antibiotics twice daily,
(fun for the whole family)
and waiting for thyroid test results to come back.

Thankfully, he is not diabetic, like dearly departed Oscar.

Daisy, the younger cat,
helped put him in his carrier
for the trip to the vet.
She tried to get in the cat box
while he tried desperately to stay out of it.
When Ernie was finally wrestled into the carrier,
Daisy leapt on top and waved her paws around
right outside his face.
He was NOT HAPPY. Much hissing and sputtering.

We're all feeling a little better now.
At least, until the next dose of antibiotic...

For a Daily Fix

Right now,
the best daily blog going
is in French,
but it is all about
the gorgeous pictures.
Flowers and bugs, baby.
Flowers and bugs.

Be sure to check
the Curieux Jardin link
if you haven't lately.

Coming Soon...

I just mowed the yard and dug around in the garden,
so I don't have it in me right now
to download the pictures from the camera
and do the whole full scale blog thing.

But...for you crazy addicts who check the page daily
and have seen the same entry for a week...

Previews.

Beach pictures from my whirlwind trip to Florida last week.
Garden pictures as the peas bloom
and the potato plants reach enormous proportions
and the corn and squash and beans and sunflowers sprout.

Further upcoming ramblings
about the random deep and shallow thoughts
that race through my mind
as I putter along at work,
in the garden,
at home.

Right now my mind is clear and empty.
Both delightful and alarming.
More on the hollow gourd between my ears
....later.

Pilgrimage

Nothing quite as profound as the title might suggest.
Last weekend we went to Charlotte
to visit the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit.

Almost the opposite of my visit to Qumran...
the exhibit was cool and dark, to avoid
exposing the scrolls to light
any more than necessary.
Qumran was desert...bright and sandy.
(Remind me to share memories some time
of floating in the Dead Sea...need to hook up
a scanner so I can show old photos.)

Fascinating on Sunday to see Biblical texts
1000 years older than any thing else that has been found.
We also saw fragments of the community's rule,
of apocryphal and pseudopigraphal writings
(stuff that didn't get put in the Bible,
for those of you needing less technical translation).

Texts from the years between the writings
of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament
that referred to the "Son of God."
Helpful to see that such language
about a Messiah figure was floating around
in the religious culture of that time.

Even more fun was the IMAX movie about the Nile.
My favorite part was at the source of the Nile
in Ethiopia. They showed an Ethiopian
Christian church carved out of a solid piece
of rock, immense and incredible.
One of the wonders of the world.
They showed a religious ceremony,
people expressing their Christian faith
with dance and drum and bright clothing.

Not the Ethiopia we usually see on tv.
Vivid, lively people, expressing their faith with joy
and hospitality.

We ended our little pilgrimage
eating supper with a friend who lives in Charlotte.
Our annual tradition...to eat on Mother's Day
at an Indian restaurant.
For some reason, Indian food is not the first choice
of southern American families on Mother's Day.
No crowds or lines, but ooooh, delicious.

So...a visit to Israel, Ethiopia, Sudan, Egypt and India.
Spanning over 2000 years.
All in a two hour car ride. Not bad.

Summer Vegetables and Flowers

Just for the sake of record keeping,
since I can't put my hands on my garden journal
without a search this morning...

Yesterday we planted three rows of corn,
one row of beans,
one hill of yellow squash,
one hill of luffa gourds,
and a bed of sunflowers.

I also sprinkled some old foxglove seeds
in the front flower beds.

All the while, the chickadees
flew in and out of the bird box
on the grapevine pole,
greeted each time by a ruckus
of baby birds fussing and singing.

They worked harder than we did,
and I'm a little sore this morning.

Happy Mother's Day
to all chickadees everywhere.

Monster Blocks, II

Before you get too excited,
I need to tell you that Monster Blocks
(from Moodology 101)
are currently unavailable in stores,
or on the internet, or ANYWHERE.

So...this is not an advertisement
or a product placement.
Just a commentary.

My nephew, Mason, received two barrels
of Monster Blocks for his second birthday.
They are like giant legos with googly eyes.

Turns out, two year olds dig Monster Blocks.
Seven year olds dig Monster Blocks.

And when the children go to bed,
the thirty-nine year olds
just can't keep their hands off the Monster Blocks.
There is some deep satisfaction
of the snug click that accompanies
the assembly of various googly eyed monsters.

As you can probably tell,
I went shopping after I got home
to no avail.
Mostly I was shopping for presents for other children.
Mostly.

Despite my recent campaign or crusade
against materialism,
against the accumulation of stuff
in corners, in piles, in drawers, everywhere,
I do still believe in the simple satisfactions
of play.

You are never too old to play.

Monster Blocks

Technical Difficulties

Well, I tried to post happy pictures to my blog
earlier in the week,
but the blogbrain out in computerland
was having none of it.

So, after a blogless few days,
I went out this evening
to dig a flower bed,
back between the garden, the back fence
and the wee grapevine.

Aside from the weary task of pulling up lawn,
there were huge chunks of concrete block,
brick and assorted rocks down below the surface.

I filled the wheelbarrow with rocky solids.

I'm tired, but later, when the sunflowers tower
in the back of the yard,
it will be SO WORTH IT.

Plus, think of the exercise I got...
and the soul cleansing smell of
fresh turned dirt...
should be a peaceful sleep tonight.

Why the Levite Crossed the Road

(Luke 10:29-37)

The first time it happened, I was sure I knew what was coming. I was at the church after most people had left, and a fellow wanted to talk to "one of the priests." The property chairperson, who'd been locking up, brought him to me, since I was "kind of like a priest." I sat down with him, ready for the song and dance, and was pleasantly surprised. He had a dream he was supposed to tell a priest. He wanted no money, no food, no pity. He just wanted to tell his dream so he could finish his quest.

It happened again today, same situation, only this time the man who came needed lots of time and lots of resources. I felt my stress level rocketing, for a couple reasons. One, in this church, I am not on staff. I don't have any discretionary fund, I don't have much sense of where the closest shelters and food sources and resources are. I never give out cash. I'm not a lot of practical help.

Two, it takes me back to a church office in downtown Miami, to my two years listening to long, drawn out, manipulative stories, all aimed at making me feel guilty so people could shake me down for what they wanted or needed. Not just occasionally, but people lined up at the door of the church, every day, every week. Story after story after story from people hardened from years on the street. At some point in Miami, I stopped caring about the stories. Too often they were told, not because the people felt a need to tell them, but because people felt a need to get something else, and the stories were just a well rehearsed tool.

I got to the point where I didn't care about the story. I just wanted to know what people needed. If I could help them find resources to get something, I would, regardless of the tale. If I couldn't find the resources, they had to go somewhere else.

There is a death of a certain level of compassion when people habitually shake you down. There is a loss of honesty, as people share horribly intimate things, simply as a means to an end.

The fellow today was nice enough. I was willing to help if I could when he walked in the door. I had to sit and listen to the wandering weave and dance of his story for the better part of an hour before he could hear that.

These days, for my work, I listen to people's stories every day. I listen with all the attention I have in me, because it is all about the story. Their need is the telling. They are not trying to get food or housing or cash from me. It is amazing privilege to share the telling.

I guess the song and dance of someone trying to convince you to give them resources feels kind of like prostitution, especially when they share painful memories and recent tragedies.

I wish we could just transact the actual request and supplying of food or shelter or whatever, without all the talk...and that they could share their stories as much or as little as they would with me, a stranger, because of the need of sharing a story, and that need alone.

The Skinny Old Man, Ernie

Materialism and Murder

Sooooo grateful to be home
and in jeans
at the end of a long day, long week.

The gentle rain outside is great for the garden,
but not so good for working in the garden,
which is just as well,
because I'm tired.

Will noodle around the house,
work on continuing the rearranging
and decluttering (my resolution from January).

Play a little mandolin,
get ready to teach Sparky about Acts in Sunday School.

I'm broadcasting my interest in a piano...
had a close call at work.
Mentioned I was wanting a piano
and got a lead
and called soon after another coworker
bought the piano for a grandchild.

Still...you never know.
I'll keep asking around.
My piano is out there somewhere.

Other than the rather large item
of a piano and the rather small
packet of corn seeds for the garden,
I am trying to not bring any more treasures
into the house.

What an oddly priviledged life,
when one has to work
at stirring around in the clutter
of books and papers and belongings,
and has to make an effort
not to make impulse buys--
because my basic needs are met
and I lack the edge of hunger
to keep me focused on the needs of others.

Today I sat in the nursing home
with one of my delightful ladies
who told me her life story
as people murdered each other
on her television set
on what we would consider
G-rated, midday shows.

What kind of culture is this?
Materialism, murder and mayhem.

The American way.

Grief

My last visit of the day
was with a charming, articulate woman
living in a nursing home not far from here.
She told me the story of her husband's death,
from the time of his illness,
to the last time he played the piano for her,
to his hospitalization and death.
She talked openly about the shifting emotions
over the last few years...
from the time where she could not bear to see his picture
to the bittersweet mixed emotions of the present.

I came home from that visit
and turned on the computer,
only to find out the very youngest member of my church
lacked the lung capacity after only 26 weeks of gestation
to stay with us more than a few hours.

http://esselstyn.blogspot.com/

People ask me how I bear the grief
of working for hospice.
The truth is, while I carry my patients with me
and remember them and miss them,
their deaths usually ride lightly in my heart.

It is the grief of their families,
the ones that remain behind,
that reduces me to wells of tears (and snot)
and leaves me feeling raw.

So often this feels to me like a weakness,
but perhaps our capacity to grieve
and to grieve with others in their time of loss
is our most human strength.

The thing that I most love about
imagining and understanding Jesus
as God in human form,
is not the fact that he was able to raise Lazarus
from the dead,
but the fact that this human expression of the divine
wept with Lazarus's family
in their time of inconsolable grief.

So I have these dual mental pictures
of my Vacation Bible School image of Jesus
laughing and bouncing baby Hoot on his knee up in grassy heaven,
even as I see that same Jesus
sitting silently with Blake and Cindy
with tears pouring down his kind
and broken-hearted face.

Isn't She Lovely?

I realized that I hadn't
put up a good picture of Mimi
since the trip to Indiana...
as much as I love the picture of her
at the sliding glass door posted a few days back.

Spring Cleaning

I blogged on Saturday
about dusting and moving furniture
and working on getting rid
of an entire bookcase worth of books.
I tried to post my blog
and it got sucked up in cyberspace,
leaving nothing but the title,
which I then deleted.

I decided to move on to other projects.

I'm finding decluttering to be as exciting
as shopping for more things with which to clutter...
more exciting, really, because I don't have to leave home
and it doesn't cost me any money.

I'm so pleased with the new arrangement
of furniture in my bedroom.
So energized to start ripping up carpet
in the front two bedrooms.

Also excited about garden progress and plans.
Ate spinach and lettuce this weekend...
no caterpillars discovered in the process.

Soon...beans and tomatoes and corn and squash.
Lovely summer veggies.

Sad to go back to work today,
when I'd love to stay home puttering--
but I know when I get going
how much my work will deepen my soul
even as it replenishes my little checkbook.

Off to work, then.

Other Creepy Crawlies

While I was in Indiana,
we found this cool,
completely way dead
pit viper
in the yard.
Then I made nephew man
wash his hands,
old fogey that I am.

Cooking with Caterpillars

I had the BEST supper tonight.
Got home just before it started raining
and picked all the kale and collards
out of the raised bed.
Actually planted them last fall,
but they just now had grown up eatin' size.
Washed them, tore 'em up,
threw them in a pot with a ham hock
and some water,
and let 'em simmer for nearly an hour.
As they cooked, the light green caterpillars
floated to the top
and I spooned them out.
Just don't need THAT much protein.
The greens were tender and sweet
and indescribably good.

I picked cilantro from the garden
and used it in my fresh guacamole.
I'm going to try a THIRD time
to grow an avocado plant from the pit.
If I ever figure this out, I'll let you know
my secret of success. I'm gettting closer.

I also picked some asparagus for tomorrow.

Eating fresh vegetables from the garden
ruins, ruins, ruins you for storebought.

Later this week...the baby salad greens.
You haven't tasted lettuce
until you've eaten it mere minutes
after it was attached to the earth
by its roots.

MMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Treasures at Home

Sometimes, when I get on a tear
about the things I want,
the places I should go,
the things I need to do...
I remember a little tip I learned years ago
about looking around the house
for treasures already here.
In my home, I have plenty of unread books
(or books in need of rereading).
I have old projects, put away and collecting dust.

There are chickadees nesting in the birdhouse,
baby mockingbirds wagging wobbly heads
in a nest next to the back porch.
There are weeds to pull,
flowers to plant (I already bought the seeds)
fresh vegetables to eat.















(These are the first fruits of my 3 year old asparagus bed...
it has produced about 20 more tender, fresh, yummy asparagi
since I took the picture. Mmmmmm.)

Instead of taking a class
or looking for a new vocation
I'm going to move some furnature,
play an instrument I already own,
work on my priorities I already set,
read a book I already chose.

I'm going to shift some things around
and come up with new combinations
and fresh ideas
with the things already in my life.

Productivity

Saturday morning, and I am not
all fired up to go back to school.
Here are my morning thoughts
on the whole matter of productivity.

I had a hospice patient a few months back,
who was determined to learn Spanish.
From my view point, it was obviously
a bargaining tactic. I've seen it before.
If only I put my energy into THIS project,
then I can stop the natural progression
towards death.
(Elizabeth Kubler Ross identified bargaining
as one of our very common and natural responses
along the path to our own death.)
Sometimes it comes in a very religious form.
"I will dedicate my life to mission...
I will dedicate my life to the Lord..."
All in the hope that my life will become too indispensible
to end.

I'm currently visiting with a woman
who has made hundreds of quilt tops,
all different, all beautiful.
She intends to quilt until they take the sewing needle
out of her cold dead hands.
But here's the difference...
she talks openly and joyfully
about death and heaven.
She's done the things she needs to do,
she's ready to go when the time comes.
She just plans to stay productive
in the meantime.

The difference between these two approaches
can be very subtle, and sometimes blurred.
I hope I can take the quilting path.
Staying in the game as long as I'm here,
but not trying to buy time or youth
by looking busy.

My conclusion...
my focus this week on career and education
dances right on the line of middle age bargaining
and meaningful intentionality.

Spring Fever, postscript

Took this picture of my niece
at her brother's second birthday party.
Her maternal grandmother
had dressed her all prettily
in a pink dress.
When Mason opened a gift of blue pajamas,
she immediately put on the pants.
I love this picture of her, all dressed
in a bit of this and a bit of that,
admiring the grass
that is greener
on the other side of the door.

Spring Fever

Occasionally, okay, fairly regularly
I drive myself a little crazy
trying to figure out what I'm going to be
when I grow up.
The whole hospice chaplaincy thing
is great, I love it, it's going well....
but I worry about the long term.
Do I want to do this for the next 25 years?
Will there still be a job
around the corner
as the health care system as we know it
collapses?
Will they continue to fund chaplaincy
as reimbursement shrinks and shrinks?
This week I decided I would become
a physical therapist.
All my favorite things...
job security,
interaction with the elderly,
a helping profession,
comfortable shoes,
lots of science courses,
and a really decent salary.
Oy, but the classes I would have to take,
even to get into the program!
Who has the time or money?
Anatomy and physiology and such
are not generally available
as night classes.

Then I get into the justice issue
of all that time and money,
spent on myself,
when there are women right now
in Africa standing around dry, empty pools
contemplating the death of their families
because they have to wait three days
for another relief truck full of water.
How can I justify collecting degrees
when there are such profound needs in the world?

It is so hard to know
what the responsible thing is...
so hard to know what the vocational thing is.
There are times when,
as much as I feel like I help people,
I feel like I'm wasting
all sorts of God given talents.
The inner scientist in me
gets frustrated.
Should I take the hard road now,
or stay on the path I'm on
and just see where it goes?

Is this age appropriate crap?
If I go back to school for anything,
now seems like the time.
It just seems so impossible.

And Now We Are Two

Happy Birthday to Mason!

Holy Week, Busy Week

Blessed Holy Week to all.

Just a quick note in the midst
of what is turning out to also be
a week just a little too full
of places to go,
people to see,
things to do.

After work
and after a very pleasant church meeting,
I spent some time in my blue jeans
on my knees, pulling baby weeds
from around my two inch tall pea plants.

Thinned the brussel sprouts
(too many sprouts sprouted),
weeded the cilantro,
watered the lettuce and greens.

We've got potatoes in the ground now,
as well as strawberries and rhubarb.
Soon I'll start tomatoes on the sunporch
in little peat cups.

I plan to put a whole bed
of sunflowers along the back fence
behind the grapevine.

While it is not good for one's manicure,
it sure feels good to the rest of me,
body and spirit,
to go and play in the dirt.

A Perfect Saturday

A perfect Saturday, today. Home alone, recharging my introvert batteries. Feeling better after another cold, breathing happily through my nose.

Cleaning house: sweeping floors, dispatching clutter, eliminating dust, cat hair and grime. The cats do shed in the springtime.

Playing music on the cd player at times, or just listening to the birds singing through open windows.

Outside the garden is soaking up springtime rain. The brussel sprouts and lettuce have sprouted, a chickadee is popping in and out of the birdhouse by the grapevine. Inside, my avocado pit has finally begun to sprout. Soon, hopefully, a lovely green plant will begin to grow out of this humble pit in a jar.

If I could figure out a way to finance it, I would be content to stay home and clean and garden. Ah, well. Perhaps it wouldn't feel so great if I could take it all for granted. Some things are wondrous because they are rare.

Mouth Breathing

Day two of spring head cold plague.
All my talk yesterday of juggling
was just talk.
I don't even feel like walking down the steps
to the toybox in the basement to get the bean bags to juggle.

I'm here at the computer,
just for a few minutes change of pace.
One can only lie in bed and watch so much tv.
Such a sad thing to be home,
with so many neat things that need doing,
and not even feel like reading a book,
my usual slacker occupation.

Okay, done blogging.

This too shall pass.

Juggling

http://marketplace.espeakers.com/movie.php?sid=5290&aid=10558

Ooh. The fabulous link of the week.
Some of the best juggling I've seen in a long time.

When I was in high school my friend Bob,
(my very fun date to the senior prom)
taught me how to juggle tennis balls.
He taught me in our English class.
Writing skills and juggling, all in one classroom.

My freshman year in college,
when I had lots of time on my hands
and few places to go and people to see,
my friend Katrina worked with me
on polishing up my juggling
so that I could get through
more than a couple tosses
without chasing.
She taught me how to throw up
(that doesn't sound quite right)
rather than throw forward.

When I was pastoring in Florida
and a teenager came to live with me
for a year or so,
I taught her how to juggle.

The gift goes on.

Maybe I'll go toss a few
small, catchable items
around for a while.

First Steps

I took my first steps on this concrete walkway in front of my grandmother's house.

It was a different house back then, back before my relatives tore the old place down with crowbars and their bare hands. Different concrete, even. I remember watching as my grandfather mixed cement in his wheelbarrow and spread it smoothly to fix the broken places, probably back in the 1970's.

Years before, though, back in the late 1960's, we were visiting at the farm, and I took my first official steps. There are pictures somewhere. There was apparently someone on camera duty that day, ready to capture my first jaunt on two feet.

The cedar trees to the right of the dirt driveway (the driveway is white because it is sand, for those of you unfamiliar with Florida) also date back to the late 1960's. I was a baby when my grandparents planted the young trees all along the drive and back along the fence back to the barn. They are pretty impressive trees now.

Those woods to the left of the drive weren't even there when I was born. You could see clean across that field to the road. My aunt and uncle bought that corner of the world and let it return to trees and wildlife when I was a wee tot. Amazing how quickly the trees grow, when left to their own devices.

Inheritance

I went to the post office today and picked up the certified mail that contained my copy of Grandmother's will. No surprises. I was listed under the section that included family not inheriting any property. The will makes it sound like my brother and I did not inherit because my mother predeceased Grandmother.

When she was alive, however, my mother was always very clear that she had no desire to own any part of that land. For her, the land represented a difficult childhood, poverty, backbreaking work and physical abuse. She left the farm as soon as she graduated high school to make a life for herself someplace else. Mom went back several times a year, but only to see the people who were family and loved ones, not because of sentimentality for the place.

For me, Grandmother's farm is a place of more positive memories. Family gatherings, tables full of home grown food and pies, springs full of wildflowers, more stars at night than anyone could count. There were puppies and kittens, calves and biddies, spiders and scarab beetles, pill bugs and ant lions.

Many of my dreams are still set at Grandmother's farm. Not the farm as it is now, with subdivisions and light pollution crowding in more each day. Instead, the mythological farm of my childhood, where the woods seemed to go on forever and there were always new things to see, new things to learn and new places to explore. Where the grandchildren rode on the hood of the tractor, where an old camper became a spaceship, where the tire swing became mystical transport. Where warm eggs were grasped by children's hands and taken cautiously from their resting place under the mama chickens.

My inheritance is one of memories and values, dreams and interests.

I've bought my own property, just as my grandparents left home and bought their own. I've planted my own vegetables, started my own grapevine, set up my own kitchen.
I've found my own woods to explore, my own starlit skies.

I may never own land in Florida, where generations of my family have lived, struggled and sometimes thrived. But I carry my predecessors' work ethic and their appreciation for beauty with me on my own frontiers of living.

More Spring Color

Friday Night

As much as I love my work,
I love Friday night and Saturday morning
much, much more.
The best thing about being chaplain
rather than church pastor
is the clear time boundary.
Now I'm working, now I'm NOT.
The edges of my life are much more clean cut
than they were the first ten years out of school.

A few minutes ago I turned in my time sheet,
came home, mixed a glass of chocolate milk.
Now I'm pondering what music playing,
house cleaning,
gardening,
recreational reading,
socializing and,
let's not forget,
couch potatoing
I care to indulge in
for the next 24 hours.
Ahhhhhhhhh.

A note to my Benedictine readers,
you know who you are...
a nice piece of the Benedictine tradition...
the clear division of time.
Time to work,
time to worship,
time to eat,
time to rest.
Each a time to pray.

Because they Make Me Happy

Late March Blues

The Side Wall

March Garden

Why Men Have Nipples

When my cat Oscar was alive,
he went through a bad phase
where he mistook his nipples
for ticks and tried to chew them off.
We had long talks
about the fact that they were his,
even though God had no intention
for him to nurse kittens,
and so he should leave them alone.

But I got curious.
I called my cousin, Linda,
the PhD in Paleoethnobotany,
because I figured she would know
why men have parts they won't use.

(When I was 5 and she was 3,
I asked her if everyone's belly
went in and out when they breathed.
I knew she wouldn't laugh at me for asking.
She said, yes, her belly moved
when she breathed,
and she suspected everyone's did.
She's always been a good source
for scientific information.)

So I asked Dr. Linda, PhD,
about Oscar's nipples,
and she said,
"It takes less energy
to do things the same way
than to differentiate.
Men and women
are alike in many ways
to simplify our design
and development,
and our systems know
the subtle differences needed."

Basic wisdom here...
we resist change in part
because it takes so much more
of our attention and our effort.
But in living our lives,
ultimately,
we have to make some changes
in order not to starve our future,
in order to survive as a species.

The Godmamas

One year ago today,
three godmamas went to Easter Vigil services
at an Episcopal church in Alpharetta, Georgia.
We participated in the baptism
of the screaming baby pictured above.
She screamed through the hymns,
she screamed through the sermon.
Her own mama paced and strolled,
took her out and brought her in,
and still she screamed.
Just after the handsome young priest
placed water on her screaming head,
they handed a candle to her papa.
She grew silent, captivated by the light.
The congregation, not able to see
the cause and effect,
murmured and laughed,
and said, "It worked!"

Blessings on Julia,
as she lives into the promises
made by God and church.
Blessings on Julia,
as she smiles and cries her way
into a faith of her own.
Blessings on Julia.

Updates on the Mundane

Two avocado pits in jars with toothpicks.
No signs of life.

Three beanie babies,
currently all in the dining room floor.

Garden pictures coming soon.
Cold, wet dirt this week...not much to see.

Pansies blooming quite happily
in the beds around the house. Pictures soon.

Daisy still playing fetch
with her toy mice, daily.
She has managed to lose 15 mice.
Need to hunt under all the furniture
this weekend.

The Mazda, driving well,
but desperately in need of washing
and cleaning out.
I don't keep a clean car,
even when I love and appreciate it.

Working increased hours,
making a bit more money,
feeling better about finances
and loving the work.

Mazda

Back in 2002, I had a car I loved.
It drove reliably, I could crank up the bass,
and it was PAID FOR.
My mother, from her deathbed...
okay, from the recliner in the living room...
said, "I would feel better if you got a new car."
I was driving more than 10 hours each week
to come see her and Dad.
When I moved to North Carolina,
it would be a longer commute.
Since I had a job in my pocket,
I bought a new car.
Mom mustered her energy,
got up out of the recliner,
walked outside,
inspected the car, nodded,
walked back inside.
The next week, the job fell through.
Car payments, yes. Income, no.
When I moved to NC,
Erik hired me to inspect houses
for homeowners insurance.
As I drove all over the western part of NC,
through various parts of Georgia,
inspecting houses near and far,
the new car hugged the mountain curves,
climbed the hills,
chugged happily through the valleys.
Then I got a job teaching computer skills
to preschoolers.
Three full size computers went in and out
of my trunk each day,
as I went to different daycare centers.
Now, the car takes me all around the county
to visit homes and nursing homes.
I deeply hated this car at first,
for associations with the loss of my mom
and the loss (for a while) of my vocation.
But the car has driven me faithfully
on the road to find myself again.
Zoom zoom.

Pulling the Pieces Together

Oh, yeah...right.
I already had my midlife crisis.
I picked up and left
at the height of my professional career.
I was proactive...
I stepped right out of
all my roles
in exchange for new ones
that were less familiar
and less defined
and less aimed at public success.
It was much like stepping out of an airplane
and freefalling for six months.
It all comes back to me now.
Perhaps the task now
is to look back on my old life
to think some about
the humongous transition
to contemplate my new life
and see how things are going.

The Lowest Point

I was talking at supper tonight
with the friend I met at sliding rock...
how long ago now? Eight years?
Reflecting on the season in my life
when I moved to North Carolina.
When I lost the job I thought I was moving to...
A few weeks later had my dear old cat
Oscar put to sleep on a Wednesday.
My mother died a week after Oscar.
Her funeral was on Friday,
exactly one week before
we loaded the truck for me to move to NC.
At supper tonight
we were pondering the freedom
that comes from living out
your deepest fears and pains.
The thing I remember most
from that horrific time
was the way my friends carried me.
Jan came and spent 24 hours with me
after I lost the job.
Jan and Esther took Oscar to the vet
because I just couldn't.
June and Steve came and sat with me as I cried
with snot all over my shirt.
Countless friends took over all
my overambitious responsibilities
at Annual Conference.
They came to my mother's funeral
and stood with me at the graveside
and ate fresh butter beans at the reception.
A small, incredibly generous army of friends
packed and cleaned and loaded the truck.
When I pulled into the parking lot here
in North Carolina,
my friend from Tennessee was just pulling in,
having preached her Sunday Service
and then come directly to move me.
Six of us unloaded together.
My dear friend Erik
provided me employment within a week of my move.
So many people...
it makes me cry now to think of it.
So much grace in human form.
But the other thing is...
when you hit the bottom,
not much else scares you after that.

Journeys

But it Doesn't FEEL like Spring

The first day of Spring
came with sleet and big snowflakes
and bone aching cold and wet.
Maybe it is muscle aching.
Something aches.
The sleet and rain are watering the garden,
for which I am grateful,
even as I complain about the cold.
Planting a garden does
give one an appreciation of rain.
Not sure on this achey day
that I need to be writing cheesy books,
but we'll let it ride a while
and see what happens.
I wonder sometimes what it would look like
to choose a role.
Sometimes it feels like I have always just
wandered into my life decisions.
Like the woman I visited today
who said she woke up one morning
in the hospital, with no idea how she got there.
I tend to enjoy the places I end up...
but don't always have a sense that
I took a lot of initiative.
Even the roles I've had to fight for,
like ordination...
I'm still not entirely clear
how I wandered into the fight.
Did I choose this life?
I still fight for it.
I wonder sometimes if
my persistence in vocation is
passion
or habit.
Still, as I said,
I've woken up in green pastures
beside quiet waters
and found my soul generally refreshed,
so maybe this is home.

Swimming in the Shallow End

Inspired by Spark,
today I started to write a book.
I talked about it over Sunday lunch,
then came home and wrote a couple pages.
After two pages,
I worried out loud to my lunch companion,
"I think I'm writing a Christian Self-Help book."
She assured me,
"You ARE writing a Christian Self-Help book."
Egads. How cheesy.
It reads cheesily, too.
This is generally the part
where I erase the two pages,
step away from the computer,
and try to forget the whole thing.
But here's the rub...
the two pages I wrote
are about the simple fact
that most dreams get derailed
by intimidation.
So maybe,
in my spare time,
I'll write a really cheesy
Christian self-help book.
I'll see if it helps myself
write it.
If it helps me
write itself
maybe it really is
helpful.

Breaking Ground

Today we went out
and turned the ground,
hoed and tilled
and planted.

Peas, turnip greens,
spinach, brussel sprouts,
salad greens.

The wild chive crop
was all around us
in the garden
and waving in the breeze
across the yard.

The grandchildren
of the cilantro plant
I planted two years ago
are taking up the whole
end of a raised bed.
Yummy.
A real self starter,
that cilantro.

Meanwhile, the pansies
and grape hyacinth
and forsythia are blooming.

The iris are sending up green shoots.

The trees in the neighborhood
are blooming with enthusiasm.

No signs of life yet
from the asparagus bed.

My back is very tired,
but I feel great
after an afternoon
of manual labor.

Nothing better than
food right from the garden.

Tomorrow, if I have time,
I'll take some pictures.

My Sunburned Nose

Lunch in the park today,
four women, contemplating
midlife crisis, midlife renaissance,
midlife.

Contemplating parenting,
shifts in vocation,
book writing,
grandparenting,
personal histories,
teenage hormones,
and a general need
to revamp the fun.

I was so happy to be there,
basking in the sun,
telling and hearing stories,
with some of the grooviest
women I know.

Somehow, it was less
about the things I needed to say,
and more about just having
the opportunity to say them.

We plan to lunch again,
and to hike, with families in tow.

How sweet it is
to once again
find companions for the journey.

Why There are Beanie Babies in the Floor

When you walk into our house
you are quite likely to see
beanie babies in the floor.



For a couple years,
unappreciated,
they were packed in a box
and the box was stuffed
in the back of a closet.

Then we adopted Daisy the cat.
One day, Daisy came striding
out of the closet
with a white baby bear in her mouth.

The next day, another baby, this one grey.
The next day, a third baby, a light teal.

Since then, the babies
move throughout the house.
During the night
they move from room to room.
You can go to bed
with a grey beanie baby,
and wake with grey gone
and white and teal
snuggled in the quilt.
Daisy is a good mama. Or a good ratter.
It just depends on her mood.
The babies always seem content
to play their proper role.

Dancing at Rachel's Wedding

I got up at 4:00 am on Saturday.
The kitten squinted up at me
after I turned on the light
like I had lost my everloving mind.

But...I had a plane to catch.
Flew out at 6:00,
arrived in West Palm Beach before 11:00.

Went almost directly to the rehearsal lunch.
As I walked in, a lovely little woman
walked up to me and said,
"I know you! It is so good to see you again!"

I thought nothing of it,
as I spend my days visiting the shifting realities
of women her age who live in the nursing homes
I frequent.

But her daughter stood behind waving her arms
and shaking her head and mouthing,
"She doesn't know you!"

There was an explanation of brain damage
suffered in recent years,
but none of that mattered.
I was glad to see her again, too.
It turned out she was the grandmother of the groom,
and her arm waving daughter, the proud mother.

During the wedding, as I stood beneath the chuppa
with the bride and groom,
I could hear the grandmother's voice
floating over the wedding ceremony,
"Let me go! I want to go DOWN THERE!"

She was trying to get to the chuppa,
to the wedding canopy,
where the action was,
while her loving family gently held her arms
and shushed her.

Later, after the ceremony,
they took her picture under the chuppa,
and she smiled that lovely smile,
delighted.

Later, with the same delight,
she danced at the wedding reception.
She danced with her husband,
she danced with her daughters,
she danced with her granddaughters,
she invited her grandson, the groom, to dance.

When seated at the table,
she danced with her arms and shoulders,
celebrating the marriage,
the music, the day.

At one point, she celebrated her 6 grandchildren.
"No...five," corrected her family. "Who is the 6th?"

"Rachel," she stated firmly,
naming the beautiful bride.

Vera may have had some damage to her brain,
but she knows where the action is,
what the mood should be,
who belongs to her family.

Of all my deep gratitude this weekend,
I am perhaps most grateful for Vera.

Things Break

When I was in the angst filled years of seminary
I threw my Greek textbook across my bedroom
one frustrated, angry evening.
The binding broke, and I despaired.
It only added to my frustration to break
a perfectly good book.
(I'm a 5 on the Enneagram...
I'm all about the books.)

The next day my gentle and wise advisor,
hearing my tale of fury and breakage,
nodded sagely and simply said,
"Things break."

That phrase has stuck with me
in the years since.

Tonight's breakage...

34 computer files infected with a virus.

Two salad plates and at least two bowls,
knocked off the "about to be washed" pile
into the kitchen floor,
by the younger cat, Daisy.

The Greek book is still on my shelf.
The computer files were deleted.
The bowls, shattered, were thrown away.
The salad plates, chipped, were set to one side,
with thoughts of putting them under potted plants.

Things break.

Grounded

The house was built in the early 1950's,
expanded over the years
with separate crawlspaces--
much to the electrician's chagrin.

Painted Mother India blue
by the previous owner.

Since moving in, we have
painted, painted, painted,
replaced washers and sinks,
ripped up carpets and polished wood floors,
hung blinds and curtains,
cut a doorway between
the kitchen and dining room--
and this week, got grounded.

Modern plugs, for modern appliances,
in dining room, living room, bedroom...
and a bonus completely new outlet
on the sunporch.
The bedroom wasn't originally on the list,
but there was this small fire...
The electrician was skeptical of our account
until he plugged in his tester
and let out a scream of his own
as flames shot happily up in the air.
We told him so.
But now that bedroom is grounded too.

The list of renovations
still stretches out to the horizon,
but that is half the fun.

Top of the list, the dining room,
with water stained wood paneling,
and beebly bobbed chandelier,
and a conspicuous lack of piano.
Not to mention the acoustic tile
ceiling badness.

All in good time.
All in good time.

Life Under Construction

The Year of Intentional Living

Call it a midlife crisis,
call it what you will,
I am shaking out the dust
and looking closely at who I am
and where I'm going.

Today's thoughts on the matter:

1) I like my job. In fact, I love my job.
If I were looking for a job today,
I would want this one.

2) It is time to decide
my denominational affiliation anew.
Do I stay United Methodist,
and keep to my roots,
my lifelong family of faith,
my theological heritage--
or is my current affiliation
with the United Church of Christ
more than just my local church?

3) I need to differentiate
my spiritual challenges and tasks
from that of my client base.
I am not an 80 (90, 100) year old woman
with less than six months to live.
One day, God willing, I might be.
But for now...in my own personal,
outside of work life....
I am at a different stage of life.
I need to figure out
what people my age
are supposed to be doing.

4) I need to connect with these women
in my church and circle of friends--
who are also feeling a stirring,
a need to stop and take account,
a need to live intentionally--
and we need to have lunch
and talk these things out.
Our midlife challenges are very different,
I can tell this already.
But how much more
productive and fun
to share them together.

5) I need to paint,
write,
play,
hike,
photograph,
think,
play,
blog
MORE.

So, friends,
how goes your living?

Today's Project

The Truth about Money

John Wesley, the founder of the United Methodist church, preached a sermon in which he encouraged faithful people to "earn all you can, save all you can and give all you can." I've always been pretty good at the latter two. But for reasons I am only beginning to understand, I've always been resistant to advocating for my own income. In fact....what is the opposite of advocating?

The roots of this go back to childhood. I knew we didn't have a lot of disposable income, that we couldn't afford much outside of the necessities. I learned not to ask, because if I didn't ask, I wasn't disappointed.

As an adult, I worked many years in churches who wouldn't have voluntarily hired me. I was a young, single woman...not what they requested from the Bishop. The churches were struggling financially. While they always affirmed me as a person, and ultimately expressed deep appreciation for me professionally...there was always this thing about money. One of the ways I proved my worth was by economizing, and by not demanding extra salary or benefits.

Somehow that reluctance to impose financially has deepened and broadened...partly because of financial realities in my workplace...but more for deepseated unconscious reasons. As a result, I consistently send out very clear messages that I don't want more work time, that I don't want to impose financially on people willing to give me opportunities to fulfil my vocation, that I don't want or need more money.

The rules have changed at work. My newer coworkers came to the company able to state their need for full time salary, for more hours, for more income. I find myself suddenly in a situation where all my old grand statements ring empty. I'm frustrated because what I want and what I'm asking for are two different things.

I've recently contemplated changing jobs or getting a second job in order to generate more income. But I love the work I already do.

Perhaps...I need to learn to say what I really want, what I really need. Perhaps the world will not end, if I, like my coworkers, simply state that I want to work as much as I can. I want to earn as much as I can.

Perhaps the world will not stop spinning in space if I begin to ask for more work, to ask for more compensation.

Perhaps if I begin to tell the truth about what I want and need, I won't be as disappointed when people believe what I say.

A Picture for Spark

This is the picture I am using
as my computer desktop
during the season of Lent.

I got it off one of my favorite blogs:

http://curieuxjardin.blogspot.com/

I usually don't know
what they are talking about
since they're not writing in English,
but I love their photography.

The Calming Influence of Lent

After spending several days
working up a head of steam
for my midlife crisis,
I'm finding myself calm
and content.

After preaching Ash Wednesday service
last night at church
and preaching a Memorial service
at a skilled nursing facility today,
I'm feeling back in balance.

I did figure some things out.
I need to do some intellectually stimulating
sorts of activities in the evenings
after spending quiet days
crooning hymns to demented old women.
I must keep my brain clicking
lest it leak slowly out my ears.

I need to work some artistic expression
into my days as well.

I want to buy a piano.
I think that would both fire some pistons
in my brain
and eventually,
with practice,
qualify as artistic expression.

On the whole,
life is pretty good.

I really like Lent.
I like the dark, the quiet,
the melancholy music.

I like the focus on contemplation,
on getting back to the basics,
on getting off our own
personal glory trains
and turning back to grace.

I like it when the church calendar
fits my own broody mood,
when suddenly I'm in step
with the season.

Peace.

Planning My Midlife Crisis

Maybe I'm getting too close to 40.
Maybe it's the early signs of spring.
Maybe things have just been going
a little too well lately.

I think I'm getting ready
for something a little bit

...different.

Don't know what yet.
Maybe just something new
to learn, to contemplate.

Maybe a whole big chain reaction
of change.

I told my coworker
the tall, fun nurse,
about my sense of impending
midlife crisis.
She asked if it would involve
motorcycles.

I am clear it does not.

We'll just give it some time
and see what progresses.

Around me family is moving
to New Zealand,
a friend is writing her first book.

Maybe I'm just feeling a little bit
....I don't know....
ready for my own shift.

Probably nothing so dramatic.

But...wanting to live life
INTENTIONALLY
and not just drift downstream.

Before

So after I made my guacamole
last weekend
I washed the avocado pit
Dug out an old jar
of exactly the right size
and placed my toothpicks.

One week into the project,
it looks almost exactly the same.
I've changed the water
and monitored it closely.
There is just the faintest crack
in the top of the pit.

I'll keep you posted
on this very important
project.

Squirrels

The wee fat lad
hangs upside down
to get sunflower seeds.

It was a banner weekend.
In addition to circus mammals,
there were red bellied
and downy woodpeckers,
blue jays, cardinals,
chickadees, titmice,
goldfinches, doves
and starlings.

Meanwhile,
inside the house,
the squirrel colored cat
played fetch
with toy mice.
She brought them back
repeatedly to be thrown--
until she collapsed,
panting with exhaustion.

Then, to a much
deserved nap...

Anger, postscript

Notes on coping...

Exercising more.
Playing music more.
Journaling, reflecting and
blogging more.

Obsessing less.
Eating too much while angry less.

Sitting and watching the snow fall
...more.

Anger

My, I've been angry lately.
Easily ticked off.
Inclined to simmer and stew.
Cranky and snarly,
dark and brooding.
Snippy and childish.

Yee ha.

I've known for a while
that anger is one of the ways
I manifest grief.

It is what got me through
the time of my mother's
dying.

My emotional range
in those difficult months
was a thin layer of rage
over a deep pool of weeping.

I found I functioned better
mad.
Not to mention having
clearer sinuses.

So maybe part
of my recent emotional state
has been lingering grief
over the death of my grandmother.

But it manifests
in snippiness about paperwork at the office;
in simmering resentment about insults
to my being and character
left over from last year;
in fury over comments
and rude behavior in the present.

For the most part
I am writing angry and childish
e-mails
and deleting most of the nasty parts
before I send them.

I'm grinding my teeth
in the privacy of my own thoughts
and managing to be mostly civil
in person.

So while I haven't yet
made a total fool of myself,

I'm tired of being angry.
It wears me out.
It hurts my digestion.

And it makes me feel like

someone else.

Epiphany

Season of light in the darkness
Season of inspiration in the confusion
Season of calm in the busyness
Season of compassion in the cold of winter
Needing some Epiphany.

How Brenda Got Her Groove Back

I sometimes tell people
that the only good thing
about being sick
is how GREAT you feel
when you get better.

(Okay, so this only works
for people with temporary plagues
like colds and flu...
there are actually other
good things that come
with more chronic illnesses...
much deeper and richer benefits
that can be found during the journey....)

Ah, but recovery from a cold is SWEET.

Plus, I had a great week at work.
Amazing visits
with amazing people.

On the personal front,
I'm feeling more in control
of clutter and finances.

And yesterday I had a nice
dose of righteous indignation,
which pumped some anger
and passion
and adrenaline through me...
who knew getting ticked off
could be such a
soul reviving thing?

I've taken the melancholy
CD out of my car...
and am listening to Janet Jackson.

Here's some irony:
I feel like a kinder and gentler person
when I'm revved up
than I do when I'm sad and low.

Something about energy...
I'm more likely to bite
when I'm tired.

Time to Stop and Breathe

I found myself stretched pretty thin
this week, especially on Friday.
It took some fairly constant effort
to not just sit and cry
in my car or at my desk at work.
I made it through the day.

The combination of my Grandmother's death,
a persistent head cold,
my brother's news that he
and his family are moving
18 time zones away,
and just general overdoing it
finally all closed in.

So I stayed home Saturday
and groused
and weeded the asparagus bed
and painted a birdhouse.

I stayed home from church this morning
and watched CBS Sunday Morning.

I feel better.

Gardening and cooking hashbrowns
for supper last night
made me feel more connected
with my Grandmother's side of the family,
along with a phone call from my aunt.

I'm starting to remember
how very much I enjoyed
my trip to New Zealand,
and how nice it might be
to go back and visit
Steve and his family.

And this cold
has been asking me
to stop and rest
for long over a week.

Sometimes it pays
to listen to the good advice
of snot.

I'm cleaning house today
and spending
some very special time alone.

If I keep it up,
I might be fit for human company
by tomorrow afternoon.

Already I'm feeling more
like myself.

Visualization

While I was visiting at the Specialty Hospital today
a patient's wife talked to me
about using visualization
and meditation
to decrease anxiety
while trying to go to sleep at night.
We talked about remembering a place
like the woods, or a beach...
and thinking of every sight
and sound
and smell
in all the detail possible.
Even if you don't succeed
in finding sleep,
it is more fun to think about
beautiful places
than all the stresses and worries
of the day.

Sometimes I wonder
who is the chaplain here?
She couldn't have known
my recent bent
toward insomnia and worry.
Nor did I tell her...
we just stuck to sharing
our favorite scenes,
places of retreat
in the quiet depths of our minds.

Thoughts of Summer

Here is a picture of 2004's garden, in its young and tender early days. Before the beans became jungle growth and produced food for hoards. Before the corn grew tall and bore wonderful sweet ears. Before the squash took over.

When the scarecrow was still young
and pretty.

Wow. Look at the green on the surrounding trees. Ooh. Summer.

It is cold tonight. Tonight I just browse seed catalogues and dream.

This year, I've already bought peas in two varieties. Various greens. I'm still pondering tomato types. Going to try the beans on towers instead of in rows this year. Will need a new scarecrow for the corn. Okay, for my amusement. Pie tins hanging from twine off sticks seem to actually do better at keeping the birds at a distance. Maybe. Or it could be that the pie tins are also just for our own amusement.

This year, some of the things I planted in 2004 will finally get their groove on. The asparagus bed will put food repeatedly on the table for the first time. The grape vine, which last year bravely bore three bunches of grapes, will begin its formal training.

I actually ate out of the garden this very January week. Cilantro for my omelet...young plants coming up from seed after coriander fell to the earth and began the cycle of life again. Mmmm.

Resolve

Okay, I know we are
more than halfway through January.
...But it is never too late
to get started on the year.
Calendars are arbitrary, anyway.

I resolve
to spend less than I make.
Starting in February.
Maybe March.

I resolve to save six months salary
for a rainy day.
(I did this once...and behold,
I lived on it for six months
between salaried positions.)

This will take a while.

I resolve to play in my garden...
to can and freeze more vegetables
for better eating in the winter months.

I resolve to avoid cursing,
biting, and generally loosing my temper
while holding a leadership position
at my church.

Okay, cursing in public.

I resolve
to play my guitar
and my mandolin
and to sing loudly
(but again, not in public
if I can possibly help it).

I resolve to live with less clutter
to dig out of some of the paper
and books and general mess
that cover the surfaces of my home.

Hmm. I think I'll start on the clutter
NOW.

Less resolving,
more house cleaning....

In Memory of My Grandmother

A Goodbye to Mental Acuity

Oy.
I've noticed with age,
that my mind clicks more slowly
each day.

But this week takes the cake.

I always tell hospice families
that grief will take
a lot of mental energy,
but it is another thing
to experience it.

I find myself oddly dislexic,
(and uncertain I spelled that right),
mixing my numbers
when performing simple tasks
like writing down a phone number
or writing a check.

My train of thought
keeps derailing.

Everything seems to take
more effort than usual.

On the whole,
I feel pretty chipper
(except when I don't)
and expect to feel even better
when we finally
have a day without clouds.

Oh, well.
Keep the dark chocolate coming,
hold the purring kitten,
and wait for sunny days.

I Happy I Home

My parents tell me
that my first complete sentence
was after a trip.
We pulled into the driveway
and I said,
"I happy I home."

Truer words, I've never spoken.

Apologies for the faithful few
who kept checking my little blog,
only to see the same ice pictures.

I've spent the last three weeks
in Florida and Georgia,
on an unexpected, extended "vacation."

I went down to help bring
my maternal Grandmother
home from the hospital with hospice.

A different side of the hospice experience
than my day to day work.

Still, everything we hope for...
she was happy to be home,
surrounded by family and friends,
in no real pain,
and gave every sign of being at peace.

Meanwhile, my nephew was diagnosed
with mild epilepsy...see brother's blog
for more details and a really cool
Christmas tree.

I bought a new camera
after new year's
just in time to take pictures of family
and Grandmother's farm
after the funeral.

I'll upload some pics
just as soon as I install
the new software.

But wanted to go ahead
and send greetings
and thanks,
for kind wishes and prayers.

It was a very special Christmas.

Better Ice Pictures from my Front Step

Just what the doctor ordered

Okay, not impressive photography, but you get the general idea.

I wasn't going to actually GO OUTSIDE on the slick front step.

Nor was I going to linger in the cold.

At the request of the highway patrol, as travel is non-essential for me this morning, and the roads, like our front step, are slicker than goose poop, I'm staying in my pajamas and drinking coffee.

Peace.

Praying for Ice

One of my coworkers, a social worker
who pulled weekend duty this past week,
on his 8th consecutive day of work
was standing in the office
praying for a good ice storm.

Something to keep us all tucked away at home
for a day, just a day.

Sounds pretty darn good to me.

The weather people on TV
keep predicting ice,
and it keeps freezing
all the counties around us.

I know it is selfish.

I know I'll sing a different tune
if the ice knocks the power out.

I know it would be a hardship
for those who must get from place to place,
and for many who stay home.

Still. A day off.
Kids sledding
down the sheet of ice that
was and is and will be the street.

A day at home.

Oh, well. It will come
when least convenient.



My niece and nephews have had their first deep snow of the year.

Losing Things

There seems to be a subtle theme
in the last week or so.
I lost my keys all weekend
and found them Sunday afternoon.
Saturday I left my purse
at Boston Market
but it was waiting
safe and sound behind the counter
with all of it's contents intact
when I returned about 20 minutes later.
(Thank you for honest people!)
Today I lost most of the dates
on my electronic organizer,
mysteriously erased during backup
with the computer.
No hope of recovery there,
other than wracking my memory
and asking for help from others
who have me on their calendars.
None of these are real losses,
just inconveniences.

Meanwhile, my grandmother
is having small strokes down in Florida.
She has lost a good bit of her vision
in the last few days.

We seem to have temporarily
lost touch with my brother...
no blogs, e-mails or calls
this last couple weeks.
I find I've come to depend
on his blog to check on him
and his family
in non-intrusive ways.

I think I've lost a little
of my bounce today.
I'm home
and a little droopy
on a rainy Monday.

On the bright side,
no shots, removals or
other violence to my skin
at the dermatologist today.
Just an accidental rip
in the doily they gave me to wear
that made for a little
sexier slit
than was originally designed.

Always glad to have
the annual spot check behind me.

The scenery in and around Hogwarts

Saw the new Harry Potter movie yesterday.
Loved it.
One of the things I noticed was the scenery...
(on at least one of the previous movies
if you skip from scene to scene on the DVD
you get to look at the grand sets
and outdoor scenes one right after another...
I think it was the second movie
I skipped through for this discovery,
but I'm not sure.)
I found myself yesterday
wanting to be at Hogwarts,
not because of the magic,
but just for the huge open spaces
indoors and out.
I'm trying to notice
the grand sets
of my daily life,
with more attention
and more awareness.
The Gothic church sanctuary this morning,
the rainy, cloud covered mountains
this afternoon.
The beauty is there,
if I take time to notice.

Everybody loves a tent

We had little boys sleeping in the dining room
during the Thanksgiving family slam.
We set up the tent and threw in some
sleeping mats and sleeping bags.
Footy pajamas and bedtime stories
and teddy bears
and a visitation from little sister/cousin...
and a very, very good time was had by all.