Being Lesbian in a Straight World

In the July/August 2009 issue of Yale Alumni Magazine, Mitchell Reich said, "My epiphany (coming out as gay) was always supposed to expand my world, never to limit it, and I'm disappointed in the contraction of my social panorama." (p47) His coming out was about 4 years ago, not nearly long enough to have accustomed himself to living gay in a very diverse world - not just straight (heterosexual) but also one that includes people who want to kill you for who you are. Terrorists want to kill us because we are American. Some Muslims want to kills us because we are sinners. Mothers and fathers fear us because we are not what they want their children to become...or for other reasons. Churches ban us because they interpret scripture differently than we do.

So we do cocoon (to use Mitch's word). We tend to gather in groups of people who are very like us, people who look askance at heterosexuals in their midst. At least that's what we do in the beginning of our "coming out". Some of us never make it past that acclimatization. I retreated into heterosexual marriage after those first four years. Of course, the world was very different then. Police could arrest you for being in a gay bar - the dreaded vice squad. Landlords could refuse to rent to you, and employers could fire you.

However, after living in a world that included lots of straights and gays for many years while I was married, I can return to being openly lesbian without the cocooning. In fact, I would miss my hetero/married friends and their children. I cannot let being lesbian dominate my life - how boring! Nor can I deny my marital status - civil unioned in a far-off state, holy unioned in a conservative town, but openly partnered with a woman.

We are part of a group that is striving for acceptance within a church - a small piece of giving back for the comfort that we feel and the financial ability to say, "I'm not sure what you think of me matters very much." Our parents are dead; her son lives a rather bohemian lifestyle in a large city. We don't have consider the consequences for our families.

But most people around here really like us: the older ladies where we go to church, the men who work on our home and our yard, the people we meet where I work, church people that we come to know, twelve-step people, and other groups who might be more traditionally unwelcoming. We've met very little bias, anger, fear or repression. We are truly blessed.

Our parties include some gays but many others - singles, heterosexual marrieds, partners of various kinds, children. I would miss the richness of this blend of people. We even have conversations - some in person, some on the internet - with those who think that our sexuality choice is an abomination. One of my dearest "children" from a time when I worked at a college has very different opinions about what the Bible says about our lifestyle - and some other things also. We occasionally talk about that, but mostly I want to hear about her children, her move, her running accomplishments, what kind of French meal she is preparing for celebration of the Tour de France. I follow her notes closely on Facebook.

Yes, Mitch, I understand your cocooning during the first four years after coming out, but now you have to come out again. In order to expand, you need friends from all sorts of lives and all ages. If you continue to cocoon, you will not be "becoming more fundamentally honest, learning to share myself more deeply with other people." You will become what you were called when you first ventured away from the cocoon: a faggot. You must not let being gay become constitutive of your identity to the exclusion of other parts of you.

I offer you my blessings and my prayers for the man you wish to be. May others find that same diversity within themselves.

Old spam, new perspective

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."


This story makes me wonder what "seeing" has to do with perspective/attitude and happiness. Perhaps that's why gratitude lists are so important. Gratitude lists are enumerations of the things we can "see" in our lives that are good. What if we made gratitude lists for the things we can only imagine? When I am depressed and hurting, what if I made a detailed list of a trip that I want to take but have not taken yet? What if I described in detail the people I would meet and the sights I would see?

In such a gratitude list, I could even include the impossible events as well - hugging a clean polar bear, rolling around in the snow with a cub in safety. I could describe how the snow feels in that part of the world - slightly dry and raising puffs of white as we tumbled along and I butted heads with the cub. Rubbing my head with snow covered gloves and having the cub imitate my action. I could imagine my eyes tearing and the tears freezing as they stuck to my face. As I turn to leave, the mama bear gathers the cubs near her and they watch as I get on the tundra buggy, staying still in that position until we are out of sight so that my final image is of "my" polar bear family.

In other lists, I could describe the serenity of places I have been and people I have known - things for which I am truly grateful - not just single words or phrases on paper but recalling the joys of being present to beauty, to love and to goodness.

I'm good with descriptions, but the plot would simply be gratitude that I was there or that I am there in spirit.

I missed the Independence Day fireworks again for the umpteenth year, but no fireworks could be as beautiful as those I see in my mind. I close my eyes and the swirling sprinkles of minute light bursts imprint themselves on my mind. The colors are varied, ranging from multi-hued magentas to bright yellows and mind boggling blues against a dark blue sky. And, the greens that umbrella over the crowd. The one red sparkler shot that seems to fall directly over me, and I can feel the bits of ash that haven't blown away above the trees as they fall to the ground around my feet, evidence of the specialness that I am. The red one was for me.

Our creek is wide where we live, but miles up, the branches overhang the shallow water. A deer drinks quietly from the bank as I round the corner (actually happened) on my propelled watercraft. I quieten the motor and drift for a few minutes. Today I'm dressed in the colors of the creek - a bit of green, dark pants that match my craft and the water, even a few sparkles to reflect light as the water does. The great blue heron continues to stalk a fish as I watch and moves into the edges of the cypress knees as I pass. White lilies that I've seen at a distance brush the edges of my craft as I ease by. And, there - just a few yards away on the bank - the white alligator that people claim to have seen. I am frightened, but I take a deep breath and gently turn around - moving the water so little as not to be noticed. The alligator is very large and the sun is warm on its back as it appears to doze in the afternoon. Easily, easily, I move back down the creek toward home. The alligator continues to doze. Nearer home, the turtles still slide off the fallen trees into the water as I approach. And, then, home appears around the curve of the creek. A boat slows and waves as I approach my docking spot.

I can encourage myself with descriptive sightings - those of the outside world, those of my inner world of peace and delight, those of memory and those of hope.

God, let my fingers do the talking when I am sad or hurting.

Episcopal Church Resolutions

(Please note that the opinions expressed herein are those of the author and not of the Episcopal Church or any part of the Episcopal Church. The logo is used to indicate the subject of this opinion.)

Even in their watered down versions, the General Convention has passed two resolutions that will extend the full sacraments of the church to all baptized members. First, both houses (bishops and deputies) passed a resolution that will allow gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people full access to the ordination process and, if ordained, to all positions including bishop. Second, the House of Bishops just passed 104/30 a resolution for creating theological and liturgical basis for blessings of same sex unions as well as allowing a generous pastoral response, especially in those states where they are legalized. This resolution now goes to the House of Deputies.

The rector of the main Episcopal Church in our town has called a parish meeting between services on Sunday to explain the first (and, I suppose, the second) resolution to what he believes is a strongly conservative congregation. He is a man walking in fear of schism in his parish. He also walks in fear of losing pledge dollars and, possibly, has not dealt with his own feelings.

Truth: Such changes do cause people to leave the church, but they also cause people to join the church. While I have no evidence for this belief, I believe that more people will be led to the Episcopal Church than will leave it.

Over five years ago, the dialogue about GLBT folk began here. Subsequently, a support group was formed. They held a short retreat to decide what they wished to be, to do, and to be called. An article was published in the church newsletter about this new group with its name, LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered) Ministry. This newsletter was published while the rector was away. When he returned, he pulled the article from the on-line version of the newsletter, but several hundred printed versions could not be recalled.

At the following meeting of the group, he made clear that he did not want the ministry to be so named nor did he want the words Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered to be mentioned in connection with Christ Church. At the diocesan convention in February, he had the poster for the display changed to the LGBT Ministry of the Diocese meeting at X Church. He said that he had gotten much negative feedback about this ministry. He wants the group to form a five year plan - that's five more years than have already passed.

About 20 people are active in the LGBT Ministry, and I personally feel that we are welcome at this church only if we keep a part of our lives secret. My partner and I had our picture made together for the church directory. We cannot deny this part of our life - which is only a minor part as regards the church...in fact, I don't recall inviting the church into our bedroom or into the working relationship of our household.

I am grateful to the bishops and deputies for the emerging understanding of differing lifestyles and the spirit of inclusivity they have exhibited at this General Convention. I pray that the same understanding and spirit may engage the hearts and minds of those at our church who would exclude me and others like me.

I agree with the Pope

"While the poor of the world continue knocking on the doors of the rich, the world of affluence runs the risk of no longer hearing those knocks, on account of a conscience that can no longer distinguish what is human." Pope Benedict XVI in Caritas Veritate, his new encyclical on the world economic system. (Guardian)

While I disagree with the Pope on many things, most things, this statement has a ring of truth, particularly if you change the word human to humane. This makes the statement more understandable to the rest of the world. The Pope and I already know that to be human is to be and act humanely.

Now, we have to convince the very rich that sponsoring children in Africa, adopting orphans, building fairy-tale ranches and such are not the full way of treating the rest of the world as humans. Do my beliefs mean that I'm going to give up my pleasures? NIMBY (not in my backyard).

We have more than enough, but we're not rich like Trump or Jobs or some movie stars or entertainers or jocks. Or Madoff. In fact, rich today seems to mean someone with nine figure assets or income. Wow!

Or does it mean someone with six figure assets and income? What determines richness today?

Better yet, is richness determined by monetary worth? And, if it's not, then how do we keep a conscience, enjoy our blessings (of all kinds) and remember what being human means.

Returning to Church

Some of you have read my story of non-ordination and the ensuing 20 years of ministry, and some of you know that I have not been a church-goer much less a participant in several years.

Today I attended a small church in Jacksonville, NC, and felt as if I entered a place of blessing. One Sunday, one communion, but a changed attitude. I remember singing, "Just as I am......." ad infinitum in the Baptist Church, but always being moved by the simplicity of its message. The simplicity of getting in the car and driving to this church, walking in the door, and participating in the liturgy made me feel as if I had never been away.

God and I have been getting along rather well, but I suspect a new ministry is going to present itself to me soon. I've been having dreams of being in the wrong place but having to bide my time for the right place.

So, Baptist or otherwise, I continue to sing "Just as I am...." and "here I am, Lord"
and, if I can only touch the hem of the garment....

Friday Five

Topic is our closets - whee, dogie!

1. Are you a hoarder, or are you good at sorting and clearing? I sort and clear very well when the stuff belongs to someone else, but I'm about to mail one of my great grandmother's dresses to a relative. Obviously, the females of my family have been hoarders. I have neatly marked boxes in the garage - Childhood -useless junk, Too Little, Computer parts, Files, Winter, Fleece,..... So, I hoard in an orderly fashion.

2. What is the oddest garment you possess and why?
I am not ordained, but my friend Alison was convinced that I would be someday. She gave me an antique red silk chasuble, stole that is too short for anyone over 5'2". I have it safely packed away with no anticipation of needing it soon. And, my great grandmother's dress and my brother's sailor suit when he was 2 years old, etc.

3. Do you have a favourite look/ colour?
I just like color - although red is my favorite color, I also enjoy turquoise and bright blue. And, I have hats and jewelry to match most things.

4. Thrift/ Charity shops, love them or hate them? My hats mostly come from thrift shops, and some of my clothes - few in my size where I live now. Love them, love them. Buy broken jewelry to make into other things - also belts that I deconstruct and purses and ....hmmm, you get the idea.

5. Money is no object, what one item would you buy? A swimsuit that fits and looks good.

Now the truth of my closets is that I have one closet of pants that fit my larger (now) size. I lost a few pounds a year or so ago and bought new clothes. Gained the weight back. Forgot where I put my clothes. Bought new ones. Now have twice as many clothes as I can possibly use, but I rotate them, and I wear them out and nothing goes to waste. I recycle when they cannot be worn any longer.

Happy Fourth of July!

Empathy and Who Gets The Job

"Mr. Ricci and his fellow petitioners understandably attract the court's empathy, but they had no vested right to promotion, and no person has received a promotion in preference to them."

- Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, dissenting from Monday's Supreme Court ruling that white firefighters were the victims of discrimination when the city of New Haven, Conn., discarded test results that revealed disparities in scores between black and white applicants for promotions. Her choice of the word "empathy" in her spoken statement seemed to reference conservative criticism of President Obama for saying he wants judges who can show empathy for those who are vulnerable. (Source: Los Angeles Times) (I picked this up from Sojourners Online. Emphasis is mine.)

The word "empathy" may be referencing President Obama's desires in a judge, but certainly during her lifetime, Justice Ginsburg has felt the kind of discrimination that results from discarded tests and preferences that had nothing to do with qualifications. I heartily support her use of the word. And, in most cases no one has a vested right to promotion. Most promotions are based on many things including written materials, length of duty, color of skin/eyes/hair, leadership qualities, obvious abilities/strengths, politics, political correctness, financial support and the like. While most places try to promote on the basis of concrete qualifications, that's almost impossible. Our internal biases and preferences as well as initial impressions do make a difference in who gets the job.

A Texas Joke

Texans

Gabriel went to the Lord and said, "I have to talk to you. We have some Texans up here who are causing some real problems ....

They're swinging on the Pearly Gates, my horn is missing, and they are wearing T-shirts instead of their robes; there's barbecue sauce and picante sauce all over everything, especially their T-shirts; their dogs are riding in the chariots and chasing the sheep.

They are wearing baseball caps and cowboy hats instead of their
halos... They refuse to keep the stairway to Heaven clean, and their boots are marking and scuffing up the halls of Wisdom. There are watermelon seeds and tortilla chip crumbs all over the place. Some of them are walking around with just one wing; and they insist on bringing their darn horses with them."

The Lord said, "Texans are Texans, Gabriel. Heaven is home to all of my children. If you want to know about real problems, call the Devil."

So Gabriel calls the Devil who answers the phone and says, "Hello --
hold on a minute."

When he returns to the phone the Devil says, "O.K., I'm back. What
can I do for you?"

Gabriel replied, "I just want to know what kinds of problems you are
having down there with the Texans."

The Devil said, "Hold on again. I need to check on something."

After about 5 minutes the Devil returned to the phone and said. "I'm back. Now what was the question?"

Gabriel said, "What kind of problems are you having down there with the Texans?"

The Devil said, "Man, I don't believe this ... hold on."

This time the Devil was gone 15 minutes and when he returns he says, "I'm sorry Gabriel, I can't talk right now. Red Adair has put out the fire and Brown & Root is installing air conditioning.

Codependent

Welcome to my world of codependency. Here life moves along lines that attempt to be parallel to each important person in my world. For instance: if my partner feels unhappy, I feel guilty for not making her happy. Even though she may be unhappy about things beyond my control or knowledge.

When my boss laments the drop in business, I immediately try to do something to increase traffic in the shop or sales. Even though - people may not have the money to buy yarn or may be involved in doing other things since summer is here in full force.

My guilt is that I cannot fix their unhappiness, lack of business, achy bone joints, lack of understanding, illness or other malady. I should be able to do that. Isn't that part of my job?

Oh, wait. I forgot again. I'm not God, nor god, nor godde, nor goddess. I'm not even a successful business person, or a priest or a counselor or a doctor. So, here I sit feeling guilty that I am not a person who works miracles immediately.

Alas, I can do nothing about that either. Therefore, I will simply take my medicine, gather my clothes for work tomorrow and prepare for bed with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart - gratitude that I don't have to make everyone happy or fix anyone's problems - not even mine.

energy versus money

Scientists say that the energy in the world is limited. That's part of Einstein's theory of relativity. Value or money is not limited. Or is it? The amount of stuff that my money will buy seems to be limited by the value placed on that money by the great god of finance. If the United States has a deficit, then that money (or its value) has to have gone somewhere. In this case, much of it has gone to nations overseas. They have bought the value of the United States in buying stocks and making loans.

Okay, so this is convoluted. As the number of people in the world increase, does the value of money increase. Supposedly, productivity increases value. But, productivity also decreases the resources available and should decrease value. If we use up all of our oil resources, then our value has decreased by that amount. We don't seem to be able to convert whatever energy the use of our oil resources creates (law of relativity) into value. Instead, the use of our oil resources not only decreases our value of resources, it decreases the value of the earth as a whole by producing gases that make holes in our ozone layer leading to global warming and all that jazz.

Wait, I'm getting to a point where I understand something. The more people in the world, the more we are using resources that have value and producing something that decreases value. So, the more people in the world, the less value is possible for each person. The more value/resources/money that one person has decreases the value possible for other people.

The balance between the law of relativity and the law of value is alike. We cannot reconvert the "by products" of using resources into another resource - like energy converts into matter and vice versa - one valuable resource must convert into another for the balance to be maintained. That's not happening.

We are using our resources to burn ourselves out of existence because we don't know how to reconvert the by products of our used resources into different valuable resources. We cannot go on this way.

The points of this post are
1. We are using value faster than we are creating value.
2. The more value that I accumulate, the less someone else has.
3. Value is limited because we cannot convert "by products" back into value.
4. Someday the people of the world will use up too much value and people will die.
5. I wish this were not happening in my lifetime.

Today is different

Yesterday I was really down. I felt that I had lived all of life that I really wanted to live. I was okay with just dying last night. As I prepared for bed, I figured, well, I'll either wake up or I won't, and I don't want control over which happens. I took my normal medication, did my stretch exercise, knitted a bit, put on my CPAP mas and turned out the light. So, I went to bed, and I woke up today. I didn't die.

Today is different. Today promises the same heat, the same chance of thunderstorms, the same job (which I love most of the time), the same partner, the same bed, the same dent in my nose from the CPAP - but today is different.

Yesterday was sad. Today may be also. But, today's sad will be different from yesterday's sad - and I like different. Most of you know that I'm an eclectic person. I've had so many jobs that I don't remember many of them. I lived in lots of different houses. I have lots of different acquaintances. I've lived with lots of different money situations. I thought I wanted to try suicide once and got rid of everything that could be used to do it (about 25 years ago).

Today, one of my friends has an operation for cancer. Today, I go to work. Today, a yarn rep is coming and I get to see all the lovely new yarns. Today, my partner made my lunch. Today I woke up early. Today is different than yesterday. And, I appreciate that.

So, whatever the day brings, I choose to see it and be it and do it. And, if I'm down again tonight, I'll just eat something crunchy, pet the cats, and go to bed early. After all, tomorrow will be different.

On my needles

Here's what I'm knitting now. Two feet done of a table runner, about 15 inches wide in Fiesta La Boeheme Carribean colorway. This is a mohair and rayon boucle double strand dyed together. The stitch is from Harmony Guides: Knit and Purl called Wave.

Avalanche by Leonard Cohen

Thanks to Badtux

How well do you know me?

Facebook has a lot of these questionnaires popping up now. We who are addicted to Facebook take a lot of quizzes and post the results. For instance, the classic movie star whom I am most like is Katharine Hepburn. Well, who wouldn't want to be like her? I can list my favorite movies (difficult since I don't watch movies much), my heroes, and I can compare these choices with other friends' choices. I can compete in games on Facebook.

Still, "How well do you know sharecropper?" seems a bit presumptuous to me...more than a bit egocentric. But, then, Facebook is egocentric in its concept. Why would I think that others might be interested in what I'm doing at any given moment. The cartoon showing Roland Hedley who uses Twitter to communicate everything is how I once felt about Facebook. And, I can't imagine using Twitter.

How well do my blogger friends know me? I'm tempted to insert a quiz right here, but, unless you have met me personally, you know only what I want you to know and what I let slip or what you can surmise.

You know that I live on a creek and enjoy my jet ski. You know that I have a partner. You know that I like fiber arts and work in a yarn shop. You know that I'm retired and have some deep psychological probings at times. You may know that I was an invalid for a few years and am now getting better. You know that I'm a liberal and more or less a Christian.

You may not know that I cherish each friend who posts a comment here. Or that I pray for people I know (in person, online, alive, dead, otherwise). Or that I thought I knew a lot about computers until I bought a computer magazine and discovered a whole different terminology than I had learned.

You may not know that I spend a lot of time in thought and have gotten very quiet over the years. I once had an opinion about everything; now I'm not so sure about anything. You may not know that I grieve deeply over deaths and resolve to keep those people alive in my heart.

You know, if you look at posting times, that I am awake in the middle of the night more often than I'd like to be and that I take long morning naps to compensate.

You may not know that, while I am very successful in what I do best - love people, I have never kept a job very long and have had such a variety of jobs that I often forget some of the things I've done. I think this just illustrates my insatiable curiosity about the world and how it/we work(s).

So no quizzes tonight - just sleepy-eyed reflections and revelations. And, yes, I am addicted to Facebook as much as I am to this blogging business.

Responsibility, Depression, Saying No

Now that we're 63.5 years old, we have developed a sense of responsibility that can get us into trouble. And, we lag along sometimes - tired, out of sorts, me eating everything in sight-partner eating little - refusing to do anything about our depression on the days when we recognize it and forgetting it on better days. Our backgrounds enhance our ability to nod instead of saying no, and we find ourselves over doing, which works along with the depression and the sense of responsibility to produce exhaustion.

So, the crux of the problem is exhaustion. So, I'm going back to bed as soon as I finish this. By the time she gets back from church, I'll feel better. I hope they sing some great music because that's partner's only hope of coming home feeling better.

thanks be to God that it is Sunday and we have little that must be done. We can recover gently from our overweening sense of responsibility (I worked 3 days this week and she's serving for the third time this month), our depression (maybe a jet ski ride late this afternoon) and our inability to say NO (even though we know it is a complete sentence). We have some visitors this afternoon but I trust they will not assume this is KOA and stay too long.

Rest, comfort, rest, and the next week will look better.

President Obama, can you hear?

Thanks to Pseudopiskie

A minor disaster

Lost this box, not the pieces

I am a Coca-Cola collector, and I love my Coke jigsaw puzzles. I have a number of them, and many have been stored in the garage on shelves in boxes.

The shelves above contained unopened cleaning supplies including bottles of hand soap. They turned over and leaked out in the back of the shelves - open plastic shelving. One of my puzzle boxes was completely ruined, but the puzzle pieces were in gallon plastic bags; so they are okay. Two other puzzles lost their box bottoms, but the puzzle pieces seem okay. Another puzzle I just set aside.

I've been so good in the last few years about putting puzzle pieces in plastic bags inside the boxes; but somehow these older puzzles were before I began that practice. I am grateful that I still have the puzzle pieces and distressed that the boxes were damaged. I've looked online very briefly and none of the puzzles are listed. Don't know how long I've had them, but they are big Springbok puzzles.

Needless to say, the puzzles pieces are all in bags now, and the boxes are no longer stored on that particular set of shelves. The hand soap containers will be stored in plastic bags now. Bleah.

Oh yeah, I found a box of junk with the junk still intact and the box totally ruined and a box of old financial records that I didn't even bother to move right now. And, all I wanted was another bottle of toilet bowl cleaner. Thank God that didn't leak onto the boxes.

Uncloseted Pastor

The blogsphere brings friends of many different kinds and natures. One of my friends has been The Closeted Pastor, and through her blog, her friends have loved and prayed and rejoiced and cried as she struggled with her authenticity and openness. This past week, she came out of the closet and told her congregation. The response has been positive mostly. Still, her denomination has rules and such that may make a huge difference in her life.

Changing one's attitude and belief system can be done only through experiential access to what one fears or rejects. Her congregation has experienced her faithful preaching and pastoring. They have become the loving Christ.

In the church here, we have begun an LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) Ministry. The rector suggested it a couple of years ago. This past year, the meetings moved from homes to the church center. Then we held a retreat to set goals, define our vision and decide that we had an identity. We chose the title LGBT Ministry. As communications person for the group, I wrote an article about how a new ministry had begun at this church. Briefly, the article was on the front page of the monthly newsletter (and still is on the print version). The rector pulled the article from the online version of the newsletter and reprimanded us stiffly for being militant and "in your face".

Today we buried one of our founding "members" and tomorrow the priest who supports us is moving to another church. We remain cohesive as a group, cordial to the rector, and growing plans for how this ministry might continue. Our diocese has adopted the song "All Are Welcome" and its message; obviously our individual church has not. The message we are getting is that we are welcome only as long as we do not make ourselves known authentically.

Yet, everyone that I've met has been loving and kind and accepting. Getting mixed messages is disconcerting. Okay, I admit that I haven't been in the church itself much. I've been at functions and a few services. I've felt welcome at the functions and out of place at the services. The church was founded during the reign of King George II, and the rector claims that some of those people are still around. Ugh.

Authenticity is important. I am authentically a practicing Christian who believes in universal salvation, inclusivity, and proclaiming the Good News. That's my relationship to organized religion. The Baptists didn't want me at age 16 because I danced. The Catholics didn't want me because I'd been divorced and remarried. Now, my once-welcoming Church wants to consider similar aspects of my life that bear no relationship to being a Christian.

What does my retirement, my savings account, my sexual orientation, my part-time work, my car, my friends, my love of computers have to do with worhsipping God? I don't think I'll ever make it from the church center and functions to the big building across the street and services...at least not as long as those founding members are still working their exclusivity with the rector.

Antebellum

How many existing antebellum homes did not get burned during the civil war? All of them.

Now, on to the point of this discourse. The word antebellum is inconsistent with history. While we Southerners have taken it to mean before the US Civil War (or that recent unpleasantness), the word just means "before war". As far as I can tell from reading all sorts of histories, the world has never seen a time without war. Before war would mean Eden to those who follow Father Abraham and the tales found in Genesis. Like the Fountain of Youth, the Garden of Eden is probably a pipe dream.

Likewise, the idea of antebellum. The South did not live in peace before the Civil War. Just ask the poor white people and the descendants of slaves. The big white houses and huge green yards of plantations did not mean peace. The owners of those were cut throat bargainers for slaves, for cattle, for land, for all those things that seem to make life idyllic for the owners wives and daughters. Fights broke out in Washington over who had the right to tell someone what to do or not to do...the federal government (which wasn't very strong), the state governments (which did whatever the wealthiest people wanted done), the plantation owners (because they controlled the land, the food, the money). Certainly not the individuals who did not own plantations.

Before the war! I'd just like to live after the war. Let the fighting cease now - everywhere. Of course, that would not solve the problems of enough resources for the people of the world, but lack of inter-tribal, inter-national fighting would make life easier for most people. Then we could work on seeing that all people have food, clothing, shelter and those things necessary for life.

My idea of what's necessary for life and others' ideas of what is necessary for life are necessarily different. I need food that I like, a house that gives me space, clothes that are becoming and fit, a doctor that I like and access to the medication to make life good and easier for me as I grow older...you know the routine. My goddaughter would probably settle for enough t shirts and stretch pants without holes, some meat for the pot and milk for the table, a house where the windows don't fall out, and doctors that actually considered her situation. Elsewhere in the world, some mothers would want only enough food for their children, shelter from the monsoons or dust storms, water, and a medicine man that could ward off evil.

After the war. How would we act after the war? Would we, the richest countries in the world, seek to help those who don't have even enough water? Would we insist that the families move from their native lands to places where water is more abundant or would we find ways to give them sufficient water where they live? Would we insist that they do things our way or would we help them work out ways to do and live within their mores and beliefs?

After the war? Would we begin to care for the earth? Would we be driven to make more and more money - to gain prestige?

After the war? What would we make of peace?

Oh yeah, that Southern symbol - the magnolia tree - opened its first blossoms here this past week. What a delicate peaceful flower that begins to turn brown and lose its glamour when it's picked.

Winter Clothes

My winter clothes have been stacked in somewhat neat piles on the floor of my bedroom for a month or so now. Since we are having company in June, I decided that packing them away was a good idea. Most of you know that I love clothes, and I tend to buy the same things year after year.

That year after year stuff has made me realize that I don't have the energy to maintain such a large wardrobe. Long sleeved mock turtlenecks look great on me, and my colors are black, white and red. I have some that are 10 years old, some that are five years old, some that are three years old and a few that are more recent. Some are too little (but I'm still hoping that the pounds will miraculously shed from my body), some are too short (after many years of shrinking) and some are pilled across the chest. Some are in great condition, but they are all in the same tub.

Why? Why don't I get rid of them. Well, that requires energy to figure out which ones should go away. Is that really too short? Do I have to try them all on? Why didn't I do this when I unpacked them?

I do understand why we find boxes of clothing in our parents' homes - boxes and closetfuls. They just don't have the energy to sort through them. At least that's my excuse for today. Next year, I will dump all those that don't fit, are too short, or are pilled. Next year.

For now, it's enough that get them off the floor of my bedroom - and the stacks of summer clothing that fall into the same category. Maybe I can get rid of some of them before I hang them or put them in drawers. I know that the executor of my will would appreciate that. Not that I plan on dying anytime soon, but I suspect I may have 30 year old mock turtlenecks by then. Sorry.

Two deer

As I have mentioned before, we live near the edge of a large national forest, and a few weeks ago a bear looking for food prowled about the back yards of a neighborhood near us. A bear in our back yard would not be impossible, but unlikely because of the water and the chain link fences.

However, as I was up for my nightly break, I was drawn to the back to look at the full moon on the creek. My backyard was bright with lovely shadows from the hickory trees. A moving shadow crossed my vision. I blinked to clear my sleepy eyes, and immediately it returned - no, it doubled.

Two deer were patiently grazing in my back yard. They could easily have gotten into the yard on one side because the fence gate is open or have jumped the low fence, but the other side has a six foot chain link fence around it...not so easy.

When they finished grazing or heard me cough, they began moving back and forth along the water line and over to the tall fence. One deer returned, walked onto our low dock and jumped onto the sand or into the water - not sure how deep the water is tonight. I guess the other jumped from the edge of the fence because they did not return.

I do love to watch the wildlife eating at night - and I might even welcome a bear in my backyard - as long as my cats are in the house and the bear doesn't tear up my screened porch - a lot of deck to cross before the porch though. I remember many nights in other places of watching deer graze in my yard. My Daddy was the one to teach me much about wildlife.

Thanks, Daddy/Godde, for the delight tonight.

Deaths

Uncle Myrvis on far right, my Dad behind Papa back left.


My uncle, closest living blood relative, died last night at age 88. His funeral is Wednesday. His first cousin who has taken care of his money and lives near his assisted living place called me at lunch today. I suppose I could bag a quick flight from here to Memphis and rent a car and make it to the church in Mississippi by 10 am on Wednesday, but it's not happening. Cost would be exorbitant, heat would kill me. However, I resent not being given the choice of attending his funeral and burial. He will be buried next to my father in French Camp, Mississippi. I wasn't given much choice at his funeral either. My aunt made the choices and then told me.

Just one more time when that family hasn't considered me really a part of it. Just one more time of feeling like cow dung in their eyes. Just one more time .....

Yet, my loyalties lie elsewhere. My boss had several family deaths last night - you probably read about it on the news - man kills wife and two children then himself. He tried to kill the 13 year old son who escaped. Boss' nephew. She is flying out today, and rightly so, to comfort her sibling. The three of us who work at the yarn shop are holding down the "fort" until she can return. Please keep that family in your prayers.

I keep asking, "Why, God, are people so cruel to one another?" Still it happens, another castoff, another insane event, so much hurt and pain.

My uncle was a purple heart POW from WW2, shot down over Germany, lost his leg, didn't know anything about PTSD and sentenced (in effect) to a life of alcohol on a small farm in Mississippi. Most of his life he slept on a single bed in a room barely wide enough for him to stand beside the bed. No plumbing. Living with his parents. Not coping with anything. Then he went to work for the post office and delivered mail for many years on the rural route where we had lived. Finally, he became unable to care for himself and went to a Veteran's Home where he was seriously unhappy. Cousin had promised she would care for him if needed; so she took over his finances and moved him into an assisted living place a block from her home.

That was at least five years ago, and I'm know that she and her family cared for him faithfully. At the same time, cousin fought for custody of her grandson and won and raised a fine young man. I'm sure she wants this over quietly, quickly and in proper manner.

May God grant all of us peace, humility, comfort and grace. Amen.

A blogger award for me?

PENolan has given me the Bella Award along with the instructions that I give it to 15 other bloggers. Too early for me to contemplate that, but watch out! Today is another day, and after a bit more sleep, I'll think of you.

Much as I like awards, the roses, somehow, remind me of how I feel when Michael calls me "Sweet Sharecropper" - who me?

Looking Backward

Except in therapy and therapy homework, I don't usually spend a lot of time looking backward philosophically. Occasionally I wonder what I might have been like if a certain event had happened differently, and I add my memories to those of others when we're talking about what life was like back when.

However, I've just read two blogs where people talk about life changing events and one is sad, the other simply matter of fact.

I lost my first job as assistant editor of a trade magazine when they renamed the positions and didn't want a woman as editor. What if I had become editor, continued with the training I had, finished my degree in good time and stayed there for years? Certainly life would have been more stable, but I think of all the things I would have missed in my wandering, multi-careered, - well, hither, thither and yon - existence.

I would never had clung to a sign pole saying "Welcome to Arizona" with the wind almost flinging me sideways down a gully. I would never have met and enjoyed my first African American friendship as I finished me degree 18 years after I began. I would never have seen the lush fields of cotton (that I thought existed only in Mississippi) near Fresno, California; nor would I have driven through Needles, California/Nevada, at midnight without air conditioning and the temperature at 101. I would not have known the heartbreak of being betrayed by a woman lover when I was so far from home and support.

Who knows, I might never had have a woman lover, and certainly I would not have had the pleasure of living with the wonderful woman with whom I will celebrate 10 years of covenanted joys and sorrows this year.

I might never have considered seminary and certainly not so far away as Yale. Would I have gone mountain climbing in a semi truck - 10 wheels grabbing the dirt and pulling us up narrow little tracks meant for much smaller vehicles?

I would never have had the joy of working with the Hispanic community in goal-setting for their own organization - when I don't even speak much Spanish. Here we are on break during a day-long session - outside doing stretching exercises. What fun!

I've never been to a reunion where others had successful single or double careers and families and lives that appear nothing like mine. Would I have felt shame at my wandering? Possibly. But one thing I know: I am a success for I have loved deeply and shallowly and sideways and in retrospect, but I have loved most of the people who came across my wandering way. Isn't that what God calls each of us to do?

It's all about me

It's all about me - but only in this blog. Elsewhere in my life, other people and other things take precedence. I listen. I smile. I cry. I work. I sleep in the recliner. I eat (a lot). I listen. I knit and crochet. I play on the computer. I listen.

What's really nice is when someone listens to me...when someone takes the time and interest to ask about me. Most of the people I know talk a lot about themselves, about their interests, about what happened in their day, about what they have accomplished during the day or during their lives. I don't talk fast. I don't interrupt (not often and with very few people). By the time I find an opening to speak, the conversation has gone far beyond me. So, I just don't talk.

That's why bits of my life just go unnoticed. Occasionally, I will talk during supper about who I saw at the shop or what new yarns arrived. Mostly, I smile and listen to others who speak faster and interrupt each other and talk loudly and trade stories. I'm interested in these things about which they talk. That's how I get most of my news and gossip.

However, conversation as an art is not part of this life. Take Facebook, for instance. We presume that others are interested in pieces of our lives. And, some people elicit more comments in response than others. We learn a lot about each other - unless we are quiet and just listen/read. Sometimes, it's hard to slip your thoughts into the flow of the world. Twitter, cell phones, text messages, blogs, Facebook, email, voice mail, IMs, and I'm sure new ways are being used that I don't know. The world is full of sound bytes and abbreviated word bytes and short takes.

I recently googled a friend named Mary Stuart, and a lot of the findings showed photos of the late Queen of Scotland. If your name is not Mary Stuart, I wonder how much you know of her story. If we use all these short forms of communications, what happens to our stories? We become like entries on a spreadsheet. You fill in the columns with information and PRESTO you are known. Stories are more than information; stories are metaphors and flashbacks to other persons' lives. Stories are universal. My thoughts and feelings at a particular time may fit your thoughts and feelings at a totally different kind of time in your life. Our concluding resolutions may be similar; our decisions may flow in totally opposite directions; but for a few moments, a few words, a few feelings, we were the same.

I like the stories - the facial expressions, the obvious feelings, the empathy and sympathy and antipathy, the way we are surprised by the storyline and the characters, and I like the endings that are usually filled with hope. I want you to hear my story, to see my grimace when I am sorting out what I felt and remembering what was said. I want you to laugh with me, cry with me, and be a part of my story.

A professor gave his students a one question final exam - pass or fail the course - some psychology thing. What is the name of the woman who comes in as you are leaving to clean this room? No one could answer.

What is your story? Does anyone know your name? Do you listen?

Philosophy or Psychology

The purchase and stashing of yarn creates an interesting discussion between those who stash and their spouses. We who stash are accused of irresponsible spending and ignoring the laws of cubic space when we think that new purchases will fit in the space already allotted but seemingly full. Spouses are accused of not understanding and insensitivity to art, color and tactile sense.

I personally think that the division is between philosophy and psychology. Philosophy for all touting that it is reasonable is tailored to each person. A perception of what is art to me - my philosophy of art - is mine, not anyone else's. Each skein of yarn represents a piece of art to me - art in the touch and sight of it as well as in the vision of what it might become.

For spouses, the issue is "Are you crazy?" Another unreasonable "science" but different from philosophy. The answer to the question does not depend on what an individual may think but with what the DMMA IV defines as abnormal. The purchase of art is not abnormal much less crazy. Therefore, the question of craziness is answered with "No."

My philosophy of yarn is that I need at least one ball of each kind and brand of yarn in the world - at least one. I cannot judge the usefulness or the art-ability of any without comparing it to others. Plus, I must have a variety of colors in order to judge the quality of color and dyeing. So, I accumulate the necessary parts for appreciation of the art of yarn.

So far, this appreciation has covered one wall of my wall and flowed onto the floor in tubs and cloth boxes and baskets and canvas bags. My UFOs (unfinished objects) are multiplying as I just can't resist trying the new yarn (or new needles that just arrived to be compared). Occasionally, I must sort through the jungle and jumble to find needles that I need and pull the UFO off, tie it through with string and restore it to the UFO basket. Meanwhile, the freed needles immediately begin what might well be another UFO in a few days.

My spouse's question has changed to, "Is there a path in your study so that I can get to your computer if I need it while you're gone?" "Yes, but watch your step."

Peace and happy needling.

Stitches, Food, Tired.

It's hot as blazes in the sun here in Atlanta...nice on the back porch.

The pup, Ruby, is wonderful. She and I had a nap this morning. I'm in love.

Stitches South was interesting. My first class was Making the Most of Self Striping Yarn, and I thoroughlyl enjoyed that. I learned about counting stitches on a swatch for certain colors and figuring out how they would fall in a pattern. Then we began a mitered square cap, which I will finish later. I love mitered squares...especially with short length self-striping yarn. Otherwise, they just look funny.

Elise, who taught the first workshop on Knitting one Below and presented a fashion show of pieces done with that technique, was a personable and thoroughly human woman with great ideas. The guy who was her model was also fun. She wanted to show us the backside of the sweater he was modeling and pulled it up in front - now mind you, the room is full of women of all ages. A delighted hum went around the room as his midriff showed. Elise turned almost purple and had him turn around to the back. As she pulled the back up, she realized that his underwear would show a bit at the top of his pants; so she quickly pulled the sweater back down, we all laughed - including the model. At the luncheon afterward, he again modeled the sweater and was laughing along with all these women. Such a good sport.

The Market opened at 5 pm and I was there - until 8 pm. I had done about one third of the show, when I decided to go eat. No eateries within walking distance except a sports bar and the hotel restaurant. I ate in the bar area. Since Atlanta has a no smoking rule, that was pleasant, but the noise and laughter got louder and louder.

Friday morning, I slept through most of my class; so I gave it up for lost and had a long shower. Then I went back to the market. I was somewhat disappointed with the Market - no really good sales, and I think nearly everyone was looking for wholesale prices at what is apparently a retail show. A few places had very good deals,and some places had yarns I had not seen before. I was going to buy some bison yarn, but it was $80 plus a skein. The muskox was similarly priced. Both were very soft, but the muskox fiber was fragile - not suitable for sox - most used in lace shawls and scarves and such. The bison was much more durable and soft and came in two different weights. The dealer was also selling bear hides, tanned and brushed to a magnificent softness.

I was hungry; so I purchased a soy/meat hamburger and coke and sat down. Across the aisle was a table with huge bundles of yarn piled shoulder high to me. I kept staring at the gorgeous colors. Finally, I went over to look - sock yarn - over a thousand yards of sock yarn in each bundle. So, I found a great color and bought it. Then I struggled back to my room with a bag of books and a bundle of yarn.

My friends arrived at the hotel and we went to eat - soooo good. Ted's Montana steak house - and Wow! What a steak! We'll be having that for supper tonight.

Pleasures and Chores

No deep theological thoughts. No fiber art. Just a few ordinary comments about my day. I'm doing laundry - always too much. I'm not breathing well because of all the pollen and other stuff in the air with the wind blowing. I've just had a Dairy Queen chocolate malt - small - following an Andy's hamburger (so good). Found a parking place at Wal-Mart and bought cereal and toilet paper...one begats the other.

However, this morning I was pleased to see the eagle picking at the latest catch - in a tree just across the creek. The eagle is growing. Mama Osprey was sitting very still on her nest during this. They will need to guard their eggs and young offspring quite well with such a neighbor.

And, I saw large fish jumping, people kayaking smoothly up the creek. Bright sunshine encouraged me to finish putting away the Christmas garland that has been on the back porch in garbage bags.

Plus I found the Easter baskets and empty plastic eggs that I will stuff for my friends for our traditional Easter Egg hunt. Not sure what I'll put in the eggs this year. My puzzle pieces are too large for the eggs; so they may have to contain witty and wise sayings. No one eats (or says they eat) candy around here. One year I put foam stick-on letters in the eggs, and everyone sat around making words and swapping letters. Hmmm. Maybe I'll divide the sayings into halves and let them put the sayings together.

all in all - a good day...except for a couple of very bad coughing spells at all the wrong times. Allergies are not good.

Death

On Wednesday a friend in another city died after a long effort with cancer, but we couldn't find out any information until Saturday. Go, Annie, Go!!

On Sunday, an online friend committed suicide and left us a note on his private blog. May he find peace and acceptance.

Tomorrow is my mother's 91st birthday; I hope she's enjoying it in heaven; she didn't enjoy a lot in her lifetime.

I've been re-membering the people in my life who have died during this Lent. I don't want their memories to die for me. Some are pleasant; some are not. But, none deserve to be forgotten.

The bootlegger's son who taught me to shoot a bow; he died in a car accident shortly after we graduated from high school.

Kaffee, who prompted me to try for a loan for divinity school and helped me through the process - encouraging me all the way - from breast cancer a year later.

Alison, who was my pal in divinity school - the cigarettes eventually got her through metastasized cancer.

Tim, my next door neighbor in divinity school, who died of AIDS and left his walking cane by my door.

Chelsea, the organist at my wedding, who also died of AIDS and was ashamed to tell.

Bill, my godson, who was older than me, but called me "Mom" because I sponsored him for confirmation, a Vietnam vet who died of illnesses contracted there.

Debbie, a church friend, who let me walk her "helping dog" after the church service and became a special friend.

Bill, who put me on the road to good sobriety, good counseling, good medical help, and offered me his vulnerability in seeing his dark side - of prostate cancer.

David, my brother, who died needlessly in an accident on a oil line repair barge in the Gulf when I was 16 years and two weeks old.

Marty, my nephew, deaf after a baby illness, who committed suicide at age 34.

Sue, my sister-in-law, who tormented me through young adulthood and became my sister in the process - in an operation to repair a stomach ulcer.

Martha, a patient in the Alzheimer's Unit in Wallingford, CT, where I did my CPE - she forgot how to eat and I sat with her for two weeks.

Dixie, an elementary school buddy, whose mental illness finally caused her to end her life.

Aunt Clyde, who loved me and was ashamed to tell me that she had sclerosis of the liver because she didn't want me to think she drank - she did when she was young but not for many years.

My first husband's niece who died at birth because both her parents had used many drugs and she was born with a partial head.

The child who was buried in a pasture in a shoebox, wrapped in a new baby blanket that my Mom bought for the family.

Untimely deaths. Yet, one by one, I remember all that I can and hold them to the light, knowing that they live.

crocheting an imaginary coral reef

More on personal economies

So, income is certainly going down a good bit - estimates from financial advisors range from 20 percent to 50 percent. Twenty percent, we can handle; fifty percent scares me. But, fear is good. This makes me more aware of how life used to be for me. Even at 50 percent of current income, we will live without fear of losing necessities.

And, our advisors estimate that the economy will begin to turn upward again at least by this time next year. I'm not so sure. Maybe for us that will be true, but for the general public that live on labor intensive income (i.e. working for a living), they are looking at some lean years for perhaps a decade. And, if the war in Afghanistan doesn't get better soon, the whole plan could be skewed for all of us.

I'm glad we made up a line-item budget so that we can see where we might cut expenses. I'm sure that my yarn budget is getting used up by the trip to Stitches South in April. And, we're not taking any big trips - like a cruise. Cutting the electricity bill. Not buying gifts. Kayaking instead of jet skiing. Yeah, those are the kind of cuts we'll be making.

Fortunately (so far anyway), my goddaughter's income is not being cut - social security disability, SSI, that kind of stuff - and she will still be able to buy food. You can bet that one gift I won't be giving up is the food help that I give her.

In comparison, my budget cuts are absurd. The local soup kitchen clientele has doubled. Their shelves are almost bare of food - but they have lots of clothes from the people like me. Some elderly people will die this summer, because they don't have air conditioning and they are afraid of violence if they open their windows.

Poor me. I'm just turning off lights and appliances that I don't use much. Poor me. I'm not taking a cruise. Poor me.

Mind you, I'm not in that top category of getting a million dollar bonus. I wonder what Oprah is giving up...or Donald Trump...or Dick Cheney? Even the middle class worker (who may be laid off and losing a home) would wonder at the extent of luxury that I enjoy, never mind those higher on the income scale.

Am I going to be like the young man who wanted to be saved and asked Jesus what he might do to attain the kingdom of heaven? The answer was to give all you have to the poor and follow me. My answer is "No way." I like what luxuries I'll keep. But, I will be more mindful of those with less. While gifts to my peers may be cut, gifts to help others with less will not. How are you cutting back or giving up or giving away?

Eagle

Here's the eagle sitting in the tree next door. I spotted him from the high window in my bathroom as I'm watching the osprey circle around.

Too much knitting information

In the process of trying every yarn in our shop, I have come to some conclusions about the various fibers available. Protein yarns (wool, llama, camel, alpaca, etc.) stick together and are easy to knit and crochet. Cellulose yarns (cotton, linen, sugar cane, bamboo, rayon, tencel, etc.) often separate easily and are more difficult to knit. Even some wool that has been treated to prevent shrinkage (washable wool)splits a lot.

The finished product, however, is worth the time you take in preventing splits.

In my visit last month to Virginia Beach yarn shops, I did see that small installation of hyperbolic crochet to form a replica of coral reef. So I brought home a brochure about the display in California and looked up the web site. I was amazed at the creations...and fascinated. Most of the pieces were made from acrylics because they hold the form so firmly.

I love Peaches & Creme cotton worsted and double worsted. So, I pulled out a ball of peacock (turquoise) worsted and began with a straight line of 20 crochet chains. I increased every third stitch. This afternoon at our knitting group, the ball was finished and the piece is beginning to look like brain coral, crenelated (doubling back on itself, wavy, ruffled)somewhat but not too much. I'll post a picture tomorrow (uhhh, today later). This is how coral grows, and the photographs of the Great Barrier Reef and other coral reefs show many shapes of growth.

Okay, so now I'm hooked (pun intended) on making a small display of coral reef growth including some of the sponges and other types of coral. I might even try a fish or two. But, instead of using acrylics, I want to do it in P&C cottons mixed with some eyelash and maybe some wool for felted pieces.

Sea slugs (sounds horrible, doesn't it?) are actually beautifully colored creatures that look little like the slugs we find on our plants and walkways. They fan out from a center hole (mouth) and are bright colors. (Picture nicked from the NOAA site, I think)

To get this striation, I think I'll have to use a variegated yarn or a worsted weight color crocheted with a size 10 white and pop a bright little scallop on the edge. If you want to see some beautifully shaped and colored pieces "google" coral reef crochet. Margaret and Christine Wertheim were the co-creators of the reef structure in California and others contributed to the setting - including Sue Van Ohlsen (sp?), whom I met at her yarn shop, The Knitting Corner in Virginia Beach.

Back to protein versus cellulose yarns: To achieve some of the textures in constructing my crochet (and probably some knitted) reef, I will need to use both kinds of fibers. Perhaps such a project will teach me some patience in my fiber work. Not only will I have to be careful with splitting fibers, I will have to figure out how to do that odd shaped opening that will be the beginning of my soon-to-be-begun sea slug. Ideas are welcome.

Happy Birthday

Several friends are having birthdays today. I've wished Jill Bethune Wood, who was a journalism major at MSCW at the same time I was, a very happy birthday on Facebook.

However, Freida McDonald, once of Daphne, AL, happy birthday wherever you are now. We lost track of one another when I moved away, and I've missed you.

Also from Daphne, happy birthday Anne and Gary Underwood; we were at Cursillo together, I think.

Strange to look in my birthday calendar book and find names I barely remember. I've moved around so much that I'm not sure where I knew some of these people. Marcel from Burundi worshipped at our church in Winston-Salem for a while. He had applied for asylum here, and I don't know where he is now. Sally and Lucy whose parents separated and they moved away. Mary Robert, priest and friend, who loved my EFM classes. And, on that same page, my grandfather Mike, who died when I was five. I adored him even though I know now that he was a philanderer, a hard worker when he worked, an alcoholic, super conservative, and possibly abusive to his family. But, he loved me.

How the friends from other places slip away unless we make a real effort to stay in touch. I admit the computer makes it easier now. I would never write letters to all the friends and family that connect with me through emails, Facebook, instant messages and such.

So, Freida, if you're out there, leave me a message.

Thoughts on the Economy and Spirituality

Our income will be cut by 20 percent in the next few months because of the declining value of our retirement portfolio, which is half of what it was a year ago. Amazing, isn't it, that something so amorphous as a portfolio, which really isn't on paper at all but in a computer bank several places, could affect our lives so profoundly? Paper money has baffled me from the beginning. When they recalled the silver certificates of one dollar bills, I realized that the actual one dollar bill had no meaning at all except that which "the economy" gave it. And, it actually costs more to manufacture a penny than it's worth. You can sell pennies for scrap metal and make more money...except that I suspect the law prohibits that.

Back to our declining income. I admit that "I see, I buy". Usually it's yarn or clothes, sometimes books, occasionally beads. However, I already have so much that I don't need more. My therapist says that sometimes I'm trying to fill the "love tank" because I don't get the responses I need from those who love me - not that they don't love me enough, but I don't recognize their ways of expressing that love enough to fill up my needs.

I know that my partner loves me, and I know that God loves me. Whose love am I missing? Both. Do I fail to see/hear/know God's love for me? How does God show that love to me? How does my partner show love for me? Why don't I recognize it? Why do I feel compelled to do things that "make me feel good" to supplement love?

Of course, you know that I don't have answers to those questions. And, you may be wondering what declining income has to do with recognizing love. For me, I spend money if I don't recognize love...partner's love, God's love, friends' love. In a month, I will have much less to spend, and I will need to be able to recognize that love more and more.

I am minded of Janis Joplin's "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." If I have love, then losing income won't matter so much. We will have enough for our basic needs and more. My concentration could be on filling my basic need for love by perceiving how much I am loved.

My prayer is that I learn to recognize expressions of love and let them fill my heart and soul and mind and body.

Minimalist Structure, Maximum Effect

Today's retreat for our flowering LGBT Ministry was much better than I expected - in fact, not what I expected at all. Led by a wonderful man who has been affected by the discrimination shown LGBT people, the retreat proceeded from why we joined the group originally to how the group has/is changing/is being now to what we are about to naming the group ---- and only then did we consider structure. We decided on a steering group with leadership functions instead of positions. Of course, functions have names - a coordinator because someone has to be named for contact, a finance person to handle money, a scribe to handle minutes and a communications person to handle getting out the word about the LGBT Ministry. We decided that four people were not enough; so the fifth person volunteered to help do the work in the steering group. No votes were taken except for the name and that was by consensus.

I even volunteered to be the communications person for the group...so I have all the big worksheets to transcribe and send to the group. I like doing that. Since I spent about 20 years in advertising and public relations, I should be able to do that job well. And, I can do most of it from home without worrying about being somewhere early in the mornings (which I don't do well).

This minimalist structure and the cohesion of the group will lead, I believe, to having a maximum effect on the ministry actions that we hope to attain. We are writing a mission statement that will help guide our work - welcome, ministry, action. Our first effort is hosting one of the Thursday soup luncheons during Lent.

Much emphasis was put on membership in the group being OPEN. No requirements for doing other things in the church, no requirements that you be a member of the church, no requirements that you be Christian, no requirements except respecting the dignity of all people, which is in our baptismal covenant. I like that. All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.

We had eucharist at the end of the retreat work, and I thought, "This is my church. Someday I may move into the church building across the street, but, for now, this group, this confederacy is my church."

I bless God for giving me such an appropriate community in which to worship.

Christ Church across the street

Spirituality and Structure

After Jesus death, the 12 male apostles didn't take long to form a heirarchy with Peter and James vying for leadership. Peter was the apostle to the gentiles and James stayed in Jerusalem. Both died as martyrs. Their followers should have learned from that that heirarchies just don't pay; however, during that first century or two the Christians, as the began to be called, seemed to be heavily into S&M. People kept getting thrown to the lions or tigers or whatever hungry beasts the Romans could find - mostly because they claimed that Jesus was King. Other terminology might have suited them better. Maybe they could have practiced expansive God-language, a choice that more and more liberal churches are using now.

When I took CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) in seminary over 15 years ago, the model was to be abusive of your peers in sessions - because we learn from pain. No, no. My group agreed up front that we would not be abusive toward one another, that we would work together to help each other learn the best ways of being pastoral, of being the hands and feet and mouth of God in helping people. And, we did. We did not set up the heirarchy of the leaders being in charge; we saw that they were teachers and learners just as we had some things to teach them and were willing to learn from them.

Structure in the organized church seems to mean business-like goal-setting, heirarchies, and formal meetings. Much good is done in the world by these organizations. Even evangelism in the mega-churches is done this way. However, some studies show that one to one invitations work better than anything else. Word of mouth is better than advertising. Smiles at the door are better for getting people to return than ushers who seat people formally.

Spirituality is done now with spiritual directors instead of people journeying together. While our teens are encouraged to be leaders within their groups, they meet the full force of structure when they are invited to diocesan conventions - mostly as observers of how to do it right. Delegated authority quickly becomes heirarchy, even when it's rotated every few years. The position holds the power, and some of that power rubs off on the person who holds that position. More often than not those people who have held the position in the past are elected again when they become eligible. That's structure. Leaders form positions, groups set mission statements, goals and actions. When someone strays from the structure the positions gently encourage the person to return. If the person does not return, the structure goes on.

About spirituality in structure: very seldom works, especially for the loners. We loners often have a spirituality that is inclusive and works in mysterious ways in all sorts of directions. We understand structure and organization, positions and goals, but they don't apply to our understanding of spirituality or pastoral care or being with God. We stray or we rebel. We are left to wander or we are kicked out (either in reality or ignored until we leave).

More about spirituality: Being with God is what spirituality is all about. Conveying that experience to others and helping them find it is pastoral care. We do it every day of our lives. Being alone with God is wonderful, but we also need to be with others who understand spirituality as we do. So, we go to church and we tolerate the heirarchy, the structure, the organization until it overshadows our souls. Then we feed elsewhere. Balance is hard to find.

Lord, help me find balance.

When things work right

Gratitude. This morning I made a long gratitude list as I lay snuggled in my comfy bed with two cats, listening to partner's coffee making and the birds chirping. When life is comfortable we can make gratitude lists. When life is uncomfortable, we seldom can think past our discomfort to make such lists. However, when a friend called this morning with a migraine, I was deeply grateful that I don't have them any more. No matter how much pain I have with my restless leg syndrome or the fibromyalgia, I don't have migraines.

I rinsed out the sink with the sprayer and thought about how much water I was "wasting" when some people do not even have safe drinking water. Our water doesn't taste good but it's safe. I want to help others drill wells so that they don't have to use river water or search for springs that may have gone away.

The owner of the store at Merchants joked with me this morning - spring must be getting in his blood because he's been glum all this winter. And, I'm grateful. We joked about the upcoming bike rally here in May and looked enviously at the bike riders who were buying gas and water for the day. And, I was grateful for the smiles and the joy of those who were enjoying our beautiful day.

I walked to Merchants - just two houses away - something I could not have done six months ago. And, I was grateful, even though I only lasted six minutes on the treadmill this morning.

My grocery list is made, and I know I have enough money to buy everything we need and probably some extras. My goddaughter struggles each month to feed those in her household - buying in bulk, looking for mark-downs and out-of-dates, and going around to various churches seeking food. She has no car and getting over to the church where she can get "angel food" boxes is now impossible. Buses don't go there. and, I'm grateful for good food to eat.

However, several nights ago, my restless leg syndrome would not be quieted and I slept little - up and down - heat, stretching, more medicine - finally still enough to sleep, but exhausted, about 4 am. I'm not sure how thankful I was then. I had a warm house, warm clothes, computer games, two loving cats, and plenty of room to walk around. In retrospect, I'm grateful.

Perhaps next time I have troubles, I will be grateful for the blessings that I do have instead of focusing only on my problems...but I doubt it.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference - and the mindfulness to be grateful at all times.

The Parish Retreat

I always take several deep breaths before I begin a blog entry and they usually end with a large sigh. I'm confused, ailing, bewildered, angry, happy, but always having some large emotion. Tonight I'm reflecting on the parish retreat of this past weekend.

Large church, partner attends, I don't. She talks about many people, and I have faces for most of them now. But, they seem a generation before me or a world away. Most have grandchildren. Most have been married many years or are widows. Many really are an older generation. But, even the younger ones have families. Many of them still work every day. Most are doing okay financially even in this crisis.

They were pleasant people. The music was good and reminded me of my long-ago Cursillo experience. In fact, some of the music transported me back to that time, and I could lay to rest the discomfort that has continued for so many years. I'm not attending to please the bishop (he wasn't there), I'm not seeking ordination, I didn't have anything to lose at this retreat - only to gain.

The program likened our journeying to an Appalachian hike - the trailhead, the base camp, the decisions about directions, the barriers, the hope, the going forth. I've never hiked, but the symbolism made sense. And, he said several key phrases and words that brought my current spiritual/worshipping self to mind and challenged me to find answers.

We stayed at our condo about a mile from the retreat center, and I slept through the Saturday morning part...a much-needed rest after working three full days last week- three very busy days. The retreat was good for me, but superficial. I was not moved in any deep way.

However, as I discussed it with my therapist this morning, several good things that happened arose in our conversation. My putting away the pain from Cursillo, my not feeling threatened by any hierarchy, my dreams not depending on someone's opinion of how I acted at the retreat. I was present and smiling for my partner.

Too Much

Our Lenten reflection last night was about poverty and wealth, about having too much or too little, about using what you do have wisely and compassionately. As we reflected on how much we have and how many people starve, we became humbly grateful and renewed our desires to use our resources to make the world a better place.

Yet, these desires must be taken in the context of the whole person, the situations in which we live, the ability to affect change in the world. Mother Teresa said something about the fact that she could only love the world one person at a time. We can only make small changes one by one.

I am unable to go to another country and build houses or help with clinics or teach new skills. But, I can give to the fund which makes loans for people in those countries to begin their own businesses and become self-sustaining. I can make baby hats for babies all over the world. I can make food for volunteers who help others build homes. I can do one small thing at a time.

In 1948, over 50% of the wealth (don't know how this is measured) was resident in the United States with about 6.3% of the world's population. The idea then was to keep at least that proportional disparity so that we would be a strong nation. In spite of the economic woes current, the USA is a strong nation. Many call the USA a Christian nation. If that were true, how would we go about making the world a better place - as a nation. We give food and aid to other countries. We make war and destroy infrastructures in other countries (and let our own infrastructures degrade and become outdated and dangerous).

Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.

If more and more of us would do that as individuals, then corporately, we could become the strongest nation in the world as well as a truly Christian one. I'd like to see some politicians, bankers, and CEOs wearing those bracelets: WWJD?

Fellow blogger is visitor

Okay, I know I haven't posted much lately. Went to Chesapeake with partner to her conference and bought yarn while visiting four yarn shops - thanks to Mapquest for getting me around. Then came home with stomach virus. Stomach still sensitive and my appetite is not.

But, wonderful, wonderful, Shel of Some Disagree with Mom is visiting. What a great time! We're reading blogs and making videos (see on Shel's blog) and taking pictures and making the cats not jump in her lap - they really like her and talk with her. Introduced her to our little town and my running buddy Paula today.

She and partner are going to church tomorrow. Probably too early for me, but we'll see.

So, I'll be back later with deep thoughts, Southern ponderings, and strange musings.

Super Bowl and Contemplative Weekend

I'm not watching the super bowl. Someone always wins, and the players always get those much prized gold rings that show the world they really are worthwhile. The value of those rings might dig several wells in African villages in dire need of potable water. And, someone always loses. That's what happens in a two-team match.

Contemplative Weekends should end on Sunday at noon - and usually do. But, I'm lazy; so I'm still at the beach and somewhat bored. Okay, now I've done all this reflective writing and mind-mapping and reading. Now what? I cancelled my therapy appointment in the morning because I don't think I can get there in time, and I just want to let all this rest for a bit.

I've been knitting on a piece of that multi-stripe afghan that I began over a year ago. This stripe needs about another foot. Green centipede - six foot long. And, I've been crocheting petals for a lariat necklace. And, I started a bath cloth.

I've read all of Joyce Meyers that I can take for one weekend. I even turned on the television to see how far along the Super Bowl was and maybe catch one of the commercials, but I couldn't find it. What I found was a documentary on polygamy, and during the time I watched, all the first wives had been very unhappy with the addition of the second wife. All claimed to have gotten over it, but I just wonder why they weren't smiling.

I'm listening to the surf. Sigh. I'm ready to go home.