One Wild and Precious Life

So Grateful

I'm not making an extensive post tonight, even though I think I should create works of art every day, like some of my blog friends.  But I'm blown away.  I preached about my daughter yesterday, about how a tragedy can sometimes turn into great gifts.  The response of my parishioners has been overwhelmingly touching.  Your comments here have been manna from heaven for a hungry heart.  I'm slowly, slowly learning that opening my heart means that others will touch me in meaningful ways, and that has happened.  This introvert, this one who was a solemn, lonely, isolated little girl, and who grew into a sometimes rather isolated woman, is learning to open her heart.  God is helping to teach me this; you all are also teaching me that it feels better to have an open heart than not to have one.

This is another example of how the tragedy of losing Eleanor has become a great gift.  My heart feels touched by your responses -- all of you.  I am replenished.  Today was an amazing day, with parishioners reaching out to me, with some of you reaching out to me.  I've experienced God's love through all of you, and I feel better able to face those other uncertainties that life is always bound to hold.

My goodness.  My gracious.  Thanks to the loving, good, and gracious God.  And thanks to Eleanor again.  And maybe more than that, thanks be to all of you.  ALL of you.

And Now, a Pause....

It's that time of the year again.  It caught me by surprise.  Most of our autumn beauty is past, though in Knoxville, down off the Plateau, it's still lovely.  I'm finishing up this church season of Ordinary Time, and making preparations for Advent, which begins on the 28th, the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  We'll be purple at church for a while then, and "preparatory" -- making ready for the birth of God's dream among us, and the final coming, when God wins, once and for all, and goodness and mercy will reign forever.

I've been enjoying another week of mild weather -- the nights are cold, as they should be in the mountains in November, but the days are a warm embrace of sunshine.

But I've been out of sorts.  I'm gaining weight again.  My will to be active, eat right, abstain from alcohol, read and write daily, do yoga -- all the things that keep me feeling really good, has lagged.  The will just isn't there.  And I've been beating myself up severely.  Scold, scold, scold.  Many mental finger-shakes.  Finally a colleague said to me, "What would happen if you moved from a position of disappointment and discouragement with yourself, to a position of curiosity?"  Well, that got my attention!

So I asked myself:  what is going on here?  I asked "why," which is sometimes helpful, sometimes not.  This time, it was.  I realized that I am in a time of transition.  My beloved Bishop (who is my boss -- not the parish where I minister, but the Bishop, is the one that I work for directly) is retiring, and we're about to elect another.  I don't know any of the candidates, and must go forward on trust -- that people I know and love have screened these candidates.  And of course, now I must also do my homework, and find out all I can about the nominees.  But losing my +Charlie is a great blow -- he has nurtured and encouraged me as a priest in the eight years since I've been here.  He knows my parish, and the growth we've experienced since I came here.  A newcomer won't know any of this -- we'll just be that little parish out on the edge of things.

I've also begun the very slow process of seeking another call.  Leaving this parish.  I'm in no hurry; I'm very happy here.  But I have many years yet until I officially retire from the active priesthood, and I will serve at least one more parish in that time.  So I've very gently and tentatively put my toes into the waters of looking around -- and that is a scary process of stepping into the unknown.  There are times here when I feel as though (after 8 years!) my ministry has just begun, just taken up steam.  But the decision to begin the journey into the unknown is always scary.

So with those conclusions, I felt a little better.  Of course I feel a little unsettled; my comfortable and enjoyable routines are naturally being shaken up a bit.

And then I watched Oprah on Thursday.  I watched Marie Osmond, 8 months after the suicide of her 18-month-old son.  She looks good.  She looks better. 

http://static.oprah.com/images/tows/201011/20101109-marie-osmond-4-300x205.jpg

When I say better, I mean more real.  I can look at her face now and see what she's living.  I can see who she is as a person right now.

I've followed Donny & Marie since my daughter was a fan, back in the 1970s and 80s.  I didn't really become a fan, but their faces "registered" with me as cultural icons of a sort.  My daughter had some sort of "head" that she got from her father and stepmother -- a "styling head," that was Marie, I think.  There was a knob with which you could make hair longer or shorter, and a set of "makeup" paints to apply to the face.  I don't recall her using it, and it was always a little macabre to me, this disembodied "Marie head."  I thought the two of them, Donny & Marie, far too happy, far too "pretty," and I thought their teeth were way too big and straight.  I didn't know Marie eventually had 8 kids.  And I certainly didn't know that her son committed suicide by jumping from his apartment window.  Oh, my.  I watched her weep on Thursday.  Eight months is nothing, when grieving the death of a child.  It hurts more at eight months than it did at 8 days -- a lot more.  The shock and denial have broken open into a deep pool of loss, a pool so deep you fear you might never surface again.  It shows on her face.  I love her for that.

I watched her rub her hand over the cover of a scrapbook her son made.  I know that gesture.  It's as though you might feel a bit of the person who owned it.  I watched her say, quietly, "My Baby."  I wept.  And I learned.  I realized, through the truth in her face, her gestures, her words, that I've been there.  I'm still there, sometimes.

And I realized that tomorrow is Eleanor's birthday.  Tomorrow, 42 years ago, I gave birth to my own walking miracle.

Isn't that little bald baby cute?  Yep, 42 years ago I was giving birth, and then 27 years ago, when she was 14 years old,  I was turning loose, I was grieving, I was stroking her things and saying, "My Baby."  She was struck down by a car and killed in the springtime, but forever in the autumn I'll remember her birth.

And my "disorder," my "upset," all became clear to me.  Yes, there is instability in my life right now.  There's a lot I don't know.  But tomorrow is her birthday.  Okay; no wonder.  I guess the rest of my life her birthday and death day will be not-so-great days for me, at least days when I give myself permission to be not-so-great.  It was a great relief to realize this, actually.  Now I can be sad, I can be lenient with myself, I can stop beating myself up and just be sad.  My darling child.

This is how she looked the fall before she died.  Not a "finished product," not the polished and beautiful image she might be at 25 or 30.  She was a kid, with too-long bangs and a blemish on her chin.  But look at that hair, look at those features, and especially at the life in those eyes.  She hated this picture; didn't even show me the proofs when the school pictures were taken.  After she died, I wrote to the company and they sent me these.

  Within weeks after she died, I dreamed of her.  This is how she looked.  We met on this beach and hugged, and I said to her, "So you're not dead, after all!"  And she nodded, and I awoke knowing she was okay.  I believe it.  I know it.  It's a huge comfort to me.  Someday, I'll see her again.

So OK.  I don't mean this to be a downer, but a source of hope and joy.  I came to understand myself better, and feel compassion for myself.  I came to honor and remember my baby.  After tomorrow, things will feel much better again, and I can adjust to the other uncertainties in my life.  I'm grateful for this person who enriched my life, who gave me so much.  Thank you, God.  Thank you, Eleanor.  Happy Birthday.

Autumn

Summer has come and gone since I've written.  But I've been reading my friends' blogs again, and it has inspired me to return.

Since the 3rd of June, my last post, much has happened.  I've had a birthday.  I've lost 27 pounds.  I've been on vacation.  It has been a wonderful summer, though very hot!

For my birthday I was in Indiana and Illinois, visiting family.  I had a wonderful time.  I had delicious strawberry shortcake at an urban church's strawberry festival, a huge affair where over 10,000 desserts were served!  I told them about my little church's festival in May, where we serve about 350.  But it was the same wonderful feeling of a church doing ministry all together, feeding the whole community.

My sister-in-law's yard was in fine form.

 

This is looking toward the neighbor's house.  SIL has had the landscapers in, and they've worked hard on it all.  Here's where I sat in the mornings to write in my journal:

On my actual birthday, I had lunch with 4 high school friends, two of whom I literally have not seen since high school graduation.  We were all part of the same crowd in high school, attending one another's slumber parties, crying on one another's shoulders, playing soccer with a crushed up soft drink can in front of the gym, and laughing till we cried on more occasions than I can count.  It fed my soul so to see them, and was truly the best gift I've received in a long time.  That night I went to dinner with my sister-in-law and her friends at a lovely Italian restaurant located right in the Terre Haute airport.  I had chicken piccata that was to die for, as I watched through the huge windows when a huge, bellowing, blowing, lashing rain storm swept across the tarmac.  I also watched videos on big screens showing scenes of Italy -- and it was such fun to say, "I've been there -- and there! -- and there!"

I had lunch one day with my brother Paul -- the only one still alive (my brothers were all 12+ years older than me).  He seemed his frisky old self, now a year after his beloved wife of many years died.  Ramona, we still miss you.

Then, in July, I went to Buffalo for 2 weeks, staying, as always, with my best friend in the world.  We had such fun!  She has the best little veggie garden on her upper front porch, and we ate a few things from it while I was there.

This is actually a shot from last year, so I got her pretty flower boxes (that we planted together), but not the veggie garden, in the corner where I'm standing to take this shot.  This year the porch was even more beautiful than last.

We spend weekdays at the campground, lazing along and barbecuing, going to the beach late in the afternoon and catching up on our reading (I read the first 2 Steig Larssen books, and two books about compulsive eating, which gave me much food for thought).

Oops, ignore that man -- it's Cheryl's partner and my good friend, Tom!  But you can see the camping trailer where we stay and the pretty, shaded lot where it's parked.  And this is what we saw every night we were there:

Oh, I'm not even sure this is a good example of the best of them!  But the campsite is literally steps from the lake (maybe 100 yards?), and after dinner it was delightful to walk down together and feast our eyes on the beauty of it.

On weekends, when the campground filled with noisy campers and many noisy motorized vehicles of various sorts (golf carts, ATVs, go-karts, motorcycles, and the beach with ski-dos and motorboats), we came back into town (about a 45-minute drive) and did city things, such as the stunningly beautiful Buffalo Garden Walk, movies, and parties with the girls.

Okay, this is a shot of Cheryl and her pretty table -- but quite frankly, when I was with the girls, I was having so much fun that I forgot to take the "girlfriend pictures" of all of us together that I love so much!

I drove home a happy woman.  We ate healthy, wonderful, fresh food, grilled meats, and drank lots of water (along with other libations!).  I maintained my weight -- even lost a couple more pounds.  My soul was filled with good friends and happy times.  I went to church at two cool churches, and got to talk to two cool priests that were new since I lived there.  Ah, it was the vacation that I needed last year and didn't get, because I was too busy in California and too sick in Buffalo.

Yes, I've had bothersome allergies on and off all summer.  But I learned to manage them!  Triumph!  Claritin-D is the antihistamine that works for me with minimal side effects (I believe different ones work best for different people), and also Nasonex nasal spray.  I've had to keep my house closed up and the cooling system fan running all the time, which is a great disappointment for me, as I love nothing better than open windows and fresh air blowing through, when it's cool enough.  But this is how I managed to keep things well under control, so I did not have a recurrence of the bronchitis that laid me so low for two months last summer.

So now I feel rested and energetic again.  This is a testimony for at least one good, refreshing vacation each year, and preferably two.  I've continued to lose a bit of weight, though the heat in Tennessee has resulted in me being less active during August, and now even into September.  My yoga studio closed, so I haven't done yoga regularly, either.  So the weight loss has slowed, and I'm struggling again.

My friend Susan (who's also our parish secretary) gave me a great 18-speed bike she wasn't using, and I've ridden it a few times.  Funny, though -- when I was in my 20s I did not own a car, and my only transportation was a bicycle.  I rode it everywhere, at first with my daughter in a little seat on the back, and then later, she followed me on her own little bike.  My 10-speed bicycle truly was almost like an extension of my own body.  It's not like that now in my late 50s, I can tell you!  It was a great surprise that riding uphill (on this very hilly Plateau) was difficult, even in the lowest gear!  What has happened, except for 3 decades and 80 pounds?  Huh?

But I am energized and excited about the season to come at church.  We're doing 4 sessions on Sunday morning about Christian healing, and it's a lively group of 6 of us.  The Bible study on Wednesday is finishing up our very long study of Exodus, and that's exciting, too.  This is the first time we've attempted a formal study of the "biblical theology" of a book of the bible (though I tend to think that's what we actually do each time we meet), and it's exciting to see people finding the theological themes or loci in the book, and learning more about God, more about humankind, more about judgment, compassion, and grace, as we review what we've discussed.  We'll soon wrap this up and our next study will be the Gospel of Luke.  I've started reading "The Wisdom Jesus" by Cynthia Bourgeault, and think maybe I'll have a book discussion on that for our next Sunday series.  Can you tell I'm well rested and ready to roll?

Just the last bit of wonderful news from my autumn is that my friend Sandi got a new Kindle for her anniversary, and she has given me her old one, already loaded with maybe 100 books, mostly detective novels!  What fun I'm having with it!  What a generous heart, for her to give me such a wonderful gift.  So I'm reading Steig Larssen's third ("The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest" -- I was waiting for it to come out in paperback), and next is the Sue Grafton "U" book.  Yay!  Lots of fiction to supplement the nonfiction that I'm also enjoying.

Now the colors are changing in my yard, and I'm about to uproot my dear veggie garden and reduce it in size by about half.  I'll keep the rhubarb, grapes, and herbs, and try to coax the asparagus to life again next spring.  But it's being reduced from a large, rectangular plot, to a smaller triangle.  The dear parishioner who built my gate is going to help me move my fence, and I've got to get out there and weed and remove the raised beds, so the job can be simply done.

I'm sure all of you are stopping to enjoy the fall.  Take time just to be in a few delicious moments -- as many as possible.  You'll never live these particular days again!

Remembering Mary (1913-1999)

Dear Mama:

I'll start with this one -- my smart-looking mother in her suit and hat, patiently tolerating her fool-for-love husband and the daughter that never smiled for the camera as she wished.

Today is your birthday, Mama; you would be 96.  And you died 10 years ago next month.  I miss you more than ever, you know.  How you would love this place that I've landed in my journey!  Actually, I believe you do see and love this place, and that you're so happy that I'm here; but I wish you were here to share it with me.  How you would love being "The Rector's Mother," the Queen Mother of this parish!

The longer you are gone, Mama, the easier it is to remember this mother, the one in this picture, who often treated me, as you always said, "like a hen with one chick," who tenderly nurtured this girl that you didn't really understand much at all.  You see, you were an extrovert, and I was always an introvert (Doesn't this picture show it?  I cared not at all for what the photographer and you wanted me to do) -- and became even more so after my daddy died, and then as I entered moody adolescence.  My withdrawn interiority left you baffled, I know.  And you didn't know much about raising girls.  Though you were a tomboy, grew up with four brothers, raised three boys before me (and I think you secretly preferred boys), you somehow expected me to be a "girly-girl."  But instead you got the same dirty little rough-houser that I'm sure you were.  But I do know that you continued to love me fiercely, and even admire me, yes I do know this now, more than you could ever say.

Here's another picture; I'm not sure you'd like this one of yourself, but I love it as a family shot (I've posted it before, but I can't resist):
I'm seeing for the first time that, despite your extroversion, you really did not like to have your picture taken.  I know you never felt very good about your own looks, often called yourself "big and horsey," and always felt clumsy and overweight.  And yes, sure enough, you handed down those body image issues to me!  But you also gave me so much more, so much good stuff.  I can't even begin to say it all, won't even try, but we both know all the good stuff, and maybe someday I'll be able to sum it all up.

What I'm thinking of tonight, Mama, are a couple of things in particular.  I'm thinking of your love for the outdoors, nature, and time spent in the open air, which you also passed on to me.  I'm thinking in particular of my fire pit, which is ready for another burn:

I'm wishing that I had got it started tonight, in your honor.  I can't count the number of campfires we sat around in our plastic web and aluminum tube lawn chairs, Coleman lanterns hissing in the background, staring into the fire, adding one log, then another, to keep it burning after dinner, toasting marshmallows on sticks, singing silly camp songs, with you telling stories about your own childhood, or the early years of your marriage, before I came along, or about my brothers' escapades when they were my age.  Oh, those were good times, sitting around that fire.  Thank you for that.

Another thing I'm thinking about, Mama, is what a gardener you were.  Some of my earliest memories are of the African violets you nurtured in the windowsill on South Eighth Street, and how you carefully pinched off the brown leaves and watered only from below, so not to get water on the leaves.  I remember your hydrangea outside the dining room window, which you fed with coffee grounds and eggshells, and how it bloomed pink, though you wanted it blue.  I remember the armloads of tulips that you sent to school with me for my teacher, and the May baskets we made one year for me to hang on neighbors' doorknobs early in the morning.  I know you would love these perennial gardens around my house (though you'd want me to care for them better, or hire someone to do it), and you would also love my veggie garden, and would take an intense interest in my tomatoes, coaching me about how to encourage maximum fruit.  Some years I pinch out the suckers, Mama, just as you showed me, but I forgot to do it this year.  It's too late now; the fruit is already setting.  I know you'd laugh at the little herb bed I put in tonight against the potting shed:

Yeah, I know calling it a "herb bed" is a joke.  I know you're wondering about the lids from the cat litter buckets.  But I lost the little fence things that I used to have out by the garage, and I need something to warn the lawn people not to whack them down with the weed whacker.  Maybe tomorrow I'll go get some more of those little fence border thingies.  And I know it's only peppermint and dill.  The other herbs are back with the veggies, and the oregano's under the ornamental dogwood.  But the dill came up from last year in a small planter on the back porch (there's more!), and it re-seeds so nicely and smells so good.  And you'd appreciate the peppermint in your iced tea, now wouldn't you?  Mmmm, mmmm.  And if it gets too overgrown, the worst that will happen is that it will grow out into the lawn and the lawn people will mow it down, and then it will smell beautiful.

So that's all I'm going to write tonight, Mama.  Happy birthday.  I'm not sure how much birthdays mean over there where you are now, but I know that remembering and good memories and being loved all mean something.  I miss you.  I love you.  These two gifts, the outdoors and the gardening, are what I miss in particular tonight, though you know there is so much more.  I know that you're happy that I'm happy here on this beautiful Plateau.  And yes, I know you're proud of me, always were, even though you only learned to say that to me at the very end.

And now I'm going to bed.  Another gift you gave me, though I've only learned it so very late in life, is to get to bed at a decent hour so I can enjoy the cool beauty of the morning.  There's nothing like running with my dogs in the early morning, especially these next few days when the temperatures are gorgeous.  It's wonderful to see the bunnies and the chipmunks, as well as cats and dogs going about their morning business.  Everything is so fresh and new and holy.  Thank you for the early morning, too.  I hope your journey on the other side is going well, Mama.  I'm sure it is, as you're a worker, just like me.  G'night.

Back Home Again

Okay.  I've had an absolutely lovely time away.  The retreat was great.  All the presentations, including mine, were well-received.  The Mercy Center in St. Louis was probably the loveliest, most gracious retreat center I've ever attended (and I've attended quite a few of them).  I took a couple of pictures of my favorite parts: 

Yes, the Mercy Center has a lovely labyrinth, constructed, as I read the story, over landscape fabric.  It was initially built by a group of women, and mulched with wood chips (wisely salvaged from pruning and trimming on their own property -- oh, that I could get our church to do that!).  Now the dark black mulch is shredded rubber, an excellent choice, I think, and I wish I could get hold of some for my own labyrinth.  It was striking.  It is a 12-circuit, like the large one at Chartres Cathedral in France.  It also seems much like the one at Kanuga Camp and Conference Center, where I actually learned to appreciate the labyrinth.  It does seem longer than the one at Kanuga, though.

The outdoor stations of the cross also touched my heart, probably because I saw them so soon in the Easter Season!  I've longed for outdoor stations at our parish.  We have a beautiful and unique set inside our church, and we use them exactly once a year, during Holy Week.  I'd be happy, though, if others wanted to use them more often.  But in the church, to move from one station to another really only requires a shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.  I really wanted stations that you could actually walk a few steps between.  You might be able to see in this photo that the cross sits in the center of a very large circle that contains all 14 Stations of the Cross, each one sheltered in a small wooden "house-shaped" structure, mounted on a pole.  My idea, exactly!  And executed most beautifully, with great love and devotion.

I did not get any pictures of the presenters, but the Hindu woman (a social worker by day) appeared in a sari; the Muslim woman appeared with appropriate head covering, the Jewish woman wore a lovely yarmulke or kippah, and the Zen Buddhist wore traditional Japanese robes.

I didn't get pictures of them all, but I was so very pleased that they were so warmly received by the audience, a Christian religious order (some of whom, I was told, might be fairly conservative).  Everyone there seemed to want to know more about the worship and mystical practices of the world's great religions.  I was also very touched at the warmth with which my talk and my presence were received.  Though I was much too much of a newcomer to share in the rather intense emotional experience of the entire retreat, I certainly felt loved and welcomed, and that was a Good Thing!

During my presentation, I offered this quote, by Bede Griffiths, an English Roman Catholic Monk:  "If you look at religions as they present themselves to us, it is like five separate fingers.  But if you penetrate to their source -- to the palm of the hand -- you will find they all spring from the same source  and instead of being separate entities they are, at their base, sharing in one common, mystical tradition."  This quote was received with many nods and murmurs of assent.  It's what I believe, too.

I left the retreat warmed to my heart.  I was fed by all of the presentations (on interfaith approaches to prayer, worship, and meditation) and the people who were there; I slept a lot, signifying that I had allowed myself to relax into this time of grace and rest.  I was also installed as a Companion in this order, something requiring more of a commitment than my previous status as "Friend."  I wish I had also taken more photos of this gracious location, with its wide, spiral staircase spanning three levels (but also with elevator), its lovely grounds, and the delicious food we were fed with far too great regularity!  I loved this beautiful and holy place, and do hope to return.

And then I drove the three hours back to my family's home in the easternmost part of central Illinois.  Oh, how lovely that was!  I wish I had pictures, but I don't.  But my heart danced in the arms of my family.  I conversed and broke bread daily with the ones I love, and then also had a lovely dinner with my one remaining brother, who generously shared pictures of himself and others in my family.  He lost his wife 7 months ago, but is coping remarkably well.  I was so happy to see my loved ones doing well, and regretted missing the ones who were working in another part of the state.

This afternoon I arrived home.  I was so, so happy to be with my doggies again.  Mr. Buddy, who seemed to have a sore back when I left, is fully recovered.  My kennel lady was kind enough to text me and tell me of Buddy's return to dancing.  The kitty has taken up residency in a windowsill in my study, and I'm delighted that we can finally all be one family down here.  My  youngest dog, Ms. Clementine, has grown far gentler and more respectful, so the kitty need not live in terror any longer.

So I'm so happy to be here.  I was only gone a week, Wednesday-to-Wednesday, actually eight days, if you count them up on your fingers.  But meanwhile, things have gone wild in my garden!  Just look at a few of these!  I've often had the experience of being gone midsummer, and finding my garden gone wild upon my return.  But never have I had this experience so early in the spring.  Things are so much more lush and beautiful than when I left a week ago!

This tree peony never fails to knock my socks off.  I love the vibrancy of it.  This year it has more blooms than it ever has had.  I made the mistake early on in my time here of cutting it back severely, and it has bloomed ever-so-slowly and sparsely in the years since.  I love the blowsy sensuality of these blooms.

This is only the second year in my 7 springtimes here that I've seen these clustered purple wisteria blooms.  The wisteria is amazing, when it decides to happen.  The problem is that it doesn't like any severe cutting back, and if I actually trim back what has extended into the little tree next to it (see upper right), then it doesn't bloom again for ages.  Of course, two years ago we had a severe late frost -- but I'm ever so grateful for these blooms that occurred during my absence!  Now if I could only nurture back its twin, which was chopped to shreds -- twice -- by my ever-helpful lawn crew.  This year I will try once again to pick one perfect stem and nurture it into a small tree.

I could post a number of other photos I took today, including some dynamite columbine.  But  all of these sweet flowers do announce spring to me.  I love lilies of the valley.  I remember when I was a young teen my favorite cologne was "Muguet des Bois" (flowers of the woods, as I recall) -- the sweet scent of lilies of the valley.  They are such a pretty addition to my springtime.

I can't believe that I was gone only for a week, with nothing but the barest hints of these things when I left!  Now they are all in full flower.  Besides that, when I took my walk with the dogs tonight, I discovered many, many tiny bunches of grapes on my wild-as-can-be (though of a domestic variety -- only neglected) grapevines.  I have a parishioner of Italian extraction, who knows about these things, who insists that all these tiny buds will produce only tiny, tiny heads of grapes.  But it's too late to prune as he has instructed, this year.  And there are so many little bunches!  The very best I can do is to find ways to repel the deer, so that I can eventually see all that develops for myself.  Then I'll know better what I should do for next year.  I have shiny things to set blowing outside the garden to scare away the deer.  I can get some netting (though this is best in battling birds).  I might even surrender to the terrible prospect of "liquid fence" -- garlic and rotten eggs!  Oh, my.  But I'd love to save the grapes that have budded out (pictures another day).

How lovely to get away!  How lovely to visit a fine facility and also be part of a lovely retreat!  How truly heartwarming to visit old locales (including the gravesites of my parents and daughter), and to enjoy the love of my family for a few days!  And how wonderful to return home, especially to an abundant garden!  Thank you God, for all of this!

Sentimental Journey

Okay, I have so much to say that I can't possibly say it all tonight.  I just arrived home from 3 days with my family in Illinois and Indiana.  I baptized a great-grandniece in the little church I was confirmed in (here's the church, St. George's Episcopal, in West Terre Haute, Indiana -- I'll send a picture of the baptism when my niece sends me one):

When I was growing up, we held Sunday school in the undercroft, which was accessed through the cellar doors you still see at the right of the building.  The parish hall, which you see to the far left, wasn't there, nor was the white fence (or paved parking lot, which you don't see in this picture).

Not only was it great to see my family, but it gave me a great chance to revisit old places from my childhood.  It was a rich time.  Yesterday before the baptism I performed, I visited the church where I was baptized myself, St. Stephen's, across the river in Terre Haute.  Then I took a short tour of my old neighborhood where I lived from age 2-8 years, including the corner house where I lived with my parents and brothers during those years:

 
It's a humble little house, somewhat worse for wear, and looking a bit different than when I lived there.  It had gray tar-paper siding then (asphalt? asbestos? that heavy shingled stuff that felt like sand on the outside), and there was an enormous white hydrangea bush in front of that front double-window (which wasn't double then, but rather, just one large, double-hung window).  There was no chain-link fence or flagpole, the front porch and steps were simple cement (maybe painted red?), and the front sidewalk (not even visible in this photo) was in good repair.  That very front room was my parents' bedroom, though it was my grandmother's room when she lived with us.  The side room with the slight bay window was the living room, and behind that was the dining room.  The little part that looks added-on in the back was the kitchen.  The garage has always been there, though it was tan stucco when we lived there.  Those maple trees at the curb were very small when I lived there; my daddy planted them, and one has been cut down -- it was an orderly row of five saplings.  The back yard, which you can't see here, has been changed dramatically; the brick sidewalk my daddy laid when I was 4 (I "helped") has been torn out and replaced with cement "steppingstones."  I almost cried when I saw it.  The last time I was there, the walkway was still there, though very overgrown with grass between the bricks.  I wish I had photographed it then.

I have many other things to tell and show you; but there was such deep-down sweetness and satisfaction about making these visits to well-known and loved sites this week.  I've been writing down memoirs for myself over the last few months, and this "sentimental journey" (yes, the song has been running through my head all day) deepened my experience and stirred up more memories.

It was with some sadness that my dogs and I (they made the trip with me this time) bid my family and these familiar places good-bye.  It's great to be home, but it was a really meaningful and moving visit.

My Birthday, and the Weekend

It has been a good weekend.  Friday I worked on my back porch, clearing, cleaning, sweeping, planting, making it generally a nice place to hang out in the cooler parts of this summer.  Friday and Saturday were cooler than it has been, so it was actually enjoyable to be working outside.  I still want to buy some brightly colored annual flowers for my "window box" planters (that sit on the ledge), but that will come later this week.  Here's some of what I've done so far:

I know, it looks a lot like last year, except I bought a new umbrella with a crank and a catch that allows me to angle it, so I can have shade in the late afternoon (this photo faces West, and now that the big maples are gone, there's nothing to provide shade from the late afternoon sun except this little umbrella).  The leafy green thing on the right is actually a hydrangea that I bought last year at the farmer's market -- the woman who sold it to me had trained it into a little tree (I'll have to do some trimming to get it back there).  The blue pot closest to the camera has dill that re-seeded from the "crop" I had in that pot last year.  I only used that dill a few times, but if you put a little bit in yogurt, it makes the nicest sauce for grilled salmon.  The lowest green thing you can see is something my neighbor gave me -- she calls it "oregano," and it certainly smells like oregano, but it has leaves that almost look like hydrangea leaves -- sharp-toothed, rather than the small, round leaves that most oregano has.  The stems are also thick (kind of like coleus), not like the thin stems of my other oregano.  Anybody have a clue?  On the left is my fountain, made from a Walmart resin pot and a piece of pipe I found near my fire pit.  I'd love to have something on that wall -- but it's vinyl siding and not truly my own home (the church provides this house for me), so I'm not really confident about what I can actually do.  You can also see the two new boards that replace splintery ones -- I haven't stained them yet.  A parishioner did that repair for me -- the same one that made me the pretty little garden gate that I posted before.  Here's another shot:

If I'm standing at my back door facing vaguely northwest, here's what I see.  In the little planter on the ledge are coleus, given to me last fall by my spiritual director.  They're small just now -- I let them go far too long, rooting in jars of water.  But I can tell they're growing.  Soon I'll have 1 or 2 more of these planters, also planted with pretty coleus.  If I look at this corner, here's what I see:  the little concrete garden angel with a broken wing that a clergy buddy won for me at one of those fun gift games where you can open a new gift or steal one from someone else.  She was a real pal.  The coleus given to me my my spiritual director.  Down below, a bird (heron? ibis?) in rusted metal that my sister in law complimented after I bought it at the Pier I "scratch and dent" store.  The mosaic pot is one I bought at TJ Maxx, and it has lemons that remind me of the Amalfi Coast in Italy.  The bottom is busted out because I left it out and it froze -- but it's still pretty!  The gray thing to the right of the hydrangea tree is a funky little bird feeder that I won THIS year at the same silly gift-game event.  The pot on the base of the birdbath has a little rosemary that wintered over outside.  I transplanted it, so let's see if it survives my merciful ministrations.  On the table, at the very, very far left of the picture, you see a small gray thing.  It's a sweet little cement pig that my artist friend, Rara Schlitt (the one who painted my black Julian) made and gave me.  He's laughing, and I love him.  So this view contains a whole bunch of things that have connections to people I love.  No wonder I love being here!  Behind the porch is my potting shed.  When I came here, it was an airless, moldy mess.  There was ZERO ventilation, and it smelled like the various fertilizers and poisons stored therein.  See that raised up thing at the very top of the roof?  It's a vent that the SAME parishioner (the blessed one of the new boards and the garden gate) installed when he replaced the moldy roof.  And he also installed a screen door that I bought and painted the same blue as the porch railings.  I know, some people think the color on the railings and screen door is way too "loud" -- but it makes me smile.  Anyway, he also installed a skylight in the potting shed (other side from this view).  So instead of dark and dank, now it's dry and light, though way too messy and full of spiders, still!  But this view contains lots of love and affection -- things people gave me and did for me.

I also cleaned and filled THREE hummingbird feeders.  Here they are (look for the dots of red, the most difficult being above and slightly to the right of the one that is at the far left):

You can also see the screen door on my potting shed here -- I seldom close the wooden door that is opened within, which is why it stays so dry, light, and well-aired in there.  No windows, though, except the skylight.  The tree is my flowering cherry, that blooms in both spring and fall.  Much clipping and trimming needed, of course.  On the left is my bird feeder (you can't see it -- it looks like a little church), but you can see at least the bottom squirrel guard (there's also one on the top), and they seem to be effective.

And now I must go.  My family is here -- from Illinois!  It's the best birthday gift I could possibly get!  I didn't even mention my 56th birthday (Thursday), which included a flat-on-my-face, spread-eagled, face-down fall in the parking lot of the retirement community where I do a monthly communion service.  The row of little old ladies who saw me fall, with their faces wrinkled with concern, was solace enough (my Greek chorus to the parking lot tragedy) -- and they patched up my skinned knee and leg in the on-site clinic.  A parishioner buddy bought me lunch, which was absolutely lovely -- and then I went off to a dentist appointment (broke a tooth last Monday) that went from a simple $100 repair to a $1175 root canal and crown in the blink of an eye.  Happy birthday to me, and thank God for dental insurance, even if the coverage is only partial!

So Friday, Saturday, and Sunday really were more like a birthday, with the pleasant day off from work, when I could engage in home (well, porch) making, and the arrival of gorgeous Roman glass earrings (from an archaeological dig in Israel, where I also obtained Roman glass nearly 10 years ago) from my best friend Cheryl.  I put all my cards from friends, family, and parishioners on the mantel, put on my earrings, and began to feel like queen for a day!

And now my family!  I spent almost the whole day cooking for them (tabbouli, hummus, curry-rice salad, real brewed iced tea), just enjoying every minute of preparation and anticipating their arrival.  And now they're here, and I feel so blessed to have them!  Today I feel like a domestic goddess.  It was lovely to watch them eating and enjoying some of the goodies that I made for them!  Tomorrow I will also enjoy them (even though I have a couple of mandatory meetings), and then they will be off on Tuesday to Disney World in Orlando to watch darling Maddie dance.

A Study in Contrasts

I attempted this post yesterday, and Typepad froze up on me; let's see what happens now, when I've got a little more time and energy, and not rushing out the door to a parish dinner!

It's nearly mid-December; not far from the solstice.  But it sure doesn't feel a lot like Christmas to me.  I've got flowers in my garden:

Forsythia, and the fuzzy cherry blossom below:

and look at the buds on my Lenten rose!

My veggie garden is just about done for the winter.  I need to do some more work there, trimming off the asparagus, rhubarb, and raspberries and adding some nice compost mulch, as well as more mulch work on the paths.  I'm hoping my parsley, rosemary, and thyme will make it through the winter -- it's an experiment.  But this really isn't the time for all that garden work -- too busy.  Still, I see why they call Tennessee the Volunteer State: look at the volunteers in my veggie garden:

My brussels sprouts this summer were a mess, getting the actual sprouts in the leaf joint, but nothing inside -- just outer leaves.  But after I pulled the plants out, look what came up later!  And then there's the lettuce.  I don't have a lot of luck with lettuce from seed, for some reason -- maybe I bury it too deep, or not deep enough, or maybe the birds just like the seed.  But look what I have in December:

and this, right in the path!

Sigh.  Sometimes I think my garden does better when I just stay out of it!  At any rate, you can see why I'm not feeling much like Christmas.  And my real energy is channeled right now into my Haden studies.  It's a good feeling; I'm loving the reading, anticipating the writing (3 short papers), and excited about graduating.  It just doesn't leave a lot of enthusiasm for the holiday itself, but that's okay; my Christmas enthusiasm waxes and wanes from year to year, anyway.

I do have my little 4-foot tabletop tree up, though:

This tree is perfect for me, and is also pretty with just the lights and no ornaments.  I wasn't sure I'd decorate it at all this year, but finally did put on only my very favorite ornaments, the ones that bring back lovely memories.  There are two that my daughter specially decorated: one is the white cat that you can see on the right, just about in the middle of the tree.  The other isn't really visible, as its hanger has broken off (note to self: sew on a new hanger!), and I've tucked it between the branches.  It's an embroidered Christmas tree, with many stitches on it.  Eleanor worked for weeks on it, and it's so precious to me.  I'm also listening to Christmas carols as I write my morning pages, so I'm not entirely without Christmas spirit!  But I don't think I'll probably assemble my huge, funny creche, made up with the figures of every living thing I have in the house, from Red Rose Tea figures to a plastic robin that plays "Rockin' Robin," to a snack wagon where the angels line up for a burger (I do have some pictures from last year, though -- maybe I'll post them this year).  It's always fun and makes me laugh, but it's just too much work this year.

And then on Monday, I decided to bake some cookies for a cookie party I attend every year.  Last year's effort was a disaster (never try a new recipe the day of the party!), and I went with none.  This year I browsed the Betty Crocker Cooky Book that my mother gave me when I was a young mom myself, and I decided to make old-fashioned rolled, cookie-cutter cookies.  I was immediately flooded with warm memories of childhood, sitting in the kitchen with Mommy while she mixed the dough, singing Christmas carols with her from a little carol book that I still have, and Daddy in the dining room in front of the fireplace, cracking black walnuts for the fudge.  Then we'd get out the cookie cutters and go to town.  Mommy wasn't much on icing them, though occasionally we'd use colored sugars and nonpariels, but I always got to choose the figures and cut them myself.  Tuesday, as I selected the ones I would use this year, soaking and then gently brushing them sparkling clean after decades of non-use, I could feel my mother smiling over my shoulder, watching.  The cookies themselves were no great shakes -- lemon sugar cookies with a good flavor, though.  I rolled the dough 1/4" thick, as the recipe directed, but they rose up way too high, sometimes looking puffy and distorted.  Surely 1/8" thick would have been better.  Next time; live and learn.  It wasn't really the rolling, cutting, and baking that was fun, anyway -- it was looking at those cooky cutters again, mixing up the dough and putting it in the fridge to chill, and feeling my heart so full of gratitude for the wonderful memories my parents made for me.  That was the best Christmas gift of all!

So it's springtime outside (though we may get snow on Sunday), it's study-time inside, and Christmas still manages to sneak in around the edges.  I'm a lucky woman.

Happy Birthday, Eleanor

This has typically been a forum where I honor my best-beloveds.  Last Wednesday (the 14th) was my daughter's birthday.  I simply couldn't make a post on Wednesday, and on Thursday I struggled with a variety of photos that I could not size correctly, and gave up.  Today I decided to do my best, with several still improperly sized.  Eleanor would have been 39, had she not been struck by a car and killed in 1983.  She was 14 years old.  It was a very, very long journey to any sort of healing, but healed I am (admittedly, with scars that will be with me forever -- but I carry them with honor).  I scanned a number of photos, and could not seem to edit them to proper size.  I've done it before, and don't know what step I may have left out of the process this time, but I can't possibly delay this post in honor of her any longer.

Eleanor was born when I was 16, the product of an impetuous youth, but a great gift.  I raised her as a single mother since I was 19, when her father joined the military and moved halfway across the country.  Just about the time he came back to the midwest, I moved the other direction, to Buffalo.  Five years after we moved there, she died, and half my heart was struck, as well.  Until I lost her, I truly did not know how much a part of me she was.

Here's Eleanor as a little, nearly-bald baby, held by my mother:

It's a little blurry because I enlarged it -- but you can see her clearly.  What a sweet, happy baby!  I always wondered what I did to deserve her.

We were usually best of friends, obviously.  We kind of grew up together.  The next photo that came out size-appropriate is much later, when she was 10 or so.  That's a great age for a girl -- old enough to be great conversational company, but not quite into full-tilt adolescent horribilility yet.

Isn't she something?  Not only beautiful (look at that lion's mane of hair), but both brilliant and wise beyond her years.

Here she was, the fall before she died (in May).  This was not far from her 14th birthday.

You can see the beginnings of a really beautiful girl here.  And her spirit was beautiful, as well.  She was clever and talented, and so much like me that it almost makes me weep.  Writing was her main talent (as it is mine, I think).  She was in full-tilt, diffiuclt adolescence, but still sewed doll clothes by hand.  She was an anigma and a paradox, and managed to enrage me on a regular basis.  We were fierce, but we loved each other so.  I have another before she died:

This one is far from perfect, of course.  I couldn't get it edited to the proper size for this blog -- thus the great space here between photo and text.  But I am on the left, Eleanor is on the right, and we were given matching sweatshirts the Christmas before she died.  Gosh, she was gorgeous -- but we both weren't bad.  I miss that friendship we had, though the friendship was limited -- sometimes I was "The Bi---" (fill in the blanks) because of the limits I set.  I acknowledged that being that "Bi---" was my job just then, and managed to live with that.  It's really a parent's job sometimes, isn't it?

Losing Eleanor was the single most definitive event in my life, I think.  Having her was traumatic, and lots of our lives together was hard work.  But losing her was greatest.  I grieved long and well, and I still grieve, though less intensely and less often.  Maybe someday I'll write the details of that grief process, and all the lessons I learned in that process (and still learn, from time to time).

I am risking one more photo, poorly edited.  I took it in New Jersey, Sandy Hook, on the Atlantic shore.  We both loved the ocean.

See, I hate all the white space, but haven't had the time and energy to figure out how to modify it.  But this is the important thing.  Shortly after she died, I had this dream.  It was her, just like in this photo.  We were both on the beach, and I saw her, just like this.  I said to her, "So, you're not dead, after all," and she simply nodded at me.  I can't remember if we embraced (in my memory, we did -- but there is so much healing that has taken place by now).  I awoke knowing that the dream was a visitation, and that she was truly not dead, and really okay (dead, of course in the physical sense -- I was not in denial about that -- but surviving somewhere, somehow).  It was the first gift of her presence that I ever received, but not the last.

Eleanor, you know I love you.  Live long and prosper, my child and friend, wherever you are.  And my prayers go out this day and always to parents who have lost a child.

Sweet Day, Labor Day

September 1 was my father's birthday (I just checked the genealogical pedigree my brother gave me), though somehow I was sure that it was today.  He died when I was 8.  I sure wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a daddy who adored me (as he did).  I wonder what he would have been like as an old man (he was 54 when he died).  I suspect I might have been an entirely different person if I had grown up with a father, and I wouldn't wish for that -- but still, there's a kind of wholeness that I'll never know, growing up in an intact family.  I had a dream about that once, where my father hugged me as an adult, and I said to myself in my dream, "This is what it feels like to be whole.  You must remember this feeling."  According to family "lore," my paternal grandfather was eccentric at best, and a paranoid, crazy old loon, to be more frank about it.  This "diagnosis," of course, was handed down in the days before people knew much about mental illness, and even less about Alzheimer's Disease.  I wonder if that's what Daddy's old age would have held for him.  In any event, my memories of my daddy are pretty much all adoring ones, and so I wish him happy birthday with a loving heart this evening.  If he were still alive, he'd be 102!

Today was simply the sweetest day I've had in a while.  When I went out for my run this morning, it was in the 60s, and before I warmed up, my shoulders in my sleeveless shirt were actually cool.  That was a blessed feeling.  I've been having success with increasing my running time by 5 minutes -- I tried to increase by a full 15 minutes and had no luck with that, so I backed off.  Now I run for 35 minutes (well, I'm not running all that time -- I call it an "old lady run" -- I walk up the biggest hills, so it's nearly half and half, running and walking).  It feels so good; even when I don't want to go, I'm so glad I did when it's finished.  I'm addicted to the endorphins, I guess.  And my dogs love it, both for the exercise and for the time we spend together. When I run, I know I'll have a good day, so I do it 3-4 days a week, at least.  So cool shoulders were the start of a sweet day.

Now when I say "sweet," I'm not talking about some sort of smarmy, sentimental kind of sweet -- perhaps our current slang word "sweet" is closer to what I mean, though that kind of "sweet" seems pretty superficial -- what you might say about a car with leather seats or a half day off school.  No, the sweet that I experienced today was so deep down satisfying and good that I can feel it right now, at 10:30 at night, and it almost brings tears to my eyes.

After my run, I sat out on my back porch with a big mug or two of water (oh, I love the slightly cooler temperatures!), and wrote my morning pages.  My magnolia that grows just off the back porch was badly damaged by our "Easter freeze," and had many dead limbs up above, but was recovering thick green growth down lower.  Eventually the dear parishioner who has worked like a demon in my yard, broke off all the dead stuff, leaving nothing but green regrowth.  Well, now, get a load of this:

The crazy thing is going to bloom!  Full magnolia bloom the first week in September!  So that gave me great joy as I wrote and gazed on my back yard.

Of course, I couldn't sit still in any disciplined way and simply write morning pages.  I got distracted.  I got out my loppers and lopped dead, freeze-damaged growth from my lace cap viburnam.  Then I watered and trimmed all my outside containers, gathering the hose from the front porch border where I used it last, back to the back where it belongs.  I trimmed some branches from my cherry, dogwood, and holly trees, and dragged all the lopped off trimmings to my brush/burn pile.  Of course I got myself all heated up and sweaty by the time I was done -- but I was so pleased with the results!  And at one point I was just sitting, gazing at the back yard, hearing an unidentified bird singing, thinking of possibilities for "rearranging the furniture" in my gardens and making them truly my own -- and my heart just filled and filled with so much joy that I thought it would burst.  I feel so grateful to have such joy in my life, and that my heart somehow knows where to find it.

Late this afternoon, I went to a parishioner's house for grilled ribs (I know, I'm refusing to eat pig (did you know they have the intelligence of a 3-year-old?  How can anyone eat something that smart?) -- but once in a while I just can't refuse gracious hospitality, and she changed the menu the day before the event, and I'd already accepted) and wonderful sides and desserts.  I brought a watermelon from my garden (I still have 3 left now).  It was sweet and delicious -- the watermelon, and the time with other people.

Finally -- I am so grateful on this Labor Day night, to have work that "satisfies and delights [me]," as one of the thanksgivings from the prayer book (page 836) says.  Don't tell my parish, but I can't believe I get paid to do what I do: reading, writing, preaching, teaching, and relating to people sometimes on a deep-down level.  Sure, there are challenging and unpleasant bumps from time to time, and the learning curve for me has been steep, and has taken years.  But I am so incredibly happy here, and can't really imagine being anywhere else.  So this Labor Day is one more occasion for me to give thanks to God for giving me more than I could ask or imagine.

Tomorrow I drive to Knoxville for a get-together with clergy colleagues.  It's an informally scheduled thing with buddies, so I'll be excited to spend a few hours there.

I hope your weekend has been as lovely as this day has been for me.