Miss Sudie

In the one-thing-leads-to-another category, yesterday I found myself combing through a document my great aunt had written about her parents many years ago. I'm sure I had read all this before (and in fact much of it probably appeared in an autobiography that my aunt published for family about 20 years ago), but I felt as though I were reading the information for the first time. 

Chalk it up to mid-life reflection and a host of other things, but I find that I am hungry to know more about the people whose lives have a direct bearing on my existence whether through my gene pool or the impact of relationships. 

Such is the case with Sudie, my maternal great-grandmother. She is of special interest to me for several reasons. She is my mother's mother's mother, and as women know, the influence of our mothers on our lives has perhaps the most profound and significant impact on shaping what we believe and how we find our way to who we become. Of all my progenitors from that generation, Sudie takes center stage. She is also my closest link, in terms of kin, to Tennessee. She was born in 1869 and raised in Bedford County, about an hour from where I now live. I attribute my love for this state (geographically), to the genetic memory I carry from Sudie. As I unearth and become familiar with old family photos I wonder more and more about the woman behind the deep-set eyes. Reading the words that follow serve both to satisfy my hunger and whet my appetite for more.  The first paragraph are the observations of my aunt; the remainder from my grandmother.

Meet Miss Sudie:

"Mother had a remarkable memory and intellect... she never seemed to forget any information she acquired. She had an extraordinary facility with words. Perhaps some of us inherited that from her. She was never at a loss to define, pronounce correctly, or spell any word. Her mathematical skill was close to genius; she could solve any mathematical problem. She never forgot her Latin and was able to translate any amount of information about plants and their botanical names. She often said that if she had not married she would like to have become a landscape architect, or a pipe organist."

"I believe the underlying source of Mother's endurance, her patience, the interests of her life, was her deep, genuine religious faith. The faith that enabled her to live just long enough to have taken care of Daddy to the end. The faith which gave her strength to get up at night when she was suffering from what I later believed to have been angina, and go to Daddy's bedside when he said to her, "Miss Sudie, do something to make me feel more comfortable." The faith that kept her private devotions of daily importance, which led her to continue family prayers without Daddy, even if it were only for herself and Fanny; faith which supplied the energy to teach a Sunday School class of only two or three black children at Melrose on Sunday mornings when there was no other Sunday School for them to attend. The faith that gave her face that spiritual beauty."  

"I can't think of an other person I have known who had Mother's kind of faith: one that was never conspicuous or intrusive, but one that permeated her entire life, adding strength to her gentleness, endurance to her delicacy and a genuine love to her interest in other people. It is my conviction that this faith was developed and strengthened over her lifetime and must have been the outgrowth of intense suffering at some point."

"When you consider her as a very particular and excellent housekeeper, a gracious hostess of unlimited hospitality, a tender and devoted mother, a serene and loving wife and nurse, and combine these attributes with those of a manager of farms and business, a leader in church work, and a moving spirit in community uplift, it seems an almost incredible combination. Yet she never sacrificed her gentleness of character and her sweetness of nature to the sterner demands of her life."

How blessed I am to have such a woman impact my life.  What a challenge it is to emulate her!

stream of consciousness (pun intended)

We were in Gatlinburg last month to celebrate our anniversary and get away to our favorite place for respite, The Buckhorn Inn. It is truly a hidden gem of hospitality tucked into a fold of that mountainous area with an extraordinary view of Mt. LeConte, one of the highest peaks of the Great Smokey Mountains.

The morning we left to head home we took a walk along one of the area's many trails that featured early blooms of trillium, wood violets, and other beauties unfamiliar to me. The trail pretty much follows the curves of a tributary to the Little Pigeon River, and I never tired ot trying to capture the enthralling beauty of the water spilling over and around rocks as it tumbled its way down the mountain. At one such point I encountered a wee cairn, pictured above, that someone took the trouble to assemble not long before my own arrival at that point.

My own life doesn't include a tradition of cairns, but both my grandmother and her sister seemed to follow suit when they erected cairns on the family homestead to mark the occasion of their respective weddings.

 

my grandparents posing at their wedding cairn in Georgia

It never occurred to me when I had the chance to ask my grandmother about them, but now the genealogical sleuth within wants to know. I wonder about a family tradition based on nothing more than the fact that these are referred to in the photo album as cairns. A cairn is a distinctly Scottish word, referring to an erection of stones to mark an event or occasion of significance. Scripture is full of "cairns," though the reference to them is of building altars to the Lord (think of Jacob after wrestling with the angel). My great-great-grandmother was a Davidson, of Scottish descent.  I am more inclined to think that this idea became fashionable by some other means, however. Our Davidson ancestors came to this country more than two centuries before the weddings of my grandmother and great-aunt, and had such a tradition remained intact all those years, it seems unlikely that it would have ended with my grandmother and not been passed on to my mother and shared with me. 

All of that wondering notwithstanding, this morning I am thinking about cairns, and the ways we mark or acknowledge events of significance in our lives.  Communities large and small seem to do a better job of this than individuals, or perhaps they are just more visible. Marking anniversaries of victories, defeats, transitions and transformations is something we appear inclined to do, perhaps as a way to uniting us or offering us a means to feel that we belong to some thing and some place bigger than we are. 

Do you have a cairn, real or metaphoric? And how does it serve to draw you back or urge you forward in your life? This inquiring mind wonders.

can you believe it?

I actually scrapped!

Last summer I had occasion to dabble in some digital scrapping (for the life of me I can't remember why), and I discovered that there were some real benefits to the digital life. Like the fact that I don't have to worry about running out of paper, embellishments, or anything else that I like because they can be used over and over again. There are a whole variety of other tricks of the trade that are possible to create the images and finished products desired as well, but I am far from being anything but a novice in the area. The technical aspects are a challenge since I am not photoshop or other-editing savvy, but bit by bit I am learning. And finally, I am creating.

I had a bonus day at home yesterday and decided to seize the opportunity to work on a couple of layouts. The one above was based on a "sketch", which I more or less followed pretty precisely. The one below, of Cross in February (I just realized that I mistakenly identified it as Thanksgiving: oops!), features a favorite picture. The design is my own and pretty generic, but I admit that I am pleased with it. I have concluded that I lack imagination when it comes to design, and rely heavily on the work of others for inspiration. I am beginning to develop a sense of placement and utilization of things I wouldn't have thought of (like the gray circle), and taking some risks with patterns and color, but I have a long way to go before I am churning out distinctive and eye-catching (and pleasing) layouts the way some of my friends do.

All of that aside, I am happy that I finally produced something. I have plenty of pictures with which to play, and inspiration to keep me on that sharp, learning edge. One technique at a time, perhaps, and before I know it I'll be a rock star. Maybe.

easter joy sans community

This isn't my first Triduum and Easter season not to be serving a church. It is my first go-round working in a secular environment and not feeling connected to any local community of faith. It's been an odd time of feeling simultaneously deprived and liberated.

We talked of attending an Easter Vigil at the local Lutheran church last night, but never rallied around the idea. I suspect we won't rally around the pancake breakfast and morning service at that same establishment this morning. I'm okay with that. I have missed the powerful liturgies and moving music of Holy Week, but I have also learned that it is still difficult and painful not to be an intricate part of them. It seems the kinder thing for my tender soul to go without. 

Adrift during the last year to consider and reflect on my relationships with Jesus, and with the Church, I've turned over some interesting and provocative thoughts about the identity and role of each in my life. It's been a useful inner dialogue as I continue to search for my niche in life and the world. I've been free from espousing conforming doctrines and giving the proverbial nod to parishioners who want to cling to less-than-liberating notions of what it means to believe and have faith. I am willing to meet people where they are, and believe firmly in the pastoral obligation to do so, but it is staggering how stagnant the belief systems of so many are who fill our pews and count themselves among the faithful. As my own faith has evolved over the years the distance between congregational contentment and my own willingness to seek and risk has pushed me into the outlying environs of the land of no return. Or so it seems at the moment.

So it is that I find myself at ease with celebrating Easter this weekend creating on the home front: assisting Ken with the ongoing effort to erect the fence for the dogs (what progress, in recent weeks!), sewing Templar capes for our investiture next weekend, and continuing to draw lessons on life from my father's recent death. All of these things stir the energy of my being and draw me toward new life in one way or another: freedom for the dogs and for us; discovery through new relationships joined by common values; and valuing the fullness of a life whose brokenness cast more of a shadow on mine than its wholeness did. 

The power of God's grace and redemption is richly distributed through these experiences of my holy week, and I find myself better equipped, in a way, to discover the depth of Easter's power by living its realities in my daily and ordinary life. To borrow from and alter Charles Dickens' oft-quoted line, "I will honor Easter in my heart and try to keep it all the year." That, to me, is the essence of knowing the risen Christ.

Happy Easter.

all are punish'd

I had the pleasure of filling in for a priest-colleague yesterday while he was out of town. The parish is known for being inclusive, and the spirit there is always one of vitality. The congregation is full of people with many talents, not the least of which is the willingness to engage in conversation surrounding potential difficult issues. Between services I joined their bible study group, which takes the approach of exploring scripture in juxtaposition with current events. Yesterday we looked at the story known as "the rape of Dinah," (Genesis 34) filled with issues of violence, justice, and vengeance, contrasted with the recent massacre in Afghanistan of families and children.

The conversation was thoughtful, penetrating, and respectful. We concurred that we didn't have enough information regarding the soldier in terms of his state of mind, and what may have prompted a course of action that virtually everyone suggests is contrary to his nature and history. Our conversation focused on the issues and implications of what took place, not on passing judgment. 

Inevitably we touched on the nature of the conflict as it has been waged these last eleven years, both in Iraq and Afghanistan, noting parallels to the experience our military faced in Vietnam. In particular we voiced our concern that our military are confronted by an enemy that is no longer conventional: women and children are carrying out the deeds of what was once an adult male military force. When we can no longer tell the difference between friend and foe, what impact does that have on the psyche of the people who are put in harm's way? If it becomes commonplace to see women and children as targets, what becomes of us?

The question left hanging, for me, is this: at what point is the mission not worthy of the cost to the whole well-being of our men and women in arms? Do we ask them to lay down the lessons and values acquired during their lives from of a culture rooted in striving to be honorable and decent? Do we do so expecting them not to be changed by that experience, and to return home as the proverbial boys and girls next door? We delude ourselves, if this is so.  

These questions need to be considered by more than just our military and congressional leaders. Each of us as citizens benefiting from the freedoms our soldiers defend and protect must also ask ourselves if it is right to ask our young men and women--and their families--to make this sacrifice.  Going to war is no longer just a matter of risking lives, but of abrogating essential values.  To consent to that perversion is to become the very enemy we fight.  For that, we all pay a price.

I am reminded, yet again, of a closing scene from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, where the prince addresses his community mourning the loss of those whose lives got caught in the cross-hairs of hate.

Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!

See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,

That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

And I, for winking at your discords too,

Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish'd.

act 5 scene iii

We cannot afford any longer to wink. There is far too much at stake. 

hello, it's me!

These days I only seem to have time on the occasional Saturday morning to visit here and say hello. The last few months at work have been incredibly full, with the two most demanding events in my job description falling back to back in February and March. Add to that my father's death and you can understand how I overlooked the fact that all the promotional material for Marlee Matlin went out with the wrong day (correct date) on it. Big Cringe.

Anyway, we were back in Connecticut last weekend for dad's memorial. It was a good weekend, in spite of plans for virtually everything that wasn't the memorial service itself being very fluid. I've learned over the years to be a lot more relaxed than my natural "J" tendency would suggest, but the vagueness of plans was a bit much in an already emotionally delicate weekend.

There were, at least, a few tasks to be done that helped ground our time there. Mom, for instance, arranged the flowers for the service. We headed out Friday morning to select the blooms, and I took my camera. I suggested that some day I should document "a day with mom." Think of this as a dry run (even though I didn't get any pictures of her actually putting together the arrangement).

There's an especially good floral/garden place not far from where she lives, which is where these two photos were taken. Talk about floral heaven! It's a refrigerated room filled with color, fragrance and texture. It was hard to resist choosing something from every bin, but resist we did. The parameters for choosing the blooms were a request from Linda (dad's companion) that the colors be bold.  It's not as easy a task as it might appear, in spite of all the choices! Fun, nonetheless.

In keeping with Quaker simplicity there was one arrangement, flanked by two candles. Even though the hint of March's heatwave was in the air, it was cool enough on the day to have a fire in the fireplace. Think of it as a perk of Quaker worship. The logs that were burned came from the apple tree in dad's back yard that finally went the way of all living things a couple of years ago. Dad loved that tree. He gazed out at it through the picture-window in the dining room from his seat in the living room, reflecting on the parallels between its life and his own. Those reflections generally found their way into his Christmas letter! By the time the service and accompanying reception concluded the ashes were cool, and we scooped up a bunch to mingle with dad's cremains. I can see his satisfied smile.

On Sunday our cousin Ginger, who came from Atlanta for the weekend, took us all out to brunch. Afterward mom took her to the airport while the rest of us convened at dad's house to take a first pass at some of his things. The house is now Linda's, and she will remain there, at least for a time. I think for all of us it felt a bit surreal. We each selected a few books from dad's massive collection, and I came home with a box of letters and photos that had been his mother's. There are some real gems among that assortment, included a photo from the 1880's of the choir from the Wilkes Barre Methodist Church. And to think that all these years I thought my grandmother was a homegrown Presbyterian! (Her mother is in the picture of the choir, but there are a number of church-related items that make it pretty clear this was the family church.) I plan to scan a lot of the photos, and then some of them will go to Mt. Holyoke, my grandmother's alma mater. This is the centennial year of her graduation in 1912. No doubt you'll see a few of these in due time.

Sunday night we enjoyed dinner with my dear friend from grade school and matron of honor, along with her husband and mother (my godmother) and mom. We shared a selection of tasty goodies at a local Thai restaurant, concluding the weekend with full tummies and some good catching up with old and wonderful friends.  I had to chuckle when my godmother leaned over to whisper to Ken, whom she had not met before, "I like you better than I thought I would." 

Back in Tennessee life goes on, and I now have the task of figuring out how to get dad's piano shipped here.  It's the one thing that has been in his possession over the years that I have wanted when this day arrived. 

When I can find that time to sit and compose the post I want to share something about which my brother spoke so eloquently at the memorial. For now this post has rambled on long enough, and it's time to tackle today's to do list. 

Until the next time, may the luck of the Irish be yours.

a recycling trip

So yesterday we planned to make the trip to take our recycling stash to its respective location, then make a stop at a local shopping center on the return trip home to 

1) pick up some ceramics that Ken had painted and had since been fired

2) return some socks to Target

3) drop off old, no longer functioning printers at Best Buy

4) pick up some fabric to make the capes we will need when we are invested with the Knights Templar next month.

We decided that we could leave at 11 to make it to the recycling center and then to the shopping center by noon when the ceramic store opened. Well, the day unfolded a little differently than planned.

We started off on track: recycling accomplished! The recycling center is in a plaza where there is a Big Lots, and Ken had noticed a 20% off coupon good for that day only. I need socks, so we decided to "pop in" and look for socks. 45-minutes later we left the store with Easter goodies for the grandkids, grapes for Ken to plant (he is hellbent on making his own wine one day), some spring onions for planting, and some bling for a St. Patrick's Day event we plan to attend. No socks. 

By now it was lunch time and we were hungry, so we took a route to the shopping center that went by a fairly new Indian restaurant that we discovered a couple of months ago. Score! Fabulous lunch. On to the ceramics store.

Ken told me that I wasn't allowed to come in because he had also painted something for me. No problem, I thought, I'll just mosey up to the next section of the shopping center and make a quick stop at Chico's. I figured I could scope out the current merchandise to see if there was anything I wanted in order to take advantage of a coupon (that was at home). Once Ken learned I was there he wisely made a stop in Books a Million and found a book that is recommended for Templars to read. Close to two hours and 30 items of clothing tried on later, we left Chico's with a modest purchase in hand.  

Next stop? Target to return the socks purchased the week before (the socks in the photo are representative). Would you believe those suckers wouldn't even fit over my ankle? And I do not have big ankles. 

On to Joann's, where it was not such an easy thing to find 12 yards of the right white fabric for our capes. While there I also picked up a stash of sympathy cards (see previous post!). Thank goodness for coupons.

And then... the second of our printers at home bit the dust, so we decided to check out the options while we were at Best Buy to unload useless printers. We missed by one day the sale to save $130 on the printer I wanted, so we decided to make our way across the street to another store where we found a suitable Lexmark on sale. 

Finally, at 5:05 pm we were on our way home. I'm never happy to yield my day like this, given that my weekends are about the only time I have for leisure and to take care of things on my own "to do" list, but at least it was a productive day. And we now have a functioning printer, although it hasn't yet been set up.

How about you? What did you do with your Sunday?

swimming in loss

This has been a rough year for losses. It literally began on new year's day when the husband of a friend, who was himself a friend, died following complications related to treatment for colon cancer. He left a devoted wife and a teenage son.

My Mom has been hit particularly hard. Two friends made during the early years of her marriage to Dad died within weeks of each other a short time ago. These weren't just friends made, but friendships that sustained and enriched Mom's life from that time forward in myriad ways. Dad died in between those losses. And roughly at the same time, the husband of my "other mother," Anna, passed away. 

About a week ago the father of another friend passed away. He was also a friend to me, as was the entire family during my early, seeking years of renewing faith. The spiritual mentoring I received, not to mention the love and support shared so generously from the hearts of that family, were of profound and significant importance in my life. 

It is not a shock that successive losses among my mother's peers, and the parents of my own peers, is taking place. People die in their 80's with some regularity. Still, when loss comes it hollows our hearts and parts of us are forever altered. It is our time to be caught in that cycle of loss, remembering, savoring, and endeavoring to honor whatever legacy has been our privilege to inherit through the people we love and the treasured saints who have shaped us.  

This has been, for me, a period of extensive reflection on the relationships I cherished, and the manner by which I honor, or fail to honor, the relationships I have now. I have a long way to go before I feel good about the latter. The good news is that I have begun to shift away from inertia and toward action--something of a challenge for an introvert. I believe that that, too, is part of the cycle of growth that is the fruit of loss, rooted in love. It is a shift past time, but not too late.

This post is written in honor of Hannah (beloved Sheltie), Eric, Bob, Dad, John, Sally, and Bill, late of this life, and to hold in the light those feeling their loss. May the souls of the departed rest in peace, and the souls of those who mourn be comforted.

it's about dignity, among so many other things

On my way home from work Thursday npr included some audio with their story about Maryland becoming the  eighth state to legalize gay marriage. The next morning it took some effort to track down these words, but I did so because I wanted to read them again and put them in a format to share them. I am so tired of the rhetoric from the religious right getting all the air time, and there seem to be few reported views so eloquently stated from what I will call the inclusive whole. This is one of them. You want a debate religious liberty? Bring it on. 

Please feel free to share as widely as possible!

friday five: gotta have it?

Yes, this scene is actually quite typical in my area!

At RevGals Kathryn writes:  I'm heading from unseasonably warm temperatures and no snow to a place of GREAT SNOW. Sadly, for reasons that don't need to be boringly laid out here, I am sans decent winter boots at the moment so I need to find some... NOW!

In the meantime I am shaking my head at myself. How could I possibly be without one of the key essentials for living in my environment?

Every area is different. What are the 5 key essentials needed for where you live?
And bonus - what have folks looked twice at you for because you wore it out of place.

Hmm. I live in a moderate climate (middle Tennessee) which rarely experiences extreme cold, and though it certainly gets hot and muggy in the summer, such a climate is hardly unique to Tennessee.  I don't think there is really anything that is essential in terms of living here, but there are a few things that help one "fit in" if you're a transplant, like me. Being something of a nonconformist, however, fitting in isn't high on my list. Therefore:

1) I'm proud of my Yankee heritage. Lots of it. If someone is giving me unending grief about that, however, a word about having ancestors who fought and died for the confederacy generally renders a running mouth still.  I've recently been reminded (in reviewing the family tree) that my great-great-grandfather was born in Connecticut and migrated south as a young man. He was a fairly new father when he went off to war, and I have no doubt that he did so with a conscience weighted with complexity. 

2) How could I forget bug spray?!?! Or the sweet tea!

3) I own a shovel, and I'm not afraid to use it. About ten years ago we actually had a snowy winter here, and after 8 inches had fallen one day I went out and shoveled my driveway like any good Yankee would.  I lived on a cul-de-sac and none of my neighbors opted to follow my wise example. I'm sure they thought the temperature would rise to melting by the next day, but after six days of below freezing temperatures they were still struggling to get in and out of their now ice-packed driveway and I pulled in and out free and clear. It's smug, I know.  I suspect none of them actually owned a shovel.

This tornado is getting ready to cross the street I now travel on my way to work every morning. 

It hit on Good Friday three years ago.

4) Under threat of extreme weather today with a strong likelihood of tornadoes, one essential thing to living here is a mindset of preparation in the face of such weather. The closest a tornado has come to us at home is that we heard the proverbial sound of a freight train from about five miles away, where the tornado passed through. We know where our safest place is, leashes for the dogs are always handy, and hardhats are tucked away with water bottles and flashlights. I keep forgetting that we need to include a substantial mallet in the mix. If debris were to block the door of the closet we would need to smash our way out. Note to self...

5) If you're going to throw a baby or bridal shower in this part of the world, mints and nuts are de rigueur. I don't get what makes them essential, so I don't serve them. I'd much rather make finger sandwiches and put out the veggie platter.

Bonus: You won't catch me in Tennessee orange. I wear my UConn Huskies sweatshirt with great pride.

I seem to have gotten caught in an email sparring match against my will, and am trying to step back to determine how to proceed. If at all. I share this because I would appreciate your wisdom, insight and input.

You all know (I think) that I'm working as an interim in a position that is responsible for some highly visible events on a state university campus. One of those events, the keynote address for National Women's History Month, occurs in a few weeks. For the last six months I have busted my you-know-what to pull this thing together, and am very pleased that Marlee Matlin will be coming to campus to deliver that address. There is a committee responsible for the event, but in reality they exist in name only. When I first came on board I was told by the head of a co-sponsoring department that it's too hard to have committee meetings because everyone is too busy to meet, so we conduct all our business via email. 

Yes, I know, this is not a good thing, and it is this very deficit that set the stage for the current unpleasantness. As the new girl in town--and an interim, at that--I opted not to take on that "tradition." With hindsight I could have pressed the matter, citing my lack of institutional memory and knowledge of how things have been done. There is no documentation of process related to how this event comes together. There are copies of occasional emails, and signposts of certain traditions: a calendar that is published, a button that is produced, and standard timelines related to contracts, etc. Nothing else is in place to serve as guide and land mine detector. Had I done things differently I don't think it would have helped.

I have been in contact with the committee throughout the planning of Marlee's visit, soliciting input, seeking counsel on occasion, and keeping the group informed. Sometimes they respond. Mostly I soldier on and get the job done. It has been a mountain of work, and no one from the committee has helped. No one. The expectation is that this is "my" job.

Two days ago I met with some of the key players in planning. People like event coordination (procurer of tables, chairs, and plants, etc. for a reception and to dress the stage), catering, the facility manager, parking services, student ambassadors who will serve as ushers, and so on. After that meeting I sent an email to update the committee, and WHAM! Someone was unhappy because I had broken form with what has always been done. "I wish the committee had had at least one meeting to assist you in making these kinds of decisions." Oh, that carefully crafted sentence just reeks of practice skewering the unsuspecting colleague.

I did a slow burn for a couple of hours. Talked out my anger with Marlee's agent since the issue at hand has an impact on Marlee (nothing phases her agent--she's one of my heroes), and after I had settled down sufficiently I spent considerable time crafting my own carefully worded email response. I was so good. I didn't make it personal, get defensive, or suggest that perhaps my critic might want to walk a mile in my shoes before dumping on me. I took responsibility for my ignorance, addressed the concerns and proposed a solution to allay those concerns. I opened the possibility of reviewing how decisions get made. All without rolling over or yielding my firm belief that this will be a great event for our community. I hit "send" feeling confident that my reply was professional and would be received graciously.

Ha! This morning I got treated to another masterfully written blurb that wants to lay at my feet the failure of the committee to be more closely involved. It is at this point that I can't decide what step to take next. It is clear to me through the pattern of what has been written by my sparring partner that I am up against someone highly skilled in manipulating language and circumstances to keep herself above the fray (a fray of her own making, in my view). I don't operate this way. I make every effort to be honest without causing offense or injury, take responsibility for my actions, apologize when necessary, and eat crow if it comes to that. I am not mean. I don't play power games. I don't jockey for position. I play fair, and if anything, I am too accommodating. 

If there is a further response from me, it will be directed solely to the individual in question. To this point all emails have been "reply all" to include committee members. I feel, however, that another reply takes this down a road where things can only degenerate. So I ponder, reflect, take time to let it sink in and get flushed out. It eats at me a bit, though, which is no doubt obvious by the fact that I've written about it!

But enough for now. If you'd like to share your thoughts I'd be interested in how this appears to others. Have your say. And have a great day. 

Long time no blog. I don't like that. 

The last few weeks have been a bit slammed: trip home to see Dad, back to the grind at work, Dad's death, full tilt at work heading into and then hosting a conference for statewide educators working with adult learners. The conference went great with only minor hitches that were related to the facilities. We had 115 registered, most of whom actually showed up. That was an increase of 46% over last year! This was one of two high-visibility events related to my job, so it matters a great deal that it went well. 

Ken picked me up at school at the conclusion of the conference and we headed to Melrose. Luke was playing in his first soccer game last Saturday, and the whole family was invited to come cheer him on. And did we! This was the first event since Ashley and Travis were married that all parents, sibs, and spouses were together.

  

We all concluded that although Luke did his part to play (he kept up with everybody else as they ran around the field), Cross is going to be the athlete of the family. He enjoyed kicking a ball around off the field with his other grandparents.

Kenneth and Trisha stayed with us at Melrose, and we enjoyed some time with them Saturday evening before a busy  Sunday with all kids and grandchildren out the next day for fun and food. As is apparent, I'm including a few pictures. Thank you for indulging me.

The weather Sunday was less than ideal and not conducive to young'uns running around outdoors. Fortunately Melrose is equipped for rain, and even kids when it rains, so we managed just fine. Luke enjoys puzzles. Takes after his Nana!

And of course here is the classic picture from the weekend. It's always a good thing to have the camera handy and ready.

And let's not forget Jude, our chunky monkey, as Trisha calls him.

Thanks for stopping by. Until next time, whenever that might be!

farewell

As facebook friends know, my father died early this morning. It was expected, and he was ready to go. As Linda, his long-time companion remarked, he's been wanting to be in a different place for a couple of years. As his health declined and his mobility diminished, his world became, in his word, desultory. He died at home, comfortable and at peace, and without pain. His last view of this world was of the one he loved. We all should be so lucky when that day comes.

I was fortunate to get a heads up when there was a shift in his well-being just over a week ago. I flew home for several days to see Dad, and found him alert and present, if not able to communicate much. I didn't say much to him, but in silence we shared a space and the warm of our hands in each others. I don't think there really was much need for words. I believe he was grateful for my presence and the knowledge that he was loved.

There was a sameness to the hours spent there at the house, since dad was confined to bed and slept a great deal. One memory, however, will stand out. The night before I returned to TN my older brother came by the house and brought his cello. We cranked the bed up so that dad could see, and Jamie sat at the foot of the bed with the cello and improvised some music. When he was finished, he recalled that there was a song that dad always sang when we were little. It is probably a folk song from somewhere in Eastern Europe, and the only words we knew were in the native tongue. Jamie began to sing it, and dad quickly chimed in with a robustness that defied the weak state of his body. It probably exhausted him, but the three of us sang until the end, all of us punctuating the finale: "Hey!" A broad smile extended across dad's face, reflecting his pleasure in that moment. I will cherish it always.

Rest in peace, Dad. You lived a life full of color and grace, and the world was a better place with you in it.

mid-week miscellaney

I’ve been absent for a while—the casualty of no time when I have energy, and no energy when I have time (which is the rarer commodity). Then, on those latter occasions, I wonder what to write here. My days are fairly consumed with work, and on the weekends? Somehow I don’t expect you want to spend your own precious time reading about our monthly trip to unload recyclables or our visit to Harbor Freight to look for hard hats.

As I drive to work I am inspired to offer my own commentary in response to the goings-on in the world, then by the time I arrive at my desk (with some time to spare, thank you) my mind has already moved on to other, more mundane, things.  Sigh. Nevertheless, I will muster up a bit of this and that to bring you up to date and attempt to amuse you.

Here goes…

·         On the political front: much has been written about Newt’s philandering, though adultery has commanded the most attention. Did you know that when he was 16 he “had a go” with one of his high school teachers? That’s the first documented dalliance, and the record follows from there. The guy’s a serial, sex-crazed narcissist, and he has made it abundantly clear that it’s all about him.  My comment today, however, is about Callista. You can call me out on this if you want to, but I really despise the idea of a First Lady who carried on an adulterous affair for eight years.  I despise his role, too, of course, but this is the first time that a sizeable chunk of our electorate thinks it’s okay for a woman with such a history to hold the most respected position a woman holds in this country. It does not work for me, does it work for you?

·         I made my first Etsy purchase last week, a gift for a friend. It felt like a landmark event and was a totally fun experience.

·         I am really sick of the coverage of the republican primaries. I think it’s a good thing that Tennessee votes on Super Tuesday, which means that the money spent between now and then will be divided among ten states. Hopefully that will result in fewer hateful ads and obnoxious robocalls.

·         Ken and I have both been accepted as postulants for membership as a knight and dame (respectively) in the Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem. Our investiture is in April at an event in western North Carolina.

·         Happy Groundhog Day Eve!

·         The work day has now commenced and my brain is shifting that direction. I hope your day is blessed and productive (if that is what you want from it).