One Wild and Precious Life

Happy Easter!

Well, we've passed through the glory and the agony of Holy Week, and now we're in the Great Fifty Days of Easter.  You've gotta love a holiday that lasts not just 12 days, like Christmas, but a full 50 days!  Yep, that's Christian Easter!  We get Easter clear up to the Day of Pentecost (May 31 this year)!  Yay!

This week has been a week of "normalcy" in my schedule, and also of holy rest.  I've slept deeply every single night, and also napped every day, I think.  Holy Week, if you really enter into it, can be an intense and exhausting experience for anyone.  If you're a priest, it's a lot of activity.  And if you're in a really good spiritual place and a priest, it's a lot of very intense activity.  And even though it doesn't seem like a lot of work at the time, because the spiritual energy is so intense -- afterward, a good rest is in order.  Most priests take the week after Easter off; I chose not to because I'm taking a week from this coming Wednesday to the following Wednesday (more about that later), and also because I will take time in the summer, as well as the 3 weeks in the fall to go to Italy (2 weeks of which will be continuing education time).  So I'm gently resting in the midst of a return to normal parish life.

On Monday, though, here's what I got done:

Yes, the labyrinth is completed!!  I'm not sure what drove me to do it on Easter Monday, except that it was a beautiful day, and there was only that one circuit to complete.  It did mean collecting and hauling two trunkloads of stone, but I did seem to have the energy and motivation!  I'm so very pleased with it, and will tell you about this evening's experience later.  I want to talk about two more things first.

I'm preparing for a retreat in St. Louis.  It's for an Anglican religious order called "The Worker Sisters of the Holy Spirit" (there are also Worker Brothers).  I'll be installed as a "companion" in this order at the retreat.  The theme this year is interfaith approaches to prayer and meditation.  We're leaving out all the theology, and skipping right to the heart -- the encounter with The Holy in each of the 5 major religious traditions:  Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam.  I get to make a presentation on Christian meditation (and contemplative prayer), and then engage in a dialogue with a Zen master.  I'm so excited.  What a wonderful opportunity for first-hand interchange and learning.  I've long loved Thich Nhat Hanh, and his writings about the intersections between Christianity and Buddhism.  Wish me well!

I will also get to see my family for a brief time on this trip, and I miss them.  I'm really, really looking forward to it.  I'll stay in my sister-in-law's home, and also get to see my wonderful grand-niece, Madeline Anne.  Yay!  And on the way back, I'll see my brother, too.  My last remaining brother, who was so very good to me when I was a little girl.

The second thing I want to talk to you about is this:  Susan Boyle.  I post the URL for the two people in the whole world who haven't seen this appearance on "Britain's Got Talent."  Why, you might ask, do I bother to post it, to mention it?  Why on earth would I possibly care about a plain, rather chubby, perhaps invisible middle-aged woman, who comes across a little bit ditsy at times, but who is, as Simon Cowell says, "a little tiger," and possesses a pearl of great price within her?  Gosh, I don't know.  Don't have a clue.  All I know is that I listen to this You-Tube broadcast over and over and over, and cry and laugh every time.

Now:  tonight's labyrinth walk.  I've been walking pretty much every day.  Having my own labyrinth is as great a privilege as, say, having my own swimming pool or hot tub (how I'd love those!)  As you may have gathered, this time in my life is incredibly spiritually rich for me.  So I quiet myself at the start, as I always do.  I have no particular question or problem as I begin, but I'm aware of being both incredibly grateful, and also that I need to ask so much for myself.  "Thank you" and "Please" are the words that I can articulate.  I begin to walk quietly and meditatively.  Almost immediately I notice sticks and dead vines (that I've pulled as I was building it) in the path.  I stoop each time to pick them up, and soon I have one hand nearly full.  Then I hear God's voice.  It's in my head, but I don't believe it's my own self-talk voice.  It says, "Take care of what I've given you."  And I know that voice is about taking care of the labyrinth (which was totally a God thing, as far as I'm concerned -- I couldn't have done that much work all on my own), but it's about so much more, too, in ever-widening circles.  It's about taking care of myself: my body, mind, and soul; my pets; my home; my family; my parish and all I encounter in the course of my work; this community, and yes, even the world, praying and advocating in whatever ways I can.  "Take care of what I've given you."  Yes, it's a call and a big job, but also a big gift, to hear this.  I'm not sure I deserve to have heard God's voice, but I have.

Now:  Have any of you heard God's voice?  I don't seem to hear it as some biblical characters do -- coming from the outside, like "hearing voices" (in our culture, that's a sign of mental illness).  No, my experience of this (I actually only have a few times when it has happened) is that it's a voice in my head, but it's not my voice.  If it were my voice, it would have said something like, "I must take care of everything that God has given me."  But this voice definitely said, "Take care of what I've given you."  It was a directive.  That's one of the Big Ways I've heard God's voice.  Often it has been much more subtle -- like an idea or a hunch.  Or a sermon.  Y'all don't possibly think that I just think up or make up my sermons every week, do you?  Nope.  I consider them gifts that are "given" to me, almost like dictation that I just copy down.

Anyhow.  When I hear God's voice, I always want to tell someone.  And I usually think maybe it's a message that's not just for me, but for other people, too.  So maybe there are things you all need to treasure more, and take better care of, too.  Well, if the shoe fits, is all I can say.

But I do hope you're rejoicing in the power of the Spirit, and in the power of true Resurrection!

Sabbath, Redux

Well, after my "working vacation" week at Chautauqua, I hit the road for Buffalo.  I knew how badly I missed Cheryl when I sat down as soon as I entered her home, and we talked for about two hours straight.  We stayed in Buffalo that weekend, rather than heading for the Lake; apparently the campground where she parks her trailer has a huge celebration every July 4 weekend, including a big bonfire on the beach, a live band, and all night partying.  Not being the party-hearty gals that we used to be, we chose to stay home.  That gave me the chance to go to church at Calvary Episcopal in Williamsville, NY, where I served as Assistant Rector for 3 1/2 years right out of seminary.  It was great to see familiar faces, but I did forget that midsummer without air conditioning, even in Buffalo, can be a tad warm.

Sunday afternoon, 3 old friends came over to Cheryl's, and she prepared an elaborate and wonderful tuna nicoise salad which we munched on all afternoon.  The best part, of course, was the conversation.

Monday, Cheryl and I hit the grocery store and then headed south for a week and a half on Lake Erie.  All I can say is, it was wonderful.  Here are a few pictures:

Our sweet little home.  And below is where I spent a lot of time reading, journaling, and drying out magazines that got left in the rain:

Cheryl is a late sleeper, so I had most of the morning to myself to make coffee, write morning pages, eat breakfast, read, walk the 50 yards or so to get a look at the lake, and putter around.  Fortunately, Cheryl and I both are heavy sleepers, so I could rattle and bang around in the tiny galley kitchen next to her bedroom, and she didn't even roll over.  It was lovely to have that leisurely, solitary (introverted) stretch of morning to ponder the mysteries of the universe.  When Cheryl woke, we would talk while she ate her breakfast.

The  bulk of the day was spent in various leisure pursuits, including trying to find wireless internet access, walking around, or:
I have to ask you: who kidnapped me and put me inside that fat woman's body???  Still, the hammock was heavenly, and even more so after I raised it up higher, so my butt cleared the ground by more than just a couple of inches.

From 3-5 pm I went to the beach every day (well, okay, it did rain a couple of days -- but that's not bad for a week and a half on the lake!).  I love my little rituals, and having a set beach time was perfect.  After the beach it was cocktail hour, and I came home, had a gin & tonic (or 2, or several), and started dinner.  Since I enjoy grilling, Cheryl left that part of the dinner up to me, and she took over table setting and salad-making.  Yum, yum.  We had steak, fish, lamb, chicken, grilled veggies, pre-assembled skewers of meat and veggies, and all manner of wonderful treats.  Evenings were devoted to reading, conversation, the occasional campfire, and reasonable bedtimes for me (though Cheryl tended to stay up late reading).  Oh, and I forgot the nearly nightly walk back to the shore to check out the sunset.
Yes, they looked like this nearly every night.

I was so sad to set out that last morning for home.  I wanted to linger, but I knew I needed to make the whole drive in one day, so an early departure was mandatory.  I wanted to get home Friday night, so I would have all day Saturday to unpack, do laundry, sort and open mail, and generally settle in.

One of the things that Cheryl and I do for one another is share what we're currently interested in, and inspire one another with good ideas and good intentions.  Cheryl has been on a "healthy eating" kick, and she inspired me to add lots of fresh fruits and veggies to my diet.  I'm better than she is about exercise, doing yoga 3+ times a week and running 5 days most weeks.  So the last few days she and I took long, brisk walks together and talked about hopes and dreams and goals.  I think we both got a healthy dose of motivation from each other!

When I got home, I felt energized and inspired.  I went to both the farmer's market and a roadside stand, and bought lots of healthy fruits and veggies.  I decided to cut out cocktail time altogether for a while, all to the aim of losing as much of this excess weight as I can manage.  I got back into my running practice, and also started a home yoga practice, even if just for a few minutes a day.  So far, I've lost 4 1/2 lbs. in the 2 weeks since I got home!  Yay me!  I've also got new energy and enthusiasm for work, which is part of what vacations are for.

So I recommend it.  Exotic travel is great.  Working vacations can also sometimes be great.  But I think God made the Sabbath for us because God knew we needed some time to be still and do nothing worthwhile.  That's where re-creation, even Resurrection, happens.  I'm so grateful for my time away, and so glad to be back home with my work and my dogs!

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.

Fire

Tonight I had the most perfect fire:

It started with a huge burn pile that I had to eliminate.  I wish I had a wood chipper, but I don't, so I burn most of my brush refuse.  It does make lovely wood ash for my garden, though.  Today was the perfect day.  It was in the mid-60s F, enough rain in the last few weeks that I didn't have to worry about the occasional errant spark, but dry enough for several days that the pile of large and small brush and wood was not water-soaked.  The large pile always scares me, and I always swear that I will never let it get that big again -- but I nearly always do.  My house sits on about an acre (maybe even close to 2 acres), liberally dotted with trees and shrubs -- so I make a lot of brush in a few months.  I have a lovely fire pit, which I dug myself, 8-10 feet in diameter and bordered with rocks that I've salvaged from my yard, mostly.  When I dug it, I imagined fun evening gatherings with groups of friends -- that we would sit around, talking, gazing, laughing, and probably drinking late into the evening.  Of course, the church keeps me busy enough that I don't exactly have "groups of friends," so those happy times have not materialized.

At any rate, this afternoon was the time to tackle the burn pile.  And it was lovely.  There was just the kind of breeze that, after that first, scary half hour burn-down of a big pile of dry brush, it kept the embers flared up into a nice fire.  I even added 3-4 logs from my well-seasoned (seldom-used) wood pile.  You see my chair, and that small square on the left is actually my gin & tonic perched on an old tree stump, waiting for me to sit and enjoy.  I just went out to check it, and it was smaller, orange, and glorious.  Honestly, I could gaze at a campfire like this for hours and hours, thinking deep thoughts.

The fire, after it settled down, reminded me of the new fire that we light at the Easter Vigil.  For a couple of years, we had a lovely, large fire, set on the church's burn pile, which was in our huge, unpaved parking lot, about 100 feet from the church.  The new fire of the Easter Vigil represents the light of Christ, the resurrection, that light, our Gospel says, that the darkness can not overcome.  The last year (2006) that I had that lovely new fire, the men piled up just the right amount of brush, and it was impressive, but not dangerous.  The year before, I almost burned my eyebrows off, trying to light the Paschal candle from a massive brush pile fire.  But last year was different.  Two weeks prior to our Vigil in 2007, a beloved parishioner, the one who actually laid out the new fire for me, was burned to death in a brush fire at his home.  Last year nobody had the heart for a big, celebratory new fire.  I went back to my previous practice, which was lighting a small new fire in an old frying pan, made with epsom salts and rubbing alcohol.  It makes a lovely, "flambe-type" fire, I can light the candle, and can extinguish the fire by simply popping the lid onto the frying pan.  Some day we will have a large, lovely new fire again, constructed from our brush pile behind the church.  But not yet.  No one has the heart for it quite yet.  We can't help but think of Ray, and grieve.

So, Holy Week.  It was the best one I've ever, ever had.  Every single service:  Palm Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday (2), Thursday, Friday (2), Saturday, Easter Sunday -- all were deeply meaningful for me.  The Stations of the Cross on Tuesday were something I've grown to love over the years -- they were not part of my Protestant, Episcopal upbringing, and they seemed slightly melodramatic to me.  I've come to realize that melodrama is what you create -- or not.  The Stations are what they are -- 14 profiles of the road from trial to crucifixion for Jesus.  We don't do anything trendy, like make them "relevant to social justice issues," as the local UCC church does.  They insist that it's all about Jesus confronting the "powers and principalities."  Well, that's in there, but the Stations are so much more.  This year my heart was touched deeply -- I'm not sure whether it was the content of the devotions themselves, or the willing participation of everyone who attended the service, reading prayers,  shuffling from station to station inside the church (a matter of steps), or the solemnity with which we all participated (including me).  It's hard to review those 14 "Stations" without being moved, if you are a Christian believer with an open  heart.

Wednesday was Tenebrae.  These once-a-year services can be a challenge.  Tenebrae is about light and darkness.  It's a monastic service of psalms, prayers, and candles.  After each reading, a candle is extinguished.  One candle remains that is removed from the room.  After a loud noise (we clack two wooden blocks together), the remaining candle is returned to its holder -- again, the light that the darkness can not extinguish.  We depart in silence.

Maundy Thursday is a little different.  We begin with a celebratory meal:  lamb, Waldorf salad, a green vegetable, potato, and bread.  Wine at the table, no dessert.  It's probably something like the Last Supper as described in John (which was NOT a Passover Seder).  I really have problems with Christians having Seder meals -- more about that another time.  After the dinner, we clear the tables and celebrate the Eucharist right there in the dining room, with participants passing communion to one another right around their dinner table.  Then we process solemnly into the church, reciting Psalm 22, while the altar guild and I strip the altar and the chancel (the front part of the church, where the altar and lectern are located).  Then I wash the 5 crosses on the top of the altar with consecrated wine.  We leave the church in silence.

Good Friday we have two services:  from noon till 3 pm we have a time of silent meditation and prayer (these are the traditional times when Christ hung on the cross, until he died).  I do readings on the quarter hour -- psalms, a poem, some readings from Julian of Norwich and James Weldon Johnson (who wrote a powerful sermon/poem called "The Crucifixion" in the African-American preaching style).  Then at 5 we have the Solemn Liturgy for Good Friday, along with communion from pre-sanctified elements (we can't bless bread and wine from Good Friday until the Great Vigil of Easter, so we use bread and wine that has already been blessed).

On Saturday is the Great Vigil, one of the most ancient liturgies of the church, dating from the 4th or 5th Century.  It's when new Christians were baptized; we didn't have baptisms, but we do begin the service in darkness and candlelight, and midway through we go into a blaze of light, Alleluias (can't use those during the 6 weeks of Lent), and celebration of the first Easter service.  Sunday morning is an anti-climax, after the Great Vigil.  We have four readings that trace the course of salvation history, and then on to the Easter Gospel and champagne in the communion cup!

Every single service touched my heart.  I was exquisitely aware of how much work every single person involved did to make this week Holy.  I was humbled by the amount of work people were willing to do.  I have taught for 5 years now that walking the way of the cross during Holy Week makes the joy and glory of Easter even fuller.  This year it felt as though a good many people "got it."  It's a satisfying feeling, to feel that your teaching might have made a difference in someone's experience of the Holy.  I saw the face of Jesus, every which way I turned.

And now, I'm getting ready to go on a cruise.  More about that tomorrow.  I am packing and arranging and writing (my sermon for next week, not this week) as fast as I can.  My camera is broken (I'm getting a new one), or I'd take pictures of the piles of books I can't sort through, so will take them all, and the piles of candy-colored clothes I'm taking to wear in the Caribbean tropics.  My phone/camera still works; maybe I'll be able to grab some shots tomorrow in the full light of day.

One thing I do need to say about this cruise is that it is being financed by my big-hearted best friend -- a graduation present for the Haden Institute I completed in January.  I can scarcely comprehend this kind of generosity.  More reflection on that, too.  Now, off to bed.  Tuesday I had my pedicure; tomorrow I get the fingernails done to match, in addition to packing and working and preparing...

On the Third Day of Christmas...

Happy Third Day of Christmas!  I'm so glad that I get to celebrate twelve full days (not nearly as good as Easter, though, when we get fifty)!  My tree still glitters merrily, and only last night I finally got the garland that holds my cards to look right.  I'll admit, I've had it with Christmas carols on CD, but the Christmas chants by Anonymous 4 still hit the spot.  I'm amazed at the television fare; except for a few commercials, it's as though Christmas never happened.  All those months of buildup, and now it has disappeared.  Macy's is still having their after-Christmas sale, though, I see.

So I've been sick.  I know, priests aren't supposed to get sick at Christmas, but it's a stressful time.  There are lots of administrative details to take care of:  three service leaflets in three days (with a secretary who gets very anxious and needs lots of gentling), very special services that have lots of visitors -- potential churchgoers among them -- and that only happen once a year, so it's always hard to remember just what to do.  But there's lots of heart-work to do, too -- people widowed during this year -- the holidays in the first year are always the worst, and other singles who are blue about being alone at this "family time," and others also under stress with very touchy feelings.  I try to touch base with most of these folks at some point during the season.  And of course, that's not even to mention my own personal heart-work -- memories of my daughter, my mother and father, my beloved youngest brother, times when my holidays were full of loved ones who are gone.  I guess it's not so surprising that some little bug or other might penetrate my immune system at a time like this.  So Sunday night I knew a cold (I hoped it was only a cold) was coming, and Monday, Christmas Eve, I was truly sick, but just a cold, thanks be.  The great juggling act was planning when to take the antihistamine so it would be in effect during the service (a sneezing marathon on Christmas Eve, with communion to celebrate, just wouldn't be elegant) -- but not so early that I would collapse unconscious on the altar during communion.  It went fine.  Then there was Christmas Day, which I usually love, to negotiate -- I did manage to be cranky to the wrong parishioner, who is now holding a grudge -- sigh.  I love these services though:  for me Christmas Eve feels like "Silent Night, Holy Night," and Christmas day feels like a cross between Charles Dickens and George Herbert -- a merry morning service before a celebratory day.

After church, I spent most of the day on the sofa, though I did manage to get a turkey into the oven (love those leftovers), and cook it badly (undercooked at first, then dried out the white meat).  Oh, well, the white meat will be fine in pot pies.  I prefer dark meat anyway -- why don't they breed turkeys to have more of that, rather than those huge breasts that their poor little feet can hardly hold up?  This one was free-range, but I'm not sure it was in any way superior to the regular, mass-produced (and far cheaper) turkeys.  What think others?

Today I had planned to take a vacation day, but the secretary was in a panic about the newsletter, so I had to be in the office.  I also had my sermon to finish (yay!).  So I spent most of the morning essentially constructing the newsletter myself, because there was the problem of having to fill an even number of pages (6, as it turns out) with an odd number of pages of material (5, as it turns out).  So we had fun with spacing and clip art, and I didn't need the extra hassle.  Our usual couple who come to fold service leaflets and newsletters also told us TODAY that they wouldn't be available, so we had that task to do, as well.

And now here I am, with a week that I intended to be celebratory and productive (all that reading and writing I have left to do -- current status is 5 books and 2 papers by mid-January), wasted whining on the sofa (have I said that I don't like being sick, and tend to whine?), or working when I should have been whining on the sofa.  But I'm better today, and intend to continue improving.  I have two full days yet to read and write, so no telling what I'll be able to accomplish.

But I do have to add this:  my holiday was not entirely gray.  I had many gifts and phone calls from family and friends.  My best friend Cheryl was her usual generous heart, and we had a great time last night on the phone talking over every single gift.  We both had similar "themes" this year -- she did a lot of Italy (that trip in 2005 was a golden moment we'll share forever, as we share many other golden moments).  My "theme" was a more general theme of travel -- I sent her a bunch of stuff in a funky little suitcase.  And my family was thoughtful and generous, and my congregation gave me a cash purse that is a lovely addition.  I also got many gifts from parishioners, including an Amazon.com gift certificate that I look forward to each year with great glee.  So I do feel loved, even though I know it shouldn't be about the "stuff."

I didn't do my nativity scene this year; I didn't have the time or energy for it.  It's a big production for me.  Yesterday my cleaning lady even asked about it.  But just thinking about it makes me smile, so I'm going to show you some pictures from last year.

Here's half of it -- the most panoramic shot I could seem to get:

I put a door atop a library table, to get the biggest surface possible.  Here are a few details:

This is the Holy Family, with a shepherd.  Please note mistletoe, red rose tea animals, kitties, a mouse with a piece of cheese, and on the far right, a glow-in-the-dark Virgin Mary, given to me by a friend who bought it in Rome.  Also note the airplane that has landed on the right-side roof of the stable.  These are the fun details that make me smile.

Here's what I call "The Poultry Corner."  Yeah, yeah, the kitties are nearby, as you can see (lower left) -- but they all seem to coexist.  The palm tree in the upper right corner is a bit hard to make out, as is the back of St. Patrick (lower right) as he waits to speak to Santa Claus.  The Baby Jesus has lots of opening acts and warm-ups during Advent, before he finally makes his arrival on Christmas Eve.  I don't think I got a good shot of Elvis seranading the Holy Family.

Here's a group waiting in line at the snack wagon -- obviously the Baby Jesus has not yet entered the stadium, ladies and gentlemen.  In the upper left, you see the Red Rose Tea polar bear (tiny), lurking just behind the acrylic bunnies that I got at Big Lots last Eastertime.

Okay, I think that gives you an idea of the eclectic nature of my creche.  I love putting it together and laughing at the funny groupings and arrangements I come up with.  I love finding funny things to add.  This year I had planned to add a dinosaur from Tractor Supply, but I simply ran out of energy.  Next year.  Baby Jesus seems to love all the visitors to his nativity, whatever their size and scale.  And I really do think that's the way God loves us:  large or small, ridiculous or sublimely beautiful -- God loves each and every one of us as though we were God's very favorite child.  More about the Christmas season later, but that's enough for now. If you celebrate Christmas at all, I hope you'll take the time to celebrate all twelve days, and not stash everything away on New Year's or (horrors!) even the day after Christmas!  Some of us even stretch the season clear to Candlemas (February 2), when it's time to get ready for Valentine's Day (or Lent this year, which begins on February 6!).

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.

Quiet Day

Today I facilitated an Advent quiet day for 6 women.  It was supposed to be a diocesan event, hosting Daughters of the King from all over East Tennessee.  But the people who were supposed to publicize it didn't do their job.  I spent about 3 days being mad about that.  I couldn't cancel it, because I had publicized it for our parish to attend, as well, and I didn't know who would come.  Yesterday my spiritual director helped me realize that whoever was supposed to be there, would be.  Now, usually I'm not all that agreeable; I can stubbornly insist on staying mad for a much longer time than 3 days!  But last night or this morning I realized that wanting large numbers of people to attend was about my ego, not about the quality of the day.  And I realized that a smaller number of women (yes, I was pretty sure it would be all women -- maybe ONE man that I could think of) would actually be ideal, and would make the day really good for everyone involved.

The theme of the day was: "Gathering Up the Pieces: Using Collage for Spiritual Growth and Self-Exploration."  My first presentation was on Seena Frost's "Soul Collage" technique.  I thought I'd introduce the main concepts and give people some time to play.  After lunch, I wanted to tell (and show) them about treasure maps, which my friend Fran introduced to me, and then a technique (loosely speaking) that I've used on my own, which involves a very fast, intuitive selection and pasting of images related to some issue I might be struggling with in some way.  It's only later, when the collage is done (maybe even weeks and months later) that I'm able to see the work that I've done through the use of these images.  The example I showed the group was my own work in re-incorporating the sacred feminine into my own life and soul.  It has been a long road, a spiral really, back to the place I was 18 years ago (more about that another time).

Seven women attended, all from our parish.  It was great fun.  I felt so comfortable with them, and went into more detail and self-disclosure than I would have in a group of 50 strangers.  I got to play, too!  I didn't have to worry about how others were doing (I could assess that in one glance around the room), and I made a prototype for my very first soul collage card!  I had many odd-size cardboards, taken from the insides of calendars, shipping boxes, and other flat products I purchased (shower curtains, drapery panels) -- so it is not a uniform size like I would use if I were really hard at work on a deck of Soul Collage cards.  But here is my first one, as best I could photograph it (too big for the scanner):

If I made the requisite "I am the one..." statement, it would be something like, "I am the one hidden in a pillar of cloud.  I am the one who soars above.  I am the one who bridges the gap between the familiar and the unfamiliar.  I am the one who makes all gods one God.  I am the One.  I am She.  I Am."

I also did another in the second half of the day.  I had cut out a bunch of images that I thought would be about play, and then when I got them and assembled most of them, they seemed a little more about worship.  I don't have a clue what it all means, but it was fun, and here it is:

Anyway, it was a fabulous day.  Really fun for me, and I think others also had fun.  One woman couldn't seem to do a thing, but maybe she'll work with me further.  Seven, it turns out, was the lucky number: ideal.  At the end of the day we shared our images, and I heard some great stories and saw some great images.  Then we celebrated the Eucharist (communion), and the day was over.  I am so grateful for this day.  Thanks, Fran, for all the guidance and inspiration on collage.  You were on my mind and in my heart all day today.

Now, wish me luck again with all the reading and writing I have to do in the next 5 weeks.  I'll post when I can, but I'm obsessed with finishing this Spiritual Direction program.  I finished my Tilden Edwards book (Spiritual Director, Spiritual Companion), and am now about 1/3 done with Margaret Guenther's Holy Listening.  I have just over five books and 3 short papers to finish, so it's full-court press here (don't you love basketball metaphors from this native Hoosier?).  I love this stuff -- it makes me come alive, and that's what life and the kingdom are really about.

Halloween!

The RevGalBlogPals have a ritual known as "Friday Five."  I'm just learning a bit about this group that I joined, but like the tone of these five questions, different ones each Friday, and so will answer them:

1.  How did you celebrate this time of year when you were a child?

Oh, Halloween was a lovely time!  My mother liked to make my costumes.  The ones I recall most vividly were: ballerina, Medieval/Renaissance lady (complete with conical cap with soft, flowy fabric coming out the top), Martha Washington.  But each year until I was at least eight I had something different and creative (my mother was very creative, and a LOT of it got channelled into ME!).  I always went trick-or-treating around the neighborhood, collecting massive amounts of candy, homemade goodies (those were the days before the worries), and even some pocket change, for those who didn't buy treats.  I also got a few red delicious apples, which I have always hated.  As a young adolescent, just beyond the age of trick-or-treating, my friends and I would go out with scraps of soap and soap windows.  Such fun.  Very inconvenient, but relatively harmless, and easy to remove with water.  Not like graffiti.  Then a bit older, I often had a slumber party for 10 of my girlfriends on or near Halloween.  We would go to a local field, steal the field corn (aging for animal feed), and "corn" the houses of people we didn't like.  That involved flinging handsful of corn kernels at windows, where it made a delightful, frightening clatter.

2.  Do you and/or your family celebrate Halloween?  Why or why not?  And if you do, has it changed from what you used to do?

I really don't celebrate Halloween anymore.  As a young adult, I used to go to parties, often making up costumes.  One year I went as Artemis, complete with filmy tunic and bow and arrow.  But I drove in too many blizzards on Halloween in Buffalo, and eventually gave it up.  After seminary, I lived in a village where children still came door-to-door, and I bought a witch's hat and a hollow pumpkin for treats.  I had fun figuring out treats that would be approved by parents, but still enjoyed by kids.  Glow-in-the-dark stars, handed out by the handful, were popular.  Here I'm on a highway, off the beaten path, and have no kids in my parish.  So I don't get kids calling on me.  I tend to celebrate "Fall" more generically, and sometimes buy mums and pumpkins, always have a big straw hat with (artificial) fall mums on it that I hang on the door.

3.  Candy apples:  red cinnamon or caramel-covered?  Or something else?

Caramel, definitely, though I don't eat them at all these days.  If I do anything, it's hot, spiced cider (recipe below).  If I buy a tub of that caramel stuff, I'll just eat it all, and I don't need to do that!!!

4.  Do you decorate your home for fall or Halloween?

Yes.  See above about my pretty straw hat.  No pumpkins or mums this year.  My geranium from summer is coming back, and I don't have the heart to replace it.  And orange would clash terribly.  I don't do specifically Halloween, but I found (way in the top of a cabinet) a little ceramic ghost candle-holder, which I got out this year.  I also have a beautiful crystal cornucopia that I often fill with small gourds and tiny Indian corn.  I don't have it out yet this year, but it's not too late -- it holds me over till Christmas decoration time.

This year I will be "preaching" a children's sermon on October 30 at a local Christian School sponsored by the PCA (conservative wing of Presbyterianism).  The headmaster is great, though.  Several years ago I got in trouble for encouraging kids to bring pets to the blessing of the animals on St. Francis day -- apparently some people believe that animals can't be blessed because they "don't have souls" (please!  my dogs most definitely have souls, and in our church we even bless candles and palms and water, for goodness sake!).  Anyway, apparently the teachers had to set the kids straight on this theological principle, and I wasn't invited back for quite some time.  I'm so very tempted to preach about Halloween and All Hallows' Eve and All Saints' Day, and how Halloween, far from being "the work of the devil," is more like a holy time for honoring mystery and those we love who are no longer with us.  More controversy in the Bible belt -- stay tuned!

5.  Do you like pretending to be something different?  Does a costume bring out an alternate personality?

Nope.  It's hard enough just to be authentically myself.  I don't like costumes or costume parties at all.  As a kid, they were fine, though the masks were always incredibly limiting/ blinding/ uncomfortable.  I'm just a big Halloween spoil sport.

BONUS:  Post a recipe

I'll post two.  For spiced cider: a gallon of fresh-squeezed apple cider (hard to get here in Tennessee, but hard to avoid when I lived in Buffalo).  Put on the stove on low, and add 2 sticks of cinnamon, 4 whole cloves, and maybe 4-6 whole allspice.  Grate on maybe 1/4 of a whole nutmeg.  Keep simmering it on the stove till it all disappears.  YUM.

Here's something really special: how about Persimmon Pudding?  The prerequisite is that you go out and find a wild persimmon tree in the country (hint for those in Western North Carolina, I know where at least one is at Kanuga Camp & Conference Center.  I'll divulge the location for a small fee).  You wash off all the wild persimmons you pick off the ground (NOT the tree -- if they haven't fallen, they'll be so bitter that you'll be puckered up for hours -- try it!).  Put them in a food ricer, or you could use a colander and press them through with a wooden spoon -- good luck.  Get pure persimmon pulp, and proceed on to this recipe, from an old boyfriend's mom (oops, I see she got it from a newspaper, but it's delicious):  Mix together:  1 cup persimmon pulp, 2 well-beaten aggs, 1 cup milk.  Sift together (I don't sift, only stir with a fork for a while):  1 cup regular flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, 3/4 cup sugar.  Stir liquids into dry ingredients.  Blend into mixture 1 Tablespoon butter (melted?  the recipe doesn't say).  Pour into well-buttered pan.  Bake at 325 degrees F for 1 hour or until done.  I think I used a 9" square pan.  It has been 30 years, probably, since I've made this.  I've never used those big, fancy, Japanese persimmons in the grocery store, so I can't imagine if they're the same.  If you're lucky enough to get real, wild persimmons, the pulp can be frozen.  I've got some seeds, and will probably plant some trees.  Funny how when I get older, and have fewer guarantees that I'll be around for the harvest, I'm also much more patient and willing to plant things that take a while (like my asparagus).  Persimmon pudding comes out cut in squares, usually, like VERY mushy brownies, and is good with whipped cream or ice cream on it.  YUM.

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.

Ah, September!

It's hard to believe that this is the last official holiday weekend of summer.  On the one hand, it has been such a long, hot, dry summer.  But it's still hard to believe that it's September already!  I'll be happy to see fall come, and the temperatures have been cooler these last couple of days.  When I got back from my run (later than usual, because I slept in so deliciously!), my weather page said it was 68F outside.  Lovely!

One of the things I love about living on this Plateau is that the seasons are fairly evenly divided, and I'm happy to see each one as it comes.  In Buffalo, I thought I would die by the time the snow ended (snow season was October to April, with cold spells continuing well into June), and spring was nearly non-existent.  Summer flew by in a flash, and was accompanied by guilt pangs whenever I chose to be inside, rather than outdoors, soaking up the weather.  And autumn, though beautiful there (as it is here), was always the occasion for depression, because my body knew that the long, long winter was just around the corner.

Today I worked in the garden for a spell, and then I got a double batch of spaghetti sauce on to cook for hours.  I use the recipe from Joy of Cooking (my all-time favorite cookbook -- it has nearly everything in it), but love this direction:  "Cook until sauce starts to thicken, about 10 minutes."  HA.  I mean, really.  I don't know what kind of tomatoes they used, but I use Romas, which are supposed to be the best for sauce; and my sauce doesn't start to thicken significantly for hours.  I used 5 lbs of tomatoes, and have over a gallon of sauce on the stove now (it will be less, once it reduces and thickens).  I'll freeze it in quart zipper bags, laid flat on a cookie sheet, and then stack it in my freezer.  It will be so very good on those busy winter evenings when I don't really have time to make something from scratch, but can heat up some of that sauce and eat it over pasta.  Yum!  The flavor gets very intense and lovely, cooking for hours as I do it.

This time I had the good sense to cook it in my soup pot, rather than a single batch in my large frying pan (full to overflowing).  Mmmmm -- it smells so good right now!  I've probably got enough tomatoes in the garden for another double batch, even with all I'm eating on sandwiches and in salads.  My hands were all wrinkly from washing and chopping tomatoes and herbs (though I'll admit I let my food processor do most of the chopping, once I had things chunked up).  At least I got the garden dirt out from under my fingernails!

Want to come over for dinner?  Bring more salad greens, and I'll make garlic bread, too.  A nice Sangiovese di Romagna would be lovely with this.  My sermon's done, so we can just finish off the whole bottle!