firday five: first times

At RevGals MaryBeth is thinking about "firsts." With so many folks starting school, college, seminary, etc. I've been thinking of a lot of other firsts in my life.  Share with us, if you will:


1) Your first "place" - whether it was an apartment, dorm room, or home with a new spouse, the first place where you really felt like a grown-up.

Wow. This has opened a floodgate of memories! My first place is the house I rented after college. It was a cute little bungalow that I shared with two friends from college the first year. The landlord let me paint the bedrooms and bathrooms, and I wallpapered the kitchen. I planted flowers, had friends over for dinner, and as I look through some pictures I had a ton of fabulous posters decorating the walls (clearly, I had not left behind some of my college ways).

2) Your first time away from home. Construe this any way you want. College? Girl Scout Camp? Study Abroad?

My brothers and I each had visits on our own with our grandparents in New York from as early as I can remember (and photographs document those occasions from before I can remember!). This meant that being away from home was not an occasion of trauma, but just part of our lives. I suppose that's why no "first time away from home" stands out for me. BUT! I do have a fun story for what probably was the first time, when I was just a wee lass of two... A year before, my parents, older brother and I drove from Connecticut to San Diego where my father was doing a one-year internship. Apparently I didn't travel well. Mom had strategically packed toys in two boxes--one for morning distraction and another for the afternoon. By 9 AM I had gone through both boxes, and was in search of entertainment for the rest of each day. I was a cranky kid, having come home from the hospital at birth with a staph infection that was still being treated, so I can just imagine my family's frustration. By the time we reached San Diego my mother declared that she would spend the rest of her life in California before she drove back across the country with me. When the internship year ended, Providence provided a family friend who was flying to New York and he agreed to take me with him. My grandparents were at the other end to take me off his hands. Ta Dah! Crisis averted! 

3) Your first job in your field of endeavor (so, not babysitting, unless you are A Professional Babysitter today):

There was some drama around passing my ordination exams. That translated as postponement not only of being ordained, but of being eligible for jobs after seminary. It was the year from hell in so many ways, but two people who believed in me made a huge difference in how things played out. One of those people was the dean of our diocesan cathedral. I had known him for several years, and one day while having lunch with him to do some networking he essentially offered me a job. He told me that he had every confidence that I would pass my exams and be ordained, but the job didn't depend on that. It was a part time position as pastoral assistant. The cathedral was a place of great significance in my spiritual and ordination journey, so this offer was better than manna from heaven. I took the job. The picture here is the day after my ordination as deacon (during Advent). The dean is on the left, and the other priest on staff is on the right.

4) Your first time hosting. Again, construed broadly, this could be a dinner for the in-laws, your first time to have guests for a holiday meal, etc.

I used to entertain a lot. I love to mark occasions, big and small, and hospitality has been a big piece of my self-understanding for a long time. I don't recall my first time hosting, but I do remember what I consider to have been a wildly successful party at my first home (see above!). It was Twelfth Night party (to mark the end of the season of Christmas, not the play), and guests were mostly friends from college since I was still in my college town. I remember making calzones for the occasion, and setting up a card table with a jigsaw puzzle on it where people could mingle over the puzzle (we did this at our son's rehearsal dinner a few years ago, and it was huge hit! It's a great way to put introverts at ease and people get acquainted without the usual agony of small talk). I don't remember much else, but I remember a house full of people, lots of chatter, and going to bed happy. I have wanted to host an annual Twelfth Night event throughout adulthood, and although there have been a few here and there, various circumstances have kept that from happening. Maybe again, eventually.

5) Your first love.That can be a person or something else!!

Dogs. And Scotland. Two different kinds of love, but both of them run deep in my soul. Dogs were first. Growing up we spent a lot of time with another family, and consequently enjoyed spending time at their cousins' farm in western Massachusetts. I honestly don't remember what they farmed, but in addition to a barn with horses and some other critters, they had a kennel from which they bred Shelties. When it came time for me to get my own dog, a pup from The Farm became mine. I was 11, and I named her Bonnie. Two years later we bred Bonnie, who had a litter of four pups. We lost one at five weeks, suffering from a congenital hole in her heart. It is the first time in my life I remember praying, sobbing while huddled on the sofa in the rec room. And then a few weeks before Christmas Bonnie was hit by a car and killed. We kept one of the pups, named Tammy after a friend who called while Bonnie was in labor to predict a fourth young'un. I've had dogs ever since. Their names have gotten more interesting: Avalon, Rory, Brenna, Dooley, Juliet, Rigel and McKinlee. The last three currently share our home. It is my love of and for dogs that have led me down a new path in life to animal massage.

 Bonnie on vacation at Cape Cod

friday five: packer or pack rat?

Ah, it's a Friday Five after my heart, or should I say my packing gene. 

1. Are you a sorter or a pack rat? What I mean by that is, do you select what you are taking with you (on a trip, a new assignment, a vacation), or do you pack with abandon (overweight suitcases be damned!)

I would be a sorter.

2. Who first helped you learn how to pack? Or did you just come into it by osmosis or natural gifting  (and need)?

I come by my packing expertise naturally, through both sides of my family! My maternal grandmother was the queen of packing, such that my grandfather dubbed her The She Master (in the most affectionate way, of course). My father was an ace packer, and my mother quite well, too. At home I'm known at the Space Queen, and not because of anything lacking in my head.

3. What's your favorite kind of suitcase? Duffle? Soft-side? Wheels? (I am personally a fan of my "expanding zipper" wheelie suitcases. Saved my bacon on many a return trip home!)

I like different bags for different occasions. For airport travel, wheels are a must. If I'm traveling by car, a suitcase works for clothing, but everything else goes into a tote of one description or another (I'm also the Tote Queen--it's all about containment). Totes are very forgiving when you need to arrange odd sizes together for optimal fit. Anything with a shoulder strap is a plus when you want to carry as much as possible at one time.

4. Do you have that "packing gene" -- or do you pack and cram what you need into every available space?

As noted above, I do have the packing gene.  This is a disadvantage after a trip to the grocery store: my husband always defers to me to put things away because I can find space for things that he somehow misses (or so he says). I also repack the dishwasher after he's made an attempt (not that I want to discourage him!). Who, me? Compulsive about wasting space?

5. What's one thing you've learned in traveling, packing or storing your belongings that you think everyone should know?

Pack the big stuff first, medium sized next, and small items last.  As seen above: pack the "hard" containers on the bottom, soft stuff on top. And if you're traveling with a kilt, roll it and "slide" it into pantyhose.

friday five: keeping calm

At RevGals this morning Karla invites us to shake our calm thing (sort of, I just liked the sound of that phrase). So here we go!

1.  First, how are you doing? What's going on with you?

I'm great! Lots of things happening in my world right now, including transitioning to a new expression of ministry, getting ready to welcome a new grandson in less than two months, enjoying a cooler-than-usual summer, and completing some unfinished projects.

2.  Is there anything you need to Keep Calm and Cowgirl Up for (Cowgirl Up was Karla's Keep Calm poster)?

In the process of shifting vocational gears obstacles come up. Ya think? Periodically I want to yield to tears as a result, and on such occasions it would feel really great to be galloping along with the wind in my hair. I do so internally.

3.  If you were going to make a "Keep Calm and __________" logo for a t-shirt, what would it be?

I made the Keep Calm poster here via the web site that allows one to do so. Since I needed an idea in a hurry and I hadn't even gotten half way through my first cup of coffee, I latched onto the first thing that came to mind, the phrase with which Ellen DeGeneres closes her show each day, "Be kind to everyone." Or words to that effect (I don't watch Ellen that much, so...) Thanks, Ellen! I would, however, replace the crown with a hand holding a daisy.

4.  What are you looking forward to in the next week or so?

Shortly after I finish this post I'll be getting on the road to head to Augusta, GA for a baby shower for our daughter-in-law. It's their first, a son, and we're all excited! Next week I've also got an appointment with a new doctor, and I'll be putting finishing touches on and preparing for a retreat I'm leading for our local priory of the Knights Templar next weekend. Somewhere in there I'll need to finish (or try to) an icon I'm writing so that it can be blessed the following week at a gathering with other icon-writers that were part of a mini workshop this summer. Oh, and then there's stuff to do related to my new career (animal massage)! A typical, slow week.

5.  Use the following words in a sentence:     cape, river, dancing, paws, glory

I stood on the banks of the river and smiled at the impression of paws in the soft mud, a wash of glory over my head as the colors of the sunset rippled the clouds like a hero's cape in the wind: my heart was dancing.

stalking the past

For the last few days I've been immersed in genealogy. I ventured into the files thinking I was relatively familiar with a path to a certain cluster of ancestors, only to find myself awash in history and tangled family lines. The tangling is, in part, a consequence of the connections some ancient kin have to one another, but I also have to claim some responsibility for entering names and relationships multiple times, unaware (or having forgotten) that these individuals were already present in the database. 

While mining records to verify--or establish more clearly in my own mind--some of those relationships I also had the opportunity to open new doors to older generations. In search of images to attach to individuals as a way to help me identify names more readily with time, place and story, I've stumbled into all sorts of places and people that deepen a yearning to connect with the roots of my own story. In the process, I've experienced something of an awakening.

I don't have to go back far to encounter one of the mysteries of my family tree. My grandfather's mother was adopted, and although we know her birth name and date and the name of a biological brother, it's astounding how difficult it is to find information that can lead to unearthing her family's history. A full eighth of my genealogical past is blocked from view, a frustration as present as a scab begging to be picked.

Not long ago, thanks to an encounter with a previously unknown cousin of Ken's who I got to know while probing his family's past, I was able to find and fill in pieces of the life of the adoptive parents of my great-grandmother. I began to plug that information into the family tree, then stopped. These weren't my relatives, after all, why invest in further research?

That's when it hit me as a seeker of family history. Although I believe that knowledge about our own kin matters, our lives are shaped by the people who are in them. I know from my own experience that a I am more emotionally connected to a step-grandfather that a biological one. That relationship--not bound by blood--is an important one in my life, and a touchstone to my understanding of myself and the family to which I belong.

Last night, while on the quest for images to attach to individual records (portraits, headstones, family churches or homesteads...), I discovered a file that calls into question a lineage that, for all of my life, I have believed to have been connected. Through that lineage my family traces its history to Edward III. It's a bit of a bombshell to learn that the possibility exists that an entire segment of the family tree might be wiped from the grid. It's also the section of the tree, between my tenth great-grandfather and that royal seat of the 14th century, where I've spent many hours during the last several days.

I admit that it's fun to claim descent from royalty, though in truth there are other stories along the line that are far more interesting, and certainly less tainted by intrigue, power, and politics. The wheelings and dealings, and the "hatches, matches, and dispatches" of long ago have been as distant tributaries to the river that is our present life. I believe that understanding the forces that contribute to our existing shape and condition is useful, and maybe even welcome. In the end, though, how we navigate our own choices and circumstances today and the impact those choices may have on others in our lives is where we find our pulse. 

I will continue to follow the paths that lead me to the lives and stories of those who came before me because it's something I enjoy, and--if you'll pardon the pun--it seems to be in my blood. My attachment to my genealogical blueprint, however, has been released with a certain gratitude. And a growing affinity for the name Maud.

*the image above is of John of Gaunt, 3rd surviving son of Edward III, through whom I am allegedly descended through all three wives.

update, long overdue

I was in touch by email awhile back with the most regular readers of this space, but I have been remiss not to share the following news here earlier for others who have been following along. In short: Vocational Breakthrough!

The pieces came together while sitting out on the deck of our daughter's home visiting with our newest grandson, Rock, then two days old. Ashley had their Yorkie, Madison, on her lap, and was explaining that as Madison has gotten older (she is now 10) she has become increasingly hyper and anxious. When you consider the changes Maddie has experienced in her life--multiple moves, four new humans and two new dogs added to her domicile--it makes sense that her behavior reflects stress. As is typical of my brain, my thoughts leaped from one point to the next, and I was reminded of Zeke, my brother's dog. The previous year Zeke was hit by a car, suffering multiple, debilitating injuries. Among the treatments attempted to restore Zeke to health was massage. At the time I had never heard of massage for dogs, or other animals, but my brain left a bookmark in that page of information to which it now returned.

Hmm. Animal massage. Although I  have never been drawn to human massage as a vocational opportunity, animal massage beckoned me. As you all know, I am mad about dogs. I have wanted to find a way to work for the benefit of dogs for a while now, but various deterrents kept eliminating a number of the options I explored. Time to learn more.

When we returned home a couple of days later I spent several hours with Google, finding web sites and information about animal massage. What kind of training was available? What sort of financial investment would be necessary? Could I make any money? And so on. What I learned is that animal massage is a viable course for me. Although prayer and discernment were invoked, in the core of my being I already knew that my prayers and the quest of so many years were being answered.The inner peace, relief, and joy that flooded my being felt like a divine kiss.

That was two months ago. Since then I have zeroed in on the where and how of training: a combination of distance learning and hands on work through a program in Toledo, Ohio. The cost, while not pocket change, seemed doable: $2500 for the program plus lodging and travel expenses. A combination of supply work (filling in for clergy on Sundays), stipend for doing a wedding, selling off Pampered Chef inventory at our yard sale, and an appeal to my bishop for aid yielded the funds I would need. Phew! Originally I would have been returning today from a week's training in Ohio, but low enrollment in the July course resulted in that class being cancelled. This was not happy news for me. The sooner I have the training the sooner I am able to generate revenue, but... I am now enrolled in the September class, leaving me more time at this end to read thoroughly all the material and get some practice time in. 

For the short run, we will convert what is now Ken's office/den space (the former garage) to my work space where clients may bring their dogs for massage sessions. The delay in coursework benefits us here, as that process has been delayed due to some health issues for Ken (torn meniscus --> knee surgery and recovery). I can also offer mobile services, though that is less desirable for a number of reasons. I am confident that all of that will work out. 

This week I am fine-tuning plans and goals. I have a meeting at our local chamber of commerce in a couple of days with a small business consultant. The financial piece of this is the greatest challenge--I have no real capital with which to launch--but the good news is that I have a decent network of resources to help me market my business, and the overhead for the work is minimal. A grooming table is really all I need, and the search for a used one has begun. 

The greatest challenge thus far has been landing on a name for my business. I like naming things. The process is creative and fun, and usually something clever materializes. The advice from the center through whom I am doing my training cautions against using the words therapy or healing in the name, as well as avoiding anything cutesy. No matter which way I ventured in my thinking, however, I was coming up with nothing.  I finally posed a very dull idea to Ken, who offered an alternative, and at last there is a result: Cumberland Animal Massage. Cumberland is a geographic reference to the region where we live (a river, a plateau, a university), and animal doesn't confine me to dogs, although I expect the bulk of my work to be with canines. (I hope to expand to horses eventually, but that will be down the road.)  The name isn't what I had hoped for, but as I live with it it becomes increasingly comfortable. It sounds like substance, and that is what I want it to reflect.

So! There you have it.  I'll keep you posted in a more timely manner from here on.

let us pray

This morning my heart is in California, where a friend is at the bedside of her dying mother. Mere days ago, Glenda Crosley was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. The latest facebook update informs those of us who are praying from afar that Glenda has been removed from life support. According to that same update, all three daughters are present, one of whom had not seen her mother in 12 years. With that sliver of information it makes sense that the update also informs us that they are all sharing laughter, tears, and shouting. 

This scene probably doesn't differ much from other families when estrangement is part of the story. But what is different is that this particular bedside is in a prison hospital, where Glenda is serving 15 to life for killing her abusive husband. She passed the 25-year mark last year. In January she was denied parole, again, because the parole board didn't seem to think that Glenda had come to understand that she could have "just left" her husband at the time she killed him (referred to as "lack of insight"), acting out of fear that he was about to kill her.

Before I left MTSU last summer, Glenda's daughter and I were busy planning a domestic violence awareness event for campus in the fall that we hoped would herald Glenda's release. The passage of two bills in the California legislature, known as the Sin by Silence bills,offered significant hope for this possibility, but such was not to be. The kind of release Glenda will soon experience is not at all what we had in mind.

My heart is heavy on behalf of Glenda's family, now robbed by cancer and the justice system of the possibility to mend some of the holes torn into their lives by domestic violence. I am angered by what I believe is an injustice not just to Glenda, but to women (and men) everywhere who suffer abuse at the hand of people they love. 

Assuming that in due time Glenda would have been released, her plan had been to move to Tennessee to be near Stacy, who is a fierce and constant advocate for victims of abuse. Glenda would have spoken to groups of men and women about her experience, about what she had learned, about the insight gained not only about the dynamics of abuse, but about the battle to find courage and confidence within. I can't help but shake my head about the waste of Glenda's extended incarceration. Although a documentary film chronicles her story, from prison the impact she is able to have is limited. Her release would have allowed her to spend what she could of her remaining days making a difference on this side of prison walls. Now that will never be.

Today I invite your prayers for Glenda, that her remaining hours will be filled with grace and peace; for her family, that the balm of God's love will minimize the effect of this gash in their lives as they seek reconciliation and bear the mantle of grief; for victims of abuse everywhere that they may find strength and courage for a life of hope, and justice to redress wrongs; for members of the justice system who bear the responsibility of making decisions that can diminish or empower the lives they touch; for all of us, that we may act in ways that celebrate and encourage love and compassion, and do our part in whatever way we are able to advocate for peace and justice in this world. And finally, for perpetrators of abuse, that whatever fuels the anger that results in violence may be diffused and redirected, that injury may be avoided and healing may ensue.

Go peacefully, Glenda. 

 

"fur"rowing into the heart

 

photo from the facebook page collection

You all know by now that I have a long distance relationship with a dog I've never met. His name is Atticus. He doesn't actually know me, but I read his story last year and was utterly captivated by him, and inspired by the journey he and his human friend have shared together. Since finishing Following Atticus I have followed Tom Ryan (author) and his household on facebook and their blog. Daily photos, stories, quotes, and wisdom have a way of sending roots of affection into the lives and hearts of others who now follow Atticus (and company) as well. It should come as no surprise, then, that when life's shock waves rock their world, my heart feels the tremors.

In the last little bit two significant things have hit the Ryan household that have sent me reeling, with tears erupting and heart squeezing with the kind of ache that can only exist as a result of deep love. Let me say up front that I am aware that my reaction is counter-transference empathy, or something like that. I've known my share of relational heartache, and I have loved a dog so deeply that, well, I still ache with his loss five years later. I love all of my dogs deeply, and each are unique and special and I am utterly devoted to them. Dooley's place in my heart, though, has been unparalleled. All this is to say that although we can never know exactly how another person feels, we can empathize with what they are experiencing and feel compassion for them. And, yes, a piece of my own grief is punctured and released as well, blurring the line between my history and Tom's present. Nonetheless, I am empathizing with Tom Ryan right now following the mutual break up with the woman he loved, and now with a health event for Atticus that could prove life-threatening. 

I know that we can become attached and feel connected to people and animals we don't know, real and fictitious. Our hearts are touched by their lives, their actions, their quirks, their tenderness--when something happens with them or to them, the ripple of that event washes over us as well.  So it is right now for me with this household tucked away in New Hampshire.  On Friday Atticus will have a toe amputated, the result of what appears to be a festering mass.  If the subsequent biopsy reveals cancer, the prognosis is likely unwelcome.

Sob! The ache of a deep love whose trajectory has taken a different path, and the raw and isolating nature of that grief must now absorb this new threat to the incredible and intimate relationship that Tom and Atticus share.  I am both astounded by and grateful for my reaction to these happenings in their lives.  It is a testament to the rich and simple life they live and share with others on their own terms, achieved through determination and commitment to basic principles about what is valued in life.  It is a joy and privilege to witness the integrity and authenticity of their lives and feel that, by following along, a piece of it is our journey, too.

For as long as necessary, I am committing my prayers to this special household, to hold them in the light and ask that their lives be showered with love, healing, and a community of support that may take the sting out of whatever may lie ahead. It is the very least I can do for them after all they have provided to me.

on today's agenda

An hour from when I am beginning to write this, I will head out the door to join up with some of my icon-writing buddies for some unsupervised icon creating. I say unsupervised because we're doing this on our own, without our instructor (who lives in California). We're gathering on Monday afternoons in July, painting assorted icons of our choosing. I think there are four of us--one is doing St. Michael, one the Sinai Christ Pantocrator (both of which we've done in previous workshops), and two of us are plunging headlong into uncharted  territory with a new icon: St. Mary Magdalene.

I have to tell you, I'm psyched. It's a little daunting to venture out on our own without the calming hand of Teresa to keep our anxiety at bay, but each of us have painted at least four icons previously and feel that we know our way well enough to support each other through the process. I've been wanting to do Mary for a while, so this is a great opportunity to "git 'r' done!" 

Truth be told, it was a challenge to find this icon, not that there aren't a whole bunch of versions out there to use as inspiration. But since we work from a "life-size" image (the size of the board--8 x 10 in this case), there were a limited number of icons in internet-image-land large enough to use. The one I liked most was too small and a bit dark, but I was drawn to this one for its simplicity and for her hair. I'm less keen on this interpretation, that Mary M was the woman who anointed with oil and then wiped Jesus' feet with her hair (hence the bowl and towel), but c'est la vie. This isn't intended to be a theological statement but a spiritual tool, and in the course of painting, a spiritual practice. 

If all goes well I may attempt to write an icon on my own, though part of what makes this effort so worthwhile is doing it in community. We'll see. For now, Mary awaits, and I need some lunch before departing. 

Peace, out!

sunday review, part 2

One of my tasks as chaplain of our priory is to plan the priory's first-ever spiritual retreat. Have you ever tried to find a retreat location that includes the amenities you want AND is economical? I dare ya! At least here in middle Tennessee. It seems that if your group is small enough, places abound. Once you cross a certain threshold--in terms of numbers--look out. Most places that accommodate a group of more than 20 are prepared for youth groups. That translates as dormitory-style rooms and bedding, and minimalist comfort and decor because where young people go, damage seems to follow. Sigh. Places akin to hotel lodging get pricey very quickly, and understandably. 

Once the lodging question is resolved as well as can be expected, there is the matter of food and facilities. We're an older group, and we have folks who use walkers. Second-floor bedrooms without elevator access (which describes most intimate environments that one might desire on a retreat) basically don't exist. Sigh. Grounds for recreation? Add that to the mix.

We wanted a location that was as centrally located as possible, since our members are from as far west as Memphis, south as Huntsville, southeast as Atlanta, east as Asheville, north as Ft. Campbell (KY), and northeast as Virginia Tech.  Nashville fills that bill, but we also wanted to be far enough away from Nashville so that local folks wouldn't be tempted to go home at night. Continuity of experience counts for a lot on retreat.

I can't tell you what a frustrating search it was as I weeded through prospective sites that eliminated themselves almost immediately because of one of the criteria noted above. And then...

Though not perfect, I discovered the gem that is Five-Star Retreat. It is literally out in the boonies, an hour west-south-west of Nashville (central to all but the folks in the eastern parts of the priory). Tucked into 300 acres of mostly woods, this facility was built by a guy to house his extended family when they got together for family reunions. His plans started simply enough, but morphed into a project with a bit more sophistication. He built the lodge, pictured here, and there are also a few cabins for more intimate gatherings. Yes, it's got dormitory rooms, but they're exceedingly comfortable. 

The lodge is a one-stop-shop of Great Room meeting space, den leisure space, to die for kitchen, a deck to enjoy the outdoors, bedrooms, and two sitting areas adjacent to a handful of suites with double beds that include a day-bed and trundle each. Forty-five people can lay their heads down at night on comfortable mattresses.

The Great Room.  

You can't see it in this picture but there's a an elevated platform in front of the high windows.

Kitchen serving window is on the right. 

Upstairs sitting room area visible at top of the stairs.

The den, with wet bar area in left foreground.

The dream kitchen. 

Everything you need is included (yes, plates, bowls, coffee cups, etc!).

Ice machine!

Lower level bunk room. Yes, that's carpet!

 

Outdoor facilities include a basketball court, shooting range, trails for hiking and ATV's, a modest lake (more like a pond) for canoeing and paddling, and a creek with a fire pit to enjoy s'mores or a wade into the spring-fed refreshment. 

The fire pit area by the creek. Benches included. Shade seasonal.

The Prior and I made a field trip to check out this option back in March, and we were hooked. This past week we returned with spouses (who will be heading up the food committee) and they are likewise enamored. Just before heading out Thursday morning an email arrived from one of our members announcing his intention to attend the retreat, with the offer to bring equipment for 1) some instruction in fencing, and  2) a little Scottish country dancing (something many in our priory, which is filled with Scotophiles, know how to do, yours truly included). We noted upon our arrival at Five-Star that the floor of the lodge is perfect for dancing. I am praying fervently that my broken toe is healed fully by then (it should be).

Great Room Mantel decorated for a recent wedding. 

I'm hoping this will inspire me for some ideas for the retreat.

If you have any thoughts, please share!

Enough oohing and ahhhing. I invite you to enjoy the photos and share my sense of bliss about the discovery that we made. I'm sure you'll hear more as the time approaches (mid-August). Ta!

sunday review, part 1

So... remember my post from last Sunday about the question, "what would you take?" Among the emails worth reading that awaited me this morning was my daily dose of FlyLady. She helps people clean and organize their homes. A life-saver, she is, but I digress.

FlyLady emails are a digest of helpful information related to how we might function day to day in very practical terms. This morning's digest included the following evacuation guide, which makes so much sense! I'm including it here for our collective edification. I think Ken and I will talk about this over breakfast. And just think, every six months you could have an "evacuation party" to enjoy and replace consumables!

1. PEOPLE: Have a plan for getting out of the house and make sure everyone knows it. Have an emergency bag of food and water for your family. Include wholesome snacks and treats for the children: dried fruit, nuts, peanut butter, crackers and granola bars.
2. PETS: Keep pet carriers and leashes readily available to lead pets to safety. Also take pet food with you.
3. PICTURES: Keep negatives or CDs of pictures in a lock box or at a family member’s home. Have picture albums in one place ready to grab and go at a moments notice.
4. PAPERS: Have all your important papers in a lock box at a bank and only keep copies at the house. This keeps you from panicking. If you have them at home then put them in a folder that you can easily grab if you have to move fast. Color code it so you can find it!
5. PRESCRIPTIONS: Take your medications with you. Don’t forget the ones that have to be refrigerated like insulin. Have small ice chest and cold packs readily accessible to pack and go. If you have babies; remember their formula or medications.
6. PURSES and PETROL: This is where you keep your identification, credit cards and cash. Keep a stash of cash for emergencies and grab it. You may not be able to use an ATM in the event of a power outage. Make sure your car always has a half a tank of gas (or keep some gas cans at home).
7. PROPER CLOTHES and COMFORT ITEMS: According to the weather conditions; gather up a change of clothes along with outer clothing: coats, rain gear, boots, gloves and hats. If you have babies remember diapers. Remember to grab your children’s favorite blanket, stuffed animal or toy. A game or a deck of cards could keep them occupied and calm too.
8. PLANNER/CALENDAR/CONTROL JOURNAL: These documents have all the information you will need from phone numbers, insurance numbers and important dates. They are small and filled with things you don’t have to try to remember.
9. PERSONAL PROTECTION: Many of us still have that time of the month. Be sure and grab a box of your preferred protection. It may be hard to find if you have been evacuated. Stress can cause our bodies to do strange things too. So be prepared. Take medication for cramps too. Did you think this was about weapons?
10. PHONES, RADIOS, FUEL FOR THE CAR: Many of us have cell phones now. Always keep them charged up and have a charger in the car or an extra battery. They may not work in the event of power outages, but then they might. Know which local radio station has emergency bulletins. Keep your battery powered radio tuned to that local station and have plenty of batteries for it. Also keep a old type regular phone that does not operate with electricity. GAS PUMPS don’t work without power either. You can’t leave if your car is on empty. So keep your car fuel tank topped off when it hits a half of tank. This way you will have gas to drive at least a couple of hours. Evacuation routes are usually bumper to bumper traffic. Having a tank filled will keep you less stressed.
11. PATIENCE: This is one of the most important things to pack. Keep it inside of you so that you have a clear calm head. Having your P’s to Preparedness list guiding you will keep you patient. In the event of an evacuation there will be lots of displaced people. Being patient will make things less stressful. Your children need to see you calm and collected. This will help keep them calm too.

That seems like enough to digest for today, the rest of this post will appear tomorrow.  Enjoy your Sunday

friday five: take five!

At RevGals Deb invites us to take a plunge with five. Here goes!

1. Five flowers you'd like in a bouquet or in your garden:
Black-eyed Susans (the one thing I actually have in my wannabe garden!)
Zinnias 
Lupine (alas, too hot here, but I would still like to have them)
Daffodils
Heather.

2. Five books you want to read (or re-read):
Quiet (Susan Cain) 
Daring Greatly (Brene Brown)
Anything by Richard Rohr or John O'Donohue
Any of Julia Spencer Fleming's mysteries (I've only read the first)
The Power of Positive Dog Training (Pat Miller).

3. Five places you want to visit:
Cantabria, Spain (photo)
Assorted towns in Germany where my ancestors lived
Italy
Machu Pichu
Iguazu Falls (South America)

4. Five people you'd invite for tea/coffee/beer and pizza:
Ellen Degeneres
Henry VIII
Leonardo da Vinci
Helen Keller
Mary Oliver

5. FIve chores or tasks you'd gladly give to someone else:
Filing!
Mopping
Filing!
Dusting
Filing!

BONUS: A five ingredient recipe! (This is harder than it sounds!)


Crock Pot Beef Stroganoff

2 pounds stew beef
2 cans condensed golden mushroom soup (not cream of mushroom)
1 large onion, chopped
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
8 oz sour cream
*8 oz. cream cheese

In a 3-quart crock pot, mix together the beef, soup, onion, and pepper. Do NOT add water to the soup. Cook on low for 7-9 hours.

About 15 minutes before serving, cut the cream cheese into cubes and mix into the crock pot. Just before serving, stir in the sour cream. Serve over rice or noodles.



*my recipe didn't include cream cheese in the list of ingredients, but it is referenced in the directions. Good catch by a fella RevGal! I tracked the source and have added it here. Kindly forgive the error.

road talk

Sunday was a busy day. As noted, we began with church. From there we headed to a gathering of our local Preceptory, a "branch" of our Templar priory (there are four preceptories in our priory given the geographic spread of it: middle Tennessee; Memphis area; northern Alabama and north Georgia; and western North Carolina, east Tennessee, and southwestern Virginia). We shared the day and the ride with our friend Jeri, who sponsored us as Templars. 

Apropos of the question that launched yesterday's post--if your house were burning what three things would you take with you to save--I posed the question to Ken and Jeri. The first thing that came to mind for Jeri was a bell that belonged to her great-grandmother. During the Civil War the bell was used to alert people on the home-place of possible trouble, and in one particular case, the impending arrival of Yankees. Great-grandmother and a few others escaped within inches of their lives, but those who remained weren't so lucky. They were rounded up and locked in the house, which was then set on fire. 

This story catalyzed conversation about the cruelties of war, especially to civilian populations who, for the most part, do their best to stay under the radar and mind their own business from one day to the next, and nonetheless pay tragic prices for living or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We lamented the mob mentality that leads to heinous acts like this one, and two different, yet related thoughts and questions emerged for me.

At a recent clergy gathering, ethics guru Stanley Hauerwas from Duke University presented a collection of propositions he is putting together for a book. A pacifist, Dr. Hauerwas spends a lot of his time working with military folk on the subject of ethics (Duke's proximity to Ft. Bragg makes this particularly workable). He shared with us his conviction that, when it comes to the life of a soldier (and I use that term broadly to include all military personnel, if I may be forgiven for doing so), the greatest sacrifice is not one's life, but to overcome the basic human instinct not to take the life of another person. I think this perspective is rather amazing and worthy of considerable thought and reflection. It led into what became a focus of our subsequent conversation in the car on our way to our Templar gathering. What happens to people who are generally "good" when the circumstances of their lives take them down roads that lead them to do horrible things to innocent people? When the circumstances subside and the ordinary course of one's life resumes, does the knowledge and memory of what has been done haunt the conscience? 

I know that in some cases it does. A part of my own family's story is that a raid similar to the one described above took place on a family farm in Georgia where my great-great-grandmother spent her days while her husband was off fighting with the Confederate Army. Blessedly the commander of this unit of soldiers had some degree of decency, for although his men trashed the house, stole family possessions, broke china and crystal and cut off the heads of chickens with the shards, lives and buildings were spared, and at least one item of the household was ordered returned to the family. A family bible went home with one of the marauding men, who on his deathbed dictated a letter of remorse and sent it, with the bible, back to a member of the family.

The broader question remains: how do cruel acts committed under the veil of war affect those who commit them? Has there been any study or research conducted on this? I can certainly understand that the shame attached to such behavior would make it unlikely for someone to confess to such behavior. Perhaps some atone for these sins by committing their lives to doing good, productive and helpful things for others. Maybe some are so haunted that they withdraw into themselves and become shells of who they once were. Perhaps others simply do their best to keep one foot in front of the memory and never deal with its wake. Still others may write it off without conscience at all, chalking it up to the nature of the beast that is war. 

I wonder what we could learn from a conversation about it.  I suspect no conversation would change the likelihood of such acts from taking place in future conflicts, but perhaps there would be a way to help heal the minds and souls that are scarred by the reality. All I know for sure is that it inspires me to pray.

clothed

I filled in yesterday morning for a clergy colleague who decided to take an impromptu trip out of town over the weekend. In the pocket of time between rolling out of bed and leaving for church I ran through a mental checklist of the things I needed to load into the car: alb, prayer book, did I need to take a stole? I would probably just wear the church's stole and chasuble. I found myself tucking into the folds of that thought with warm pleasure, which inspired a random thought.

Have you ever done the exercise that asks the question, "if your house were burning and you had time to collect three things to take with you, what would you save?" The question hasn't been far from my thoughts as I listen to the stories of people being hastened from their homes with wildfires lapping up the ground approaching their abodes in Colorado. In spite of this, I haven't taken the time to think about my own answer, or at least one answer, until I experienced the satisfying thought of donning the chasuble. I made the chasuble with which I was clothed when I was ordained priest, so I own a chasuble and matching stole. That chasuble is one of the things I would save.

In spite of my vocational struggles and the scars I bear from my tenure serving missions and parishes of the Church, I am still a priest, through and through. The liturgical joy of priesthood was affirmed yesterday as I processed into the church, singing an ancient hymn and taking my place in the chancel to lead the congregation in worship. It was an hour of joy and contentment, filled with hearts and souls hungry to be nourished with the body and blood of Jesus, and sprinkled with wide-eyed children whose hands stretched over the altar rail to receive their portion with smiles that they couldn't hide. I coveted especially the two-year old, who, rather than shake hands at the Peace, offered his fingers curled for a fist bump, and to whom I offered mine during communion along with the blessing I spoke as I made the sign of the cross on his forehead. Any niggling wonder about whether it might be God's desire for me to pack my stoles and put them into storage was effectively quieted. 

The experience of the morning--which included multiple conversations about the sermon--was a reminder that I still have a voice to proclaim the Word and bear witness to the power of the Spirit. It remains to be seen how that voice will be used and what path lies ahead for that purpose, but I have peace and confidence that a way will open and make itself known. In a way, the affirmation of the morning served to loose the bonds that have clung to my soul like the tattered fringe of pain. The gift of healing seals a portion of the past and allows me to move forward with a necessary lightness. Amen to that.

I'm still considering the other two things I would save. Photographs are always a prominent candidate for selection. Thank goodness many are now stored online and spared the potential fate of destruction by fire. There is the painting done by my grandmother of one of the views at Melrose. There is the pastel drawing of one of my dogs that my mother commissioned. A silk-screened celtic design bought at the gift shop of Dunvegan Castle when I toured my beloved Scotland to dance, a reminder of that trip of a lifetime. The icons I wrote. Interesting that these are all works of art...

I am grateful this morning for the opportunity this blog offers to record the reflections of yesterday. Such thoughts so often dissipate into the vapor of the day and merge with countless other moments that become lost in the abyss of memory.

Today marks 18 years of priesthood for me. I am grateful for the affirmation that I followed a path that, despite the slings and arrows suffered along it, has been right. For all the pain and agony along the way there are countless blessings that I cherish and hold deeply in my heart, and in my bones. As the good book says (thank you, Tevye), I am a priest forever (Ps 110:4).

Mazel Tov.

1313

According to the stats for this blog, I have written 1313 posts before starting this one. A great number, in my book, seeing how it affirms my birth day not once, but twice!

And on that random note, this post will simply catch readers up on the goings on since that 1313th post (actually the one before it, which promised more news than was ever delivered). It's been a busy time, and I'll try to be brief.

We were actually gone more than we were home in May, with trips serving as bookends to the month. You know already about the first trip to Melrose and welcoming Rock to the world. Here are some pictures that ultimately came our way via mom's camera:

Ken has been immersed in a series of historic fiction novels by Sharon Kay Penman, books I read ages ago and thought he would enjoy given our Templar affiliation. These are set in England and Wales in the 13th century, more of less. Unfortunately he hasn't been able to read them in order, but that hasn't dampened his enthusiasm. "For certs!" he would concur!

This is probably the best picture of us that's been taken in a while. 

The porch chairs at Melrose have probably held up for at least 50 years (they sure don't make stuff the way they used to), but were in need of repainting and recovering. Ken sanded, then mom and I started to prime and paint (there were 4 chairs in total). Until Ken came along and hoisted the chairs upside down with a coat hanger and slapped those babies silly with his paint brush and wrapped up the paint project in no time! He and I then took pains to master the craft of attaching the seat covers. It's not as easy as it looks!

Okay, enough Melrose pictures.

The next road trip was to Durham, NC for a wedding, then a trip down to Augusta for a "gender reveal" party. Silly me, I thought everyone knew what this kind of event was about, but I got more blank looks than I would have thought possible. For the uninitiated, a gender reveal party is an event at which the gender of a baby in utero is revealed.  Some of you already know from facebook, but I'll go ahead and diffuse the suspense by sharing that it's a boy! Another boy! That makes five grandsons!

Back to the wedding... here's the bride and groom. I officiated. This is my goddaughter's sister.

From Durham the plan was to join Kenneth and Trisha with Trisha's family for a camp-out before heading to Melrose for a few days. Alas, the camp-out got camped out, so we had to shift gears and make a last minute alternate plan. We did get to enjoy a few hours at the campground before a sunset departure, which allowed for this lovely photo.

We enjoyed some extra time with family between our arrival and the big event, including pool time with the grandsons, and an afternoon at a local park. I love this picture of Ken and Jude.

Our gift to K&T and baby-on-the-way was a plate that everyone at the party was able to sign. The plate then gets baked and the writing becomes permanent. At least that is the idea. Here's a picture of Travis signing said plate on behalf of his family.

And here's a picture of the parents-in-waiting. We were asked to come wearing either pink or blue, thereby attaching ourselves to a team. The reveal happened when a balloon was popped and blue confetti spilled out. 

I realize that this has been far from a newsy post, but I've run out of time putting this together and am duty-bound to go mow the front yard. 

Until next time, whenever that may be, I bid you adieu.

friday five: got my travelin' shoes on!

  photo from Following Atticus facebook page, used with permission

It's your road, and yours alone.
Others may walk it with you,
but no one can walk it for you.
--Rumi

At RevGals Deb writes: I reflected on this poem for a while and thought about some new "roads" that my progeny are beginning. Both are graduating (one from high school, one from college). I am also looking at a possible new "road" in a much hoped-for job. It's been a winding path to get this point!

So in thinking about our life's journey, and the rhythm of our lives, here are five questions on this theme...

1. What "road" is in your immediate future? 
This is a timely FF for me, since my road ahead has finally become clear! I'm headed toward a new ministry in animal massage. The most immediate road ahead is raising money for the training. 

2. Where have you been "traveling" a lot lately -- and are you going back there? 
To reach the road referenced above I've done a lot of discerning, research, prayer, processing, resting, and now and again hit the real road to visit family and benefit from various changes of scenery.

3.  Who are your fellow travelers? 
In addition to my mother and husband, there are five people whose companionship and support have been critical on this recent phase of my travels. One of them pointed me to RevGals as a place to connect with fellow travelers. One IS a RevGal, and the others I got to know through yet another RevGal. My dogs are also fellow travelers and provide constant inspiration, support, affection, and amusement.

4.  Who are the unintentional companions (or hitchhikers) that you find on the road with you? 
He doesn't know it, but Tom Ryan, author of Following Atticus, has provided regular encouragement and inspiration through his facebook page.

5.  As a family, we always recite "the traveler's prayer" -- a tongue-in-cheek petition as we pull out of the driveway ("Lord, whatever we have forgotten, may it not be important!") What have you forgotten lately, and did it matter?
I can't remember what I forgot on our last trip. Usually we get by without whatever we intended to bring on the journey and we're none the worse for wear.

BONUS: Share a photo of a road you've traveled. Or of traveling companions who have made the journey special. Or perhaps there's a song or another poem that suits your journey. If so, please share!

 

photo taken at the West Hartford Reservoir #6

West Hartford, CT

reporting in

I confess I'm astounded that my last post was a month ago. We've been on the road quite a bit this spring, starting with a visit to Fort Bragg to beam with pride at the graduation of our son as a Green Beret. Then there was the annual spring Templar convent in Huntsville, and most recently a trip to Melrose that combined that ritual with the opportunity to welcome our newest grandson to the world. Lots of good stuff, and certainly plenty to write about.

I'd love to share pictures from the GB graduation, but we've been cautioned not to post identifying material online. Should there come a time when an enemy has access to and a use for such information, undue torture and pressure could result. Although unlikely it's a sobering possibility, and so we keep our pride and our pictures under wraps. I would gladly share them in person. I am including this one, blurry time exposure (the result of insufficient light and movement in front of and behind the camera) from the entry of the graduates to the auditorium. The auditorium was dark, and the group was behind a curtain at the back of the room. Led by a lone piper, the curtain parted, a fog machine imparted a little magic, and the strategically placed lighting that focused narrowly on this group created a dramatic and breathtaking entry. Wish I had a video. I'm still learning how to use that feature on my phone.

 

Okay, I found a youtube video from a previous graduation ceremony. It's not the greatest, but it at least suggests what we saw (you only need to watch the first 20 seconds for the impact). I'm so glad they've upgraded the uniform worn to dress blues instead of the every day basic duty uniform. Love that Scotland the Brave is what the piper plays!

En route to said graduation we had a couple of days in Durham to enjoy the company of a soon-to-be bride and groom at whose wedding I will officiate. The bride is the sister of my goddaughter, and like a daughter to me as well. It was an opportunity to get to the know groom (whom I had met once before), and we really enjoyed our visit with the almost newlyweds. It is totally fun to be in relationship with Jenny as an adult. We look forward to the Big Event and celebrating the new incarnation of their relationship.

We had a great weekend with our fellow knights and dames in Hunstville. The weather was glorious, which is always a delight when traveling through beautiful country, and the occasion launched a new road trip ritual. You may have met Cassie, our not-so-sheepish travel mascot, on facebook, where she made her debut. She has become part of our travels as the result of a querying post about what people consider staples of travel in their vehicles. Cassie has developed quite the personality already, letting us know what sights she wants to take in, and where she might like to have her picture taken as documentation of our various road adventures. She was particularly keen to make a stop at the Laurel and Hardy Museum in Harlem, GA when we were at Melrose recently, but we simply didn't have a chance to work that in. She posed on the tree swing in the front yard instead, and joined us for happy hour when Jimmy and Barbara came for dinner one evening.

Lest she becomes the focus of this post, let's move on to the real highlight of our time at Melrose: grandson number four, Rock! We scheduled this spring's visit to coincide with Rock's anticipated arrival. Due on May 2, we left home the day before. This is the first time we have been able to be on hand at the birth of any of our grandchildren, and it was a complete joy to be at the hospital and have him in our arms so soon after his birth on May 7. Nana loves her boys, and her heart has been captured by this newest addition to the family. We enjoyed time with him at the hospital, back at home, and then for a brief visit to Melrose for an early birthday celebration. Unfortunately  my camera appears to be completely out of commission, so the only pictures I was able to take were on my phone. None of them are focused well, and some taken on my mom's camera are awaiting an opportunity for her to download them and send them on to us. Here, at least, is one I took of Ken holding our sweet newborn. He's precious. Ken too.

I'll save other assorted news and reports for tomorrow. This seems enough for this effort to catch up!