I don't understand people who don't carry the past with them. Dave says I "dwell" too much, and perhaps that is so. But, I just found a plastic bag full of negatives and proof sheets that belong to someone I once knew - photos of people loved, activities loved, bits of the past. I retrieved them from the trash. Thrown away - good memories along with bad. Now I must decide - mail them to a person who threw them away or throw them away myself.
I collect buttons and lapel pins from all sorts of places, many bought at thrift shops, many from places and events where I have been, most of them have meaning for me. Some are employment pins given each five years for services rendered to the company - a recognition of work. A few are college or specialty school pins. These are from people I never knew. I keep them because they deserve to be remembered - even by a stranger. Did they retire and decide to leave this little bit of their past behind? Are they dead and relatives or friends got rid of the bits and pieces of their lives? Or did they just decide to toss it in the thrift shop basket - a trinket that no longer mattered in their lives?
So, I collect the bits and pieces of people's lives - in pins and buttons, in old jewelry pieces, in photos of kinfolk long dead, in letters I wrote to various people (now returned and waiting for the truth of my life to surface - will it confirm or contradict my memories and my journals?). I collect bits of unsought confessions of weaknesses and mistakes, joys of success and blessings, pains both physical and mental/emotional as people seem to feel they can talk to me. I listen. I am with them where they are.
At least until they begin to toss aside pieces of their past as if they don't matter any longer. Then, I lose part of my empathy. Losing my past would be like losing an arm or leg. I would know something had been there that I could have used today - the body's nerves feel missing pieces. Surgeons cut them out, cut them off and pathologists analyze them; then they are disposed of - the garbage of a body part that no longer functioned.
Some days I carry my past and others' pasts with me too much. When I awake in pain, I am more aware of those pasts and how precious are the lessons learned. When I awake without pain, I can ease these pasts into lessons for today, reaching out to use them.
Today I hurt. The negatives and photographs I found confirm my connections to my past and others' pasts. I hold them close in prayer and thanksgiving. Now, it's time to put them back in the plastic bag and get on with the day. May each person whose past I carry feel the love I am sending from where I am today.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
The Good, Bad and Ugly
Here's humanity at its best, at its worst, and at its craziest.
The Good and Crazy: This is sharecropper and humbug who were married on her birthday a couple of weeks ago. Local friends were invited for a party that became a wedding. The food was good, the company laughed a lot, dress was casual, and we all had a lot of fun.
Humbug and I met 53 years ago in Bermuda. When my Dad was transferred two years later, his father (who shared the building with the post office) destroyed all correspondence between the two of us. Each thought the other had deserted.
When his wife died early this year after a long illness, he began searching for me to apologize (His brother told him what father had done.). I was looking for someone who deserved an apology for me. We were both looking on MyLife. I saw a tab that said, "Who's looking for you", and laughingly clicked on it. His name was at the top. I quickly switched to FaceBook and checked out his profile. Everything fit, and he had left a message for me. So, I wrote him. And, he wrote back.
The Ugly: I was still in a relationship at this time. We had been in couples counseling for two years - doing better, then falling backwards, sometimes farther back than we had been. I was two steps ahead of the counselor who was two steps ahead of my partner. I knew the relationship was over and had planned how I might be able to leave (alone, I am a bag lady), but I had done nothing. After I began emailing with humbug, I asked for a separation. Then I met humbug halfway between our homes.
The Crazy: When we met, we looked at each other for a few moments, he opened his arms, I stepped into them and laid my head on his chest, and I felt as if I had come home. I had kept all his drawings, his notes, the diary, his photos. He had kept me in his heart.
The Ugly again: I went home and told my partner that our relationship was over and asked her to release me from my vows. She did. I began to pack. I asked humbug to come and help me. He did.
Long story shortened. In less than three months, I was out of one relationship and into another. Moved...well, almost all of it. Shifted my bisexual orientation from female to male. Asked for part of the joint properties that my partner and I had owned, been granted some of what I asked for in money and all of what I asked for in "stuff". My partner was stunned, shocked, embittered, grieved, angry and all of those things you would expect...and with reason. As I said before, I was at least four steps ahead of her in ending the relationship anyway. I regret that I could not have taken it slower and been more kindly.
Now, I live in a retirement community in a state I said I would never live in again, married to a man I never expected to see again, and I am happy. For now, the empty holes in me that I tried to fill with things and spending seem to be gone.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Love, parting, tears
Eleven years ago today my partner and I recited our vows to each other in what may have been the first sanctioned Holy Union in our diocese. We were excited after having waited a year to make this major commitment. The joy in our hearts was evident on our faces as our friends and my mother witnessed our vows and participated in the blessing of our home. We promised "All that I am and All that I have Always."
Always lasted more than 10 years though the last few were very difficult. What happened to "always" and how did it become "no more"? Neither of us are sure. We spent more than a year in couples' counseling, making one step forward and drifting backwards after a few weeks or days. We discovered differences in our lives that were significant enough to cause major grief and anger. We walked as if on egg shells for more than a year.
Finally, I asked for a separation and we moved into separate residences. Love was so overwhelming but so very, very difficult.
I am confessing publicly so that others may know they are not alone in handling the end of a love relationship in hurtful way. I had been contacted by my first love (1958); we agreed to meet halfway between our homes and see what 52 years of separation had wrought.
When I returned "home", I asked to be released from my vows with my partner. We both cried. We both knew that our relationship had been dying for some time, and now I struck the final blow to that part of our lives. I walked away with a stony heart; it was the only way I could go - just turn around and leave.
I began packing my stuff, and I have a lot of stuff. I was tired - emotionally, physically and spiritually. How do you say to God, "uh, changed my mind - can't do that always business"? My best friend offered to help - no way - she was far too unemotional to help me sort through generations of memorabilia - besides she had job. My partner offered to help. Bad news there. We would have cried and gotten little done; besides she couldn't sort my stuff. Being the last of my family placed a lot of homespun junk in my boxes and tubs.
So, I called my first love and asked him to come help me; he had no attachments to any of it - except me. Our feelings had blazed like we were teenagers again. Loading and moving tubs and tubs of yarn and stuff cooled our fires a bit...plus age and physical health creep up on you in times of stress.
He and I embarked on a trip to a town reunion in Mississippi. Being on the road together for more than a week would surely douse that fire. We met my cousins; I was present at the deathbed of one cousin; we met my friends of many years, we met his friends and his late wife's sister. We finally arrived in Florida at his home - an alien place called The Villages where golf reigns, silver is the common hair color, and travel is mostly in golf carts.
I return to my "home" in 10 days, to sign papers, make transfers, cry, sort Christmas ornaments and battery operated toys - to finish moving my stuff from the house and the garage. I have handled this breakup poorly - very poorly, but my grieving over it has been going on for more than a year.
I have apologized. However, only time will soften the hurt. The love that I still feel will endure - on that I can promise "always". No matter what other relationships evolve, this love was true; only the pieces didn't fit and the relationship broke apart.
Please encase us in your love, your prayers, and light. All of us. And, please forgive me for my mistakes.
Always lasted more than 10 years though the last few were very difficult. What happened to "always" and how did it become "no more"? Neither of us are sure. We spent more than a year in couples' counseling, making one step forward and drifting backwards after a few weeks or days. We discovered differences in our lives that were significant enough to cause major grief and anger. We walked as if on egg shells for more than a year.
Finally, I asked for a separation and we moved into separate residences. Love was so overwhelming but so very, very difficult.
I am confessing publicly so that others may know they are not alone in handling the end of a love relationship in hurtful way. I had been contacted by my first love (1958); we agreed to meet halfway between our homes and see what 52 years of separation had wrought.
When I returned "home", I asked to be released from my vows with my partner. We both cried. We both knew that our relationship had been dying for some time, and now I struck the final blow to that part of our lives. I walked away with a stony heart; it was the only way I could go - just turn around and leave.
I began packing my stuff, and I have a lot of stuff. I was tired - emotionally, physically and spiritually. How do you say to God, "uh, changed my mind - can't do that always business"? My best friend offered to help - no way - she was far too unemotional to help me sort through generations of memorabilia - besides she had job. My partner offered to help. Bad news there. We would have cried and gotten little done; besides she couldn't sort my stuff. Being the last of my family placed a lot of homespun junk in my boxes and tubs.
So, I called my first love and asked him to come help me; he had no attachments to any of it - except me. Our feelings had blazed like we were teenagers again. Loading and moving tubs and tubs of yarn and stuff cooled our fires a bit...plus age and physical health creep up on you in times of stress.
He and I embarked on a trip to a town reunion in Mississippi. Being on the road together for more than a week would surely douse that fire. We met my cousins; I was present at the deathbed of one cousin; we met my friends of many years, we met his friends and his late wife's sister. We finally arrived in Florida at his home - an alien place called The Villages where golf reigns, silver is the common hair color, and travel is mostly in golf carts.
I return to my "home" in 10 days, to sign papers, make transfers, cry, sort Christmas ornaments and battery operated toys - to finish moving my stuff from the house and the garage. I have handled this breakup poorly - very poorly, but my grieving over it has been going on for more than a year.
I have apologized. However, only time will soften the hurt. The love that I still feel will endure - on that I can promise "always". No matter what other relationships evolve, this love was true; only the pieces didn't fit and the relationship broke apart.
Please encase us in your love, your prayers, and light. All of us. And, please forgive me for my mistakes.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thanks be to God
Rowan, Bishop of Playing, has posted a great homily on the Beatitudes today on FaceBook. He adapts these verses to include those we love and those with whom we live - our beloved dogs and cats. What a joy to think that those non-humans in our household are also beloved of God! Sometimes we forget that God loves all of creation and not just "good" humans. God looked at creation and said, "It is good." All of it, all of us, all of them (whoever them might be). Creation is good.
To me, the story of the fall is an allegory that tries to explain why bad things happen to good people - very inadequately explain. I don't know why everything is not all good. I don't know why natural disasters happen (other than the scientific explanation). I don't know why violence and murders happen. But, the Fall is not a good enough explanation for me. However, I don't need to know why those things happen. What I need to know is that God found all of creation to be good.
Blessed is creation, a song of praise for the maker! We cry out, "Bless God's holy name!"
The Beatitudes makes all sorts of promises to people. Promises that most of us interpret to be foretelling of the future - after we are dead, after judgment - but the truth is that all are blessed, all receive the promise - and that promise is that God is with us. Immanuel.
Okay. I admit that I pick and choose in the Bible. I discard some ideas and eagerly adopt others. So do we all. And, some of my ideas about God didn't come from the Bible at all, but came from life experiences, from other reading, from "gut" reactions, from dreams, from visions, from conversations. God is among us, and we only have to open our ears and our hearts to know God.
Blessed is creation!
To me, the story of the fall is an allegory that tries to explain why bad things happen to good people - very inadequately explain. I don't know why everything is not all good. I don't know why natural disasters happen (other than the scientific explanation). I don't know why violence and murders happen. But, the Fall is not a good enough explanation for me. However, I don't need to know why those things happen. What I need to know is that God found all of creation to be good.
Blessed is creation, a song of praise for the maker! We cry out, "Bless God's holy name!"
The Beatitudes makes all sorts of promises to people. Promises that most of us interpret to be foretelling of the future - after we are dead, after judgment - but the truth is that all are blessed, all receive the promise - and that promise is that God is with us. Immanuel.
Okay. I admit that I pick and choose in the Bible. I discard some ideas and eagerly adopt others. So do we all. And, some of my ideas about God didn't come from the Bible at all, but came from life experiences, from other reading, from "gut" reactions, from dreams, from visions, from conversations. God is among us, and we only have to open our ears and our hearts to know God.
Blessed is creation!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Following directions
One day you conclude that some of the best networking is in churches - big churches where rich and influential people sit, stand and kneel together with the fireman and his family, the clerk and her children. So, you join the church and begin participating in its activities. They expect you to share your money, your time and your talents. Huh?
Eventually, you have made yourself into what you wish to be professionally or you haven't. You keep going to church because that's where you find your friends. You've done the mission trips, the church school teaching, the choir, the twice yearly clean-up. You've worked the homeless mission, given food for the local food bank, donated money to help those in foreign lands, and been coerced into increasing your donation to the church.
You pull back and realize that you're hanging on to Ayn Rand's philosophies with clenched fingers. I have made myself into who I am. I can do whatever I want because I have freedom. I can dump you at the food bank and never see you again. I can socialize with the top notchers. Then, you wonder why am giving all this money to a church that's fighting over how people have sex or whom they love or which version of the prayer book/hymnal do we use?
You pull back even further and stare at the world around you - hanging onto possessions and principalities with a single-mindedness - just like you're hanging onto your individuality. Just like you're still balancing between the sharing of the church and the individualistic self-preservation of Rand. You've fragmented yourself into thinking either/or.
Some people revert back to their Any Rand tendencies and hoard their money, use their time strictly for themselves, and stow their talents in gym bags.
Other recognize that life is a grand mixture of getting, giving, keeping, sharing, and continuing to grow.
I vacillate between these two ideas - isolating then giving away time and talent that could make me more financially secure in my old, old age. But, like the child who couldn't sleep when the adults were playing canasta in the next room, I'm always afraid that I'm missing something important, something fun, something I really, really need.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Midnight Rambling
Enya's "How Can I Keep from Singing" resounds in my ears tonight along with the whir of my four inch fan that keeps the air circulating here. I feel like singing - even though the witching hour is just past and everyone else in the house is fast asleep. Guess I won't sing. Some days are just better than others.
Hot today as it has been nearly everywhere lately. Pity those poor folk in Moscow - glad I'm not a tourist there. But we survived the heat here. Had a great dinner of baked chicken, asparagus and small red potatoes. Cats have been good tonight - not too much talking back...more a murmuring of agreement when I tell them they are beautiful.
Good hugs, good medical reports - well mostly. How can I keep from singing?
I've almost finished a diagonal scarf as a sample for the shop - used Noro's self-striping yarn in Silk Garden with greys, purple and bright turquoise. I like turquoise in many things. I also like red and cobalt blue. I've grown to like a really good purple and a bright lime green (not fluorescent).
This would be a good time to get in the car and drive to Kinston and back - 4 lane road, 70 mph, cool enough for a window down. Clear my head and my problems - leave them behind - not that I have any real problems. Life is good.
The osprey are migrating wherever they go. I saw ours yesterday, but the young ones are hunting on their own now; so it won't be long. I'll get up one morning and the next will be empty - moving on to other places and lives. I've always wondered how people divided their time between two homes. How do you leave behind the things you love, things that represent good times in your life and go to another place? Do you split your "things" between them - or do you not have "things" but good times, good memories and activity.
As a circle is drawn from a starting point, the pencil comes full around - back to that starting point. Another cycle begins then. A beginning, and ending, different experiences.
Lots of my circles of life are coming around lately, and I wonder what the beginnings will be. One has clearly begun with the discovery of a person very dear to my heart - unseen and unheard for more than 50 years. What a joy! Lots of catching up to do. Shared memories of a good time in our lives.
My surgery (gall bladder removal) marks a time away from the yarn shop. They are surviving okay. The new computer inventory and sales system seems to be working. I'll need more surgery this fall - damaged meniscus - knee - not quite right until three weeks after surgery. Is this a circle that is coming around? What will its new beginning be?
Holidays once standard issue for us - changing - Thanksgiving in Denver. Christmas here. Our tree trimming party always the first Saturday or Sunday evening in December. I'm cooking less and less for the party and ordering more from restaurants and caterers. Still everyone looks forward to this time together. Lisa plays piano and we sing Christmas carols.
So many circles in my life, and I look at them through new eyes. Six years without regular church attendance or participation - now I've taken on the church newsletter. Should be fun. Improved health may get me up early enough to attend services. I hope so.
Peace to all and may the circles of your lives continue with their beginnings and endings.
Hot today as it has been nearly everywhere lately. Pity those poor folk in Moscow - glad I'm not a tourist there. But we survived the heat here. Had a great dinner of baked chicken, asparagus and small red potatoes. Cats have been good tonight - not too much talking back...more a murmuring of agreement when I tell them they are beautiful.
Good hugs, good medical reports - well mostly. How can I keep from singing?
I've almost finished a diagonal scarf as a sample for the shop - used Noro's self-striping yarn in Silk Garden with greys, purple and bright turquoise. I like turquoise in many things. I also like red and cobalt blue. I've grown to like a really good purple and a bright lime green (not fluorescent).
This would be a good time to get in the car and drive to Kinston and back - 4 lane road, 70 mph, cool enough for a window down. Clear my head and my problems - leave them behind - not that I have any real problems. Life is good.
The osprey are migrating wherever they go. I saw ours yesterday, but the young ones are hunting on their own now; so it won't be long. I'll get up one morning and the next will be empty - moving on to other places and lives. I've always wondered how people divided their time between two homes. How do you leave behind the things you love, things that represent good times in your life and go to another place? Do you split your "things" between them - or do you not have "things" but good times, good memories and activity.
As a circle is drawn from a starting point, the pencil comes full around - back to that starting point. Another cycle begins then. A beginning, and ending, different experiences.
Lots of my circles of life are coming around lately, and I wonder what the beginnings will be. One has clearly begun with the discovery of a person very dear to my heart - unseen and unheard for more than 50 years. What a joy! Lots of catching up to do. Shared memories of a good time in our lives.
My surgery (gall bladder removal) marks a time away from the yarn shop. They are surviving okay. The new computer inventory and sales system seems to be working. I'll need more surgery this fall - damaged meniscus - knee - not quite right until three weeks after surgery. Is this a circle that is coming around? What will its new beginning be?
Holidays once standard issue for us - changing - Thanksgiving in Denver. Christmas here. Our tree trimming party always the first Saturday or Sunday evening in December. I'm cooking less and less for the party and ordering more from restaurants and caterers. Still everyone looks forward to this time together. Lisa plays piano and we sing Christmas carols.
So many circles in my life, and I look at them through new eyes. Six years without regular church attendance or participation - now I've taken on the church newsletter. Should be fun. Improved health may get me up early enough to attend services. I hope so.
Peace to all and may the circles of your lives continue with their beginnings and endings.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Boundaries of the Mind
By all psychological definitions I should be psychotic, locked up. In the book Boundaries of the Mind, the descriptions of various psychotic conditions include how the mind fixes its boundaries - the essence of who a person is. One of the questions involves that time between waking and sleeping and another questions hyper-sensitivity. Some of the more easily understood questions involve the uses of various rooms of a house. Do you perceive that a room has only one use? Or various uses?
After reading and re-reading this book, I realized that I have few boundaries. I dream entire science fiction stories in graphics and color. I have had visions of myself waking up in that moment between sleep and waking. I have few firmly fixed ideas about the uses of rooms or objects. I can be whoever I think you want me to be - Oh, not forever, but at least for a while. I've held many jobs far beyond my training because I became who the employer thought could do the job - sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. I can be the life of the party or the wall flower.
I can even be you or think that I am you (that's called co-dependency sometimes). In movies, I become a part of the story and that lingers for a while afterward. A few minutes of meditation and I am a fairy...or I think that I can work miracles (unfortunately God lets me do that occasionally - just encourages my fantasy).
I talk to the other people in my head. They don't always agree with me, and we have had arguments. Sometimes I think one of those in my head might be God. That's when I really listen.
At times I think I can sense that something is happening to someone I know, more often someone I love. I can see spirits that live in houses when they want me to see them. We had a delightful little gray spirit dog in one house. He liked to be in the kitchen with me and would try to trip me.
I've learned some boundaries. I am not you nor am I God. I am not responsible for your happiness or well-being or what you do. I know who I am and who I am not.
But, I can live without many boundaries. I can be 13 when I remember my first boyfriend, and, if you interrupt my remembering, you might get a teenager's answer to a question. If I'm sitting with you when you die, I might feel your death in ways most people can't imagine. When I put my hand against a tree, I can feel its history.
Yes, imagination, but more - a oneness with almost everything. I can distance myself from this oneness, too. More and more often, I do that. It's less...less painful...less happy. Those highs and lows will break you.
Most people never know these things. I act and appear normal. But, I have written other people's stories without having heard them. They aren't all fun either. Waking at night to sense another's tears or worries brings sadness.
Oh yes, I'm crazy, but I'm not psychotic. I live a normal life. Oh, yes, I do.
Really, I think I've had too much time alone at home recovering from surgery, and I'm imagining all of this. Yeah, that's what I think.
After reading and re-reading this book, I realized that I have few boundaries. I dream entire science fiction stories in graphics and color. I have had visions of myself waking up in that moment between sleep and waking. I have few firmly fixed ideas about the uses of rooms or objects. I can be whoever I think you want me to be - Oh, not forever, but at least for a while. I've held many jobs far beyond my training because I became who the employer thought could do the job - sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. I can be the life of the party or the wall flower.
I can even be you or think that I am you (that's called co-dependency sometimes). In movies, I become a part of the story and that lingers for a while afterward. A few minutes of meditation and I am a fairy...or I think that I can work miracles (unfortunately God lets me do that occasionally - just encourages my fantasy).
I talk to the other people in my head. They don't always agree with me, and we have had arguments. Sometimes I think one of those in my head might be God. That's when I really listen.
At times I think I can sense that something is happening to someone I know, more often someone I love. I can see spirits that live in houses when they want me to see them. We had a delightful little gray spirit dog in one house. He liked to be in the kitchen with me and would try to trip me.
I've learned some boundaries. I am not you nor am I God. I am not responsible for your happiness or well-being or what you do. I know who I am and who I am not.
But, I can live without many boundaries. I can be 13 when I remember my first boyfriend, and, if you interrupt my remembering, you might get a teenager's answer to a question. If I'm sitting with you when you die, I might feel your death in ways most people can't imagine. When I put my hand against a tree, I can feel its history.
Yes, imagination, but more - a oneness with almost everything. I can distance myself from this oneness, too. More and more often, I do that. It's less...less painful...less happy. Those highs and lows will break you.
Most people never know these things. I act and appear normal. But, I have written other people's stories without having heard them. They aren't all fun either. Waking at night to sense another's tears or worries brings sadness.
Oh yes, I'm crazy, but I'm not psychotic. I live a normal life. Oh, yes, I do.
Really, I think I've had too much time alone at home recovering from surgery, and I'm imagining all of this. Yeah, that's what I think.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Meditation on Pain
Pain is universal. One person's pain may be another's agony. We humans cannot measure one pain against another easily. If I have no shoes and you say I should be glad because this person has no feet, does that put shoes on my feet? No, just makes me feel guilty for complaining to you; so I find someone else who will sympathize with me.
So much for meditation. I have fibromyalgia; so pain is a regular feature of my life. I ignore it as much as possible, gripe a little when it's appropriate, and try to sleep well. But, these blasted staples from the gall bladder removal are instruments of hell. Oh yeah, the doctor said, you can take off the bandages Thursday and leave them off. Well, I have six in my navel, and I wear mostly pants/shorts. A button on top of six pointy staples in your skin is a big ouchie. And, my t-shirt snags on them. So I cover them with bandaids...the fabric ones that stretch and give. It's the third day after surgery - I expect resurrection. Aaarrrrrggggghhhh. I sit for a while and when I stand, my insides feel as if I'd glued them together with gorilla glue that expanded to fill the open spaces. Gradually, I straighten up and tear the glue apart while making random noises in deep tones and occasional high-pitched eeeeoooowwwws.
Oh, you can drive on Thursday. Right, Doc. What I most want to do is get dressed in some garment that touches only my shoulders, trudge my way out to the steps and wish for a small hover craft to get me to the car. Once I've arranged my body behind the steering wheel of the Little Red Car, I find that I must fasten the seat belt by pulling it across my body where the staples are lightly covered with bandaids and a long t-shirt that is probably meant for sleeping. Oh, this would be fun. Riding home from the hospital was bad enough with the blasted strap right across my sorest part. Why on earth would I want to do that again. Six staples, mind you.
And, oh yeah, I was brilliant in my hospital room. I pulled all 200 lbs of me up in the bed with my right arm. Needless to say, my ribs hurt, my muscles hurt, and my breathing deeply in impaired from that little stunt. Turning over in bed is now a major effort. And, the soreness inside from the surgery has abated greatly.
And, TMI, bowel movements are much to be desired. The nurse suggested lots of water, and milk of magnesia tomorrow.
I want a Coca-Cola, cold, with flecks of ice in it and lots of carbonation. Don't think that's the best idea I could have right now. And, I ask; Could it hurt any worse. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. I know from experience. I tried that yesterday.
However, I have a wonderful mate who has done for me what I cannot do for myself - caregivers are much to be praised...even when they tease you. I have a comfortable bed, two loving cats who have managed not to hurt me even though one of them sleeps on top of me. I have loving friends who send me emails and cards, and even one who sent flowers - gorgeous Gerber daisies - red with deep green foliage around them. I put the balloons on the mantle so the cats wouldn't play with them, but the daisies are closer for enjoyment.
Pain. Constant pain can drive people crazy. Temporary pain is to be gotten through and overcome. Like when you want a popsicle and you don't want to ask your mate to get it for you.
Goodnight. Headed slowly for the fridge.
So much for meditation. I have fibromyalgia; so pain is a regular feature of my life. I ignore it as much as possible, gripe a little when it's appropriate, and try to sleep well. But, these blasted staples from the gall bladder removal are instruments of hell. Oh yeah, the doctor said, you can take off the bandages Thursday and leave them off. Well, I have six in my navel, and I wear mostly pants/shorts. A button on top of six pointy staples in your skin is a big ouchie. And, my t-shirt snags on them. So I cover them with bandaids...the fabric ones that stretch and give. It's the third day after surgery - I expect resurrection. Aaarrrrrggggghhhh. I sit for a while and when I stand, my insides feel as if I'd glued them together with gorilla glue that expanded to fill the open spaces. Gradually, I straighten up and tear the glue apart while making random noises in deep tones and occasional high-pitched eeeeoooowwwws.
Oh, you can drive on Thursday. Right, Doc. What I most want to do is get dressed in some garment that touches only my shoulders, trudge my way out to the steps and wish for a small hover craft to get me to the car. Once I've arranged my body behind the steering wheel of the Little Red Car, I find that I must fasten the seat belt by pulling it across my body where the staples are lightly covered with bandaids and a long t-shirt that is probably meant for sleeping. Oh, this would be fun. Riding home from the hospital was bad enough with the blasted strap right across my sorest part. Why on earth would I want to do that again. Six staples, mind you.
And, oh yeah, I was brilliant in my hospital room. I pulled all 200 lbs of me up in the bed with my right arm. Needless to say, my ribs hurt, my muscles hurt, and my breathing deeply in impaired from that little stunt. Turning over in bed is now a major effort. And, the soreness inside from the surgery has abated greatly.
And, TMI, bowel movements are much to be desired. The nurse suggested lots of water, and milk of magnesia tomorrow.
I want a Coca-Cola, cold, with flecks of ice in it and lots of carbonation. Don't think that's the best idea I could have right now. And, I ask; Could it hurt any worse. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. I know from experience. I tried that yesterday.
However, I have a wonderful mate who has done for me what I cannot do for myself - caregivers are much to be praised...even when they tease you. I have a comfortable bed, two loving cats who have managed not to hurt me even though one of them sleeps on top of me. I have loving friends who send me emails and cards, and even one who sent flowers - gorgeous Gerber daisies - red with deep green foliage around them. I put the balloons on the mantle so the cats wouldn't play with them, but the daisies are closer for enjoyment.
Pain. Constant pain can drive people crazy. Temporary pain is to be gotten through and overcome. Like when you want a popsicle and you don't want to ask your mate to get it for you.
Goodnight. Headed slowly for the fridge.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A lack of motivation for movement
I sit. I stare. I blink. I move like a snake sloughing its skin from the sofa watching the water to the computer chair watching the screen. I sit. I stare. I blink.
Occasionally, I slide into the kitchen for food and water. Occasionally I nod along to the bed for a nap.
Once I ventured into the laundry room and took the dry towels out of the dryer. Put dirty towels into the washer and closed the door. Now, assorted towels are scattered over the hallways in flat piles of colors - red, turquoise, blues - and some blue sheets over near the corner cabinet. I hope I return to the laundry room before the towels in the washer have soured.
We've had company for a week, and I've enjoyed watching them playing in the water - riding jet skis, kayaking, pulling the kayak behind the jet ski, taking boat rides. We went to the beach for a couple of days - hot, very hot. I saw the beach from the window. We returned to the creekside and they played some more. I watched. I can't stand the heat and humidity here; so I spend my summers indoors mostly.
All week, I've lacked motivation for movement - even though I've moved some. I sit, I watch. I smile. I eat. I sleep. It's a great vacation...coming to an end. Our friends left yesterday. Partner is going to church tomorrow; I probably won't go - so much effort to get ready in time. Besides, it's morning prayer and the officiant will be reading my sermon. I don't think I'm ready to hear someone else read a sermon I wrote.
I hope my motivation returns soon, but maybe not today.
Here's the sermon if you're interested:
The people of God are always in transition except when for the “begat” passages. This is so with Elijah. After a long and eventful time of prophecy, Elijah ends his prophesying by trying to get away from his followers, especially Elisha.
But Elisha and other prophets were persistent. They were Elijah’s followers; so they followed – first toward Gilgal, then to Bethel, then to the Jordan. Elijah finally convinces some 50 prophets to wait at the edge of the Jordan. He strikes the water with his mantle, a large cape, and the water parts. He crosses the river with Elisha right behind him.
Elijah turns to Elisha and says, “Okay, what can I do for you before I am taken away?”
And Elisha, not really knowing what it would mean to him, says, “Leave me a double share of your spirit.”
“Okay”, replies Elijah. “If you can see me being taken away, then your wish will be granted.”
What a follower Elisha was – to wish for a double share of the spirit of the great prophet Elijah! Suddenly, there goes Elijah off in a chariot with horses of fire! Elisha watches and cries out in amazement. When Elijah was gone, Elisha ripped his clothes and tore them apart, a sign of mourning in those days.
Then, he picked up Elijah’s mantle, struck the water of the River Jordan, and it parted for him just as it had for Elijah.
Elisha threw off his old clothes and put on new clothes. His perspective changed; his attitude changed; and he willingly took on the Spirit in the mantle of Elijah. During his ministry, Elisha did many wonderful things in God’s name with the people of Israel. He put off the old clothes, the old attitude, the old perspective and took on the rigorous duties of prophesy and service to God.
Now, that’s not unlike what we are doing here at St. Anne’s. We have been following along like Elisha for several years now – as faithfully as possible. We’ve done a great job of following.
But, now is the time to take up the mantle of Elijah and become leaders, to ask for that double share of spirit, and then to use that spirit in obedience to God. You say, “We are not prophets nor great leaders; we are a struggling congregation; and we can’t take on double Elijah’s spirit – we don’t know how.”
Paul tells us, in his letter to the Galatians, that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. We do know these things. These are the Spirit that we need in our time of transition.
We are making changes; we are in transition, just as the ancient peoples of God were in transition. In the Spirit of Elijah, our attitudes are changed; our abilities are enhanced; our perspectives see what is possible – the fruits of the Spirit that we can make real – today, tomorrow – here at St. Anne’s.
Others will see us differently as we take up the mantle of Elijah, and we will see ourselves differently. Look to today’s gospel: Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem. Not only was Jesus’ perspective changed, others saw this change. The Samaritans did not receive him. And, his disciples wanted to make bad things happen to that village. “No, no” said Jesus – and they continued forward.
Some will wish that change and transition would not happen; some will turn their faces away. But, just as Jesus continued toward Jerusalem, we must continue forward, with the new clothes of attitude, obedience, love, peace - we must manifest the fruits of the spirit.
Do you dare to follow Jesus? In the last words of the gospel, Jesus tells us that the time is now – not later when we have worked out all the details and achieved them – but now. Not after we have said farewell to those left behind, but now. Our change of attitude, of perspective, of obedience, and of the Spirit is now.
The Psalm for today tells our story: I will cry aloud to God; in the day of my trouble I sought the Lord – our work and our meetings are begun with prayer to God. I remember the works of the Lord; I will meditate on all your acts – we have remembered Elijah and Elisha and how they shed the old and took on the new.
You are the God who works wonders; by your strength you have redeemed your people! We are the redeemed people. We are the inheritors of a double share of Elijah’s spirit; through the strength of God who redeems us, we receive the Spirit and go forth t in God’s name for we, St. Anne’s Church, are the people of God.
Occasionally, I slide into the kitchen for food and water. Occasionally I nod along to the bed for a nap.
Once I ventured into the laundry room and took the dry towels out of the dryer. Put dirty towels into the washer and closed the door. Now, assorted towels are scattered over the hallways in flat piles of colors - red, turquoise, blues - and some blue sheets over near the corner cabinet. I hope I return to the laundry room before the towels in the washer have soured.
We've had company for a week, and I've enjoyed watching them playing in the water - riding jet skis, kayaking, pulling the kayak behind the jet ski, taking boat rides. We went to the beach for a couple of days - hot, very hot. I saw the beach from the window. We returned to the creekside and they played some more. I watched. I can't stand the heat and humidity here; so I spend my summers indoors mostly.
All week, I've lacked motivation for movement - even though I've moved some. I sit, I watch. I smile. I eat. I sleep. It's a great vacation...coming to an end. Our friends left yesterday. Partner is going to church tomorrow; I probably won't go - so much effort to get ready in time. Besides, it's morning prayer and the officiant will be reading my sermon. I don't think I'm ready to hear someone else read a sermon I wrote.
I hope my motivation returns soon, but maybe not today.
Here's the sermon if you're interested:
The people of God are always in transition except when for the “begat” passages. This is so with Elijah. After a long and eventful time of prophecy, Elijah ends his prophesying by trying to get away from his followers, especially Elisha.
But Elisha and other prophets were persistent. They were Elijah’s followers; so they followed – first toward Gilgal, then to Bethel, then to the Jordan. Elijah finally convinces some 50 prophets to wait at the edge of the Jordan. He strikes the water with his mantle, a large cape, and the water parts. He crosses the river with Elisha right behind him.
Elijah turns to Elisha and says, “Okay, what can I do for you before I am taken away?”
And Elisha, not really knowing what it would mean to him, says, “Leave me a double share of your spirit.”
“Okay”, replies Elijah. “If you can see me being taken away, then your wish will be granted.”
What a follower Elisha was – to wish for a double share of the spirit of the great prophet Elijah! Suddenly, there goes Elijah off in a chariot with horses of fire! Elisha watches and cries out in amazement. When Elijah was gone, Elisha ripped his clothes and tore them apart, a sign of mourning in those days.
Then, he picked up Elijah’s mantle, struck the water of the River Jordan, and it parted for him just as it had for Elijah.
Elisha threw off his old clothes and put on new clothes. His perspective changed; his attitude changed; and he willingly took on the Spirit in the mantle of Elijah. During his ministry, Elisha did many wonderful things in God’s name with the people of Israel. He put off the old clothes, the old attitude, the old perspective and took on the rigorous duties of prophesy and service to God.
Now, that’s not unlike what we are doing here at St. Anne’s. We have been following along like Elisha for several years now – as faithfully as possible. We’ve done a great job of following.
But, now is the time to take up the mantle of Elijah and become leaders, to ask for that double share of spirit, and then to use that spirit in obedience to God. You say, “We are not prophets nor great leaders; we are a struggling congregation; and we can’t take on double Elijah’s spirit – we don’t know how.”
Paul tells us, in his letter to the Galatians, that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. We do know these things. These are the Spirit that we need in our time of transition.
We are making changes; we are in transition, just as the ancient peoples of God were in transition. In the Spirit of Elijah, our attitudes are changed; our abilities are enhanced; our perspectives see what is possible – the fruits of the Spirit that we can make real – today, tomorrow – here at St. Anne’s.
Others will see us differently as we take up the mantle of Elijah, and we will see ourselves differently. Look to today’s gospel: Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem. Not only was Jesus’ perspective changed, others saw this change. The Samaritans did not receive him. And, his disciples wanted to make bad things happen to that village. “No, no” said Jesus – and they continued forward.
Some will wish that change and transition would not happen; some will turn their faces away. But, just as Jesus continued toward Jerusalem, we must continue forward, with the new clothes of attitude, obedience, love, peace - we must manifest the fruits of the spirit.
Do you dare to follow Jesus? In the last words of the gospel, Jesus tells us that the time is now – not later when we have worked out all the details and achieved them – but now. Not after we have said farewell to those left behind, but now. Our change of attitude, of perspective, of obedience, and of the Spirit is now.
The Psalm for today tells our story: I will cry aloud to God; in the day of my trouble I sought the Lord – our work and our meetings are begun with prayer to God. I remember the works of the Lord; I will meditate on all your acts – we have remembered Elijah and Elisha and how they shed the old and took on the new.
You are the God who works wonders; by your strength you have redeemed your people! We are the redeemed people. We are the inheritors of a double share of Elijah’s spirit; through the strength of God who redeems us, we receive the Spirit and go forth t in God’s name for we, St. Anne’s Church, are the people of God.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Middle of the Night
I really enjoy being up in the middle of the night. When I was growing up on the farm in Mississippi, we had a large window fan that "cooled" the whole house. However, on hot summer nights, the open windows were narrowed to four or five inches to make the breeze stronger. On those nights, I would awaken and slip between my brother's bed and the window and put my face in the breeze. Silent and still, I would hear the crickets and the frogs, maybe a screech owl in the distance or the barn owl. Sometimes I could hear animals drinking water from the tub under the handpump. Most nights I couldn't see much, but the quiet sounds filled my life with a serenity that the daytime didn't bring. I was my own person, unafraid, calm.
Perhaps my dark early morning hours help me regain the composure and resiliency that I need for day to day living. I rise quietly and drink water; then I go to the kitchen computer where I play games for a bit. My bones and muscles are stiff; stretching brings creaks and cracks and ease. I drowse a bit in the chair after I turn off the monitor. Then the silence is broken by a 16 pound cat who wants me to come back to bed. So, I visit the bathroom, settle my cpap mask on my face, and slide into bed, nestling my head on the edge of pillow. The cat gently climbs onto my side and settles hindpart on the pillow beside me and front part draped over my side. As we both sleep, we shift into comfortable positions until reasonable morning is come.
I close my eyes now, and the nighttime smells from the little house on the farm are with me - the damp pump tub, the dusty cotton, the green smell from so many growing things.
Mom always wondered why that windowsill never got dirty.
Perhaps my dark early morning hours help me regain the composure and resiliency that I need for day to day living. I rise quietly and drink water; then I go to the kitchen computer where I play games for a bit. My bones and muscles are stiff; stretching brings creaks and cracks and ease. I drowse a bit in the chair after I turn off the monitor. Then the silence is broken by a 16 pound cat who wants me to come back to bed. So, I visit the bathroom, settle my cpap mask on my face, and slide into bed, nestling my head on the edge of pillow. The cat gently climbs onto my side and settles hindpart on the pillow beside me and front part draped over my side. As we both sleep, we shift into comfortable positions until reasonable morning is come.
I close my eyes now, and the nighttime smells from the little house on the farm are with me - the damp pump tub, the dusty cotton, the green smell from so many growing things.
Mom always wondered why that windowsill never got dirty.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Arizona's Republican governor signed SB 1070 into law. The bill "will make it a state crime not to carry proof of legal immigration status". Not only do you have to carry proof of being a US citizen or legal immigrant in your pocket at all times, you have to produce this proof at the request of any police officer. Mind you, the governor has insisted that racial profiling will not occur.Excuse me. I can't imagine that a tall, redhead would be stopped for suspicion of immigration violations. But, in Arizona, I wonder how many US citizens of Mexican descent will be stopped.
I realize the following example is far-fetched, but imagine a group of kids playing basketball at the neighborhood church. The police arrive. Not a single kid has an id of any kind. The police call a van, and all the children are carted off to the police station.
What an opportunity for the athletic clothing producers! Now, marketed only in Arizona, special shoes where you can fit your "green card" or birth certificate and picture id. I know they already make special pockets and pouches and bags and armbands for carrying id, keys and such. But, in Arizona would such an armband convey legality to a police officer or just increase suspicion?
If I walk to the market three doors away with nothing but my house key and money, will I be stopped as a possible illegal immigrant? What if I'm wearing my old jeans and t-shirt with a floppy straw hat or a baseball cap. In the summer, my visible skin becomes dark. Will walking briskly make a difference? And, what if I greet my friends in Spanish? (Hablo Espanol un poquito.)
News reporters have presumed that this law will be ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court - when it finally arrives there. How many people will have been wrongfully detained by then? I find it hard to believe people who write and pass and sign these bills into law can't see how unfair such a law would be. Why a member of the Legislative or Executive branch of the government might even be stopped! Wouldn't that be sad.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Honesty is What God is About
"is" - being. Honesty - faithfulness - confession. God/de, higher power, still small voice. About - not inside - doing.
Okay, let's get to the meat of this. I made a promise. I broke that promise on an impulse, and I only realized what I'd done three hours later. I was ashamed, guilty, and I could not undo what I had done (we seldom can). Trust is broken. All we can do is go forward in apology, hoping for forgiveness and maybe restoration of trust someday.
Honesty means keeping promises, and, when you don't or can't, you admit you didn't or couldn't and you make amends or apologies or whatever it takes. Sometimes those amends or apologies are accepted; sometimes not.
I think Jesus incarnation may have been one of God's amends. I know, I know, God doesn't make mistakes or break promises. Yeah, right. Tell that one to me again when I've been crushed by some Christian's betrayal or some atheist's broken word - doesn't matter whether they believe or not. If God doesn't make mistakes, then we're not made in God's likeness - and that I believe.
Jesus hedged when Pilate asked if he were king of the Jews - you say that I am. Okay. As ruler of this town, I can say anything I want; that wasn't the question. The question was, "Do you think you are the ruler here?" Jesus never answered directly. What was honest about that?
At the seder supper on Thursday night, Jesus hints that one of the group is going to betray him. Questions abound. Jesus doesn't answer them. "I know something you don't!"
After the meal and probably a lot of wine and heavy food, Jesus wanders off to a lonely garden when it's quiet. We don't know how long he was there, but his followers, or at least the men (the women had to clean up after the meal and get the kids to bed), wander along with him. They slump down and doze off. Who wouldn't want to do that after a fine meal and some good fellowship? Great night to be outside. Where's Jesus? Oh, he's right over there; we can see him from here. ZZZZZZ Heads dropped over on their chests and some of them probably stretched out amongst the olive tree roots. So, what is Jesus doing? Jesus is begging off from what the result of what he's created in the past three years.
Yeah, God, I went around and told everybody that I was your Son. I saw the sun come through the cloud and I heard you say, "You are my Beloved". And, all those miracles I did. That's what you wanted, wasn't it. Now it's come to this. One of these dudes who has been following me around and taking care of the money has decided the grass is greener on the other side; so he's bringing the guard here to arrest me tonight. And, I don't like the thought of what's going to happen. So, hey, how about renegotiating this deal we have. I won't do anymore miracles, and I'll quit saying I'm the Son of God. I'll even move away so they will forget me. I really don't want to die this young. That hurts.
God didn't answer. Jesus was arrested and died on the cross as a common criminal.
I guess you're wondering how I surmise that Jesus was God's amends, huh? Incarnation. Jesus refuted a lot of the harsh and unkeepable laws of the Jews. Jesus set up two major laws, Love God, Love Your Neighbor. Pretty simple. Do that and you will be forgiven. Yep. Simple. Don't really even have to ask forgiven of what - forgiven of whatever you think you need to be forgiven. And, if you Love God and Love Your Neighbor the rest of life will turn out pretty god. No dying on the cross for you.
God said, "Okay, okay. These laws don't apply any longer - just be sure you cook the stuff properly. And, remember that loving means you don't steal or lie or any of those things - you're honest."
So, we do it for a while - we love, we give, we reflect, we don't lie, we keep our promises,....then one day, we forget. We get caught up in some hole in our psyche and we lie, or we steal, or we break our promises, or we just don't give a darn. We're human; we're not God. Now what?
I guess that what making amends is all about for us - turn around from the lie, from the theft, from the apathy. Remember to Love God and Love Your Neighbor. Eventually, your sin is left behind. Honesty - tell the truth about what you do - right and wrong. Keep it simple.
Hey! God! Hey! You, the Creator! Jesus was a good incarnation, but don't you think it's time you did it again?
Okay, let's get to the meat of this. I made a promise. I broke that promise on an impulse, and I only realized what I'd done three hours later. I was ashamed, guilty, and I could not undo what I had done (we seldom can). Trust is broken. All we can do is go forward in apology, hoping for forgiveness and maybe restoration of trust someday.
Honesty means keeping promises, and, when you don't or can't, you admit you didn't or couldn't and you make amends or apologies or whatever it takes. Sometimes those amends or apologies are accepted; sometimes not.
I think Jesus incarnation may have been one of God's amends. I know, I know, God doesn't make mistakes or break promises. Yeah, right. Tell that one to me again when I've been crushed by some Christian's betrayal or some atheist's broken word - doesn't matter whether they believe or not. If God doesn't make mistakes, then we're not made in God's likeness - and that I believe.
Jesus hedged when Pilate asked if he were king of the Jews - you say that I am. Okay. As ruler of this town, I can say anything I want; that wasn't the question. The question was, "Do you think you are the ruler here?" Jesus never answered directly. What was honest about that?
At the seder supper on Thursday night, Jesus hints that one of the group is going to betray him. Questions abound. Jesus doesn't answer them. "I know something you don't!"
After the meal and probably a lot of wine and heavy food, Jesus wanders off to a lonely garden when it's quiet. We don't know how long he was there, but his followers, or at least the men (the women had to clean up after the meal and get the kids to bed), wander along with him. They slump down and doze off. Who wouldn't want to do that after a fine meal and some good fellowship? Great night to be outside. Where's Jesus? Oh, he's right over there; we can see him from here. ZZZZZZ Heads dropped over on their chests and some of them probably stretched out amongst the olive tree roots. So, what is Jesus doing? Jesus is begging off from what the result of what he's created in the past three years.
Yeah, God, I went around and told everybody that I was your Son. I saw the sun come through the cloud and I heard you say, "You are my Beloved". And, all those miracles I did. That's what you wanted, wasn't it. Now it's come to this. One of these dudes who has been following me around and taking care of the money has decided the grass is greener on the other side; so he's bringing the guard here to arrest me tonight. And, I don't like the thought of what's going to happen. So, hey, how about renegotiating this deal we have. I won't do anymore miracles, and I'll quit saying I'm the Son of God. I'll even move away so they will forget me. I really don't want to die this young. That hurts.
God didn't answer. Jesus was arrested and died on the cross as a common criminal.
I guess you're wondering how I surmise that Jesus was God's amends, huh? Incarnation. Jesus refuted a lot of the harsh and unkeepable laws of the Jews. Jesus set up two major laws, Love God, Love Your Neighbor. Pretty simple. Do that and you will be forgiven. Yep. Simple. Don't really even have to ask forgiven of what - forgiven of whatever you think you need to be forgiven. And, if you Love God and Love Your Neighbor the rest of life will turn out pretty god. No dying on the cross for you.
God said, "Okay, okay. These laws don't apply any longer - just be sure you cook the stuff properly. And, remember that loving means you don't steal or lie or any of those things - you're honest."
So, we do it for a while - we love, we give, we reflect, we don't lie, we keep our promises,....then one day, we forget. We get caught up in some hole in our psyche and we lie, or we steal, or we break our promises, or we just don't give a darn. We're human; we're not God. Now what?
I guess that what making amends is all about for us - turn around from the lie, from the theft, from the apathy. Remember to Love God and Love Your Neighbor. Eventually, your sin is left behind. Honesty - tell the truth about what you do - right and wrong. Keep it simple.
Hey! God! Hey! You, the Creator! Jesus was a good incarnation, but don't you think it's time you did it again?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Fiber Fun and "Failure"
Hmmm. How big is a baby blanket? Three friends are having babies this summer, and I've committed myself to create a blanket for two of them. So, I ordered some wonderfully soft cotton yarn. First, I tried knitting it in mitered squares (imagine the corner of a picture frame), and the yarn was resistant to being knitted as tightly as I was knitting. So I frogged it (rip it, rip it), and started over. I knit a swatch (a 4 x 4 inch square) in a neat pattern. Well, the yarn is bumpy and the pattern didn't look right. So I frogged it.
Oh, but wouldn't it look great in a ripple pattern; I bought several colors to make a multi-colored blanket. I found some larger knitting needles and a good ripple pattern. My hands did not cooperate. I couldn't get a rhythm of knitting that pattern. So I frogged it.
Frustration! So, I grabbed my crochet hook and crocheted a ripple pattern. Not only was it too wide, the pattern would not stick in my mind and mistakes abounded. So, I frogged it.
I cut away the yarn that I had frogged so many times, and I found a simple ripple pattern. I tested the pattern on some acrylic yarn. Great pattern. Easy to remember. Easy to fix when I didn't remember.
I chained a length shorter than before so the blanket would be smaller. Um-hmm. Smaller so that I'd have enough yarn to complete it. I crocheted one ball of yarn, two balls of yarn, three balls of yarn - having fun seeing the pattern develop. Um-hmmm. I began the fourth ball of yarn, and my eyes were opened to the facts: the blanket was wider than I thought, I didn't have enough yarn, and I would be October finishing the blanket for a baby due in May/June. Somehow that just didn't fit, and after than much work, frogging was out of the question.
Right now, I have a very pretty, somewhat heavy, piece of crocheted ripple that is about 36 inches wide and 12 inches long. Each ball makes about four inches. I have three, well four if you count two of one color, balls left. Blanket would be 36 x24, and in ripple pattern that just doesn't look right. Good cotton yarn is not cheap; so this would be a very expensive baby blanket to finish it properly or even half properly.
I think I'll use a different yarn, a larger hook (to make it more lacy and less heavy) and keep this to finish as an afghan eventually. Since the Mom is a vegan, I will have to use cotton or wool - they are better for babies anyway. In a fire, acrylics melt and stick to the skin. Cottons and wools don't stick to the skin.
The ripple afghan will be beautiful. And, surely, I can do a baby blanket - a small one - in just a few weeks.
Oh, but wouldn't it look great in a ripple pattern; I bought several colors to make a multi-colored blanket. I found some larger knitting needles and a good ripple pattern. My hands did not cooperate. I couldn't get a rhythm of knitting that pattern. So I frogged it.
Frustration! So, I grabbed my crochet hook and crocheted a ripple pattern. Not only was it too wide, the pattern would not stick in my mind and mistakes abounded. So, I frogged it.
I cut away the yarn that I had frogged so many times, and I found a simple ripple pattern. I tested the pattern on some acrylic yarn. Great pattern. Easy to remember. Easy to fix when I didn't remember.
I chained a length shorter than before so the blanket would be smaller. Um-hmm. Smaller so that I'd have enough yarn to complete it. I crocheted one ball of yarn, two balls of yarn, three balls of yarn - having fun seeing the pattern develop. Um-hmmm. I began the fourth ball of yarn, and my eyes were opened to the facts: the blanket was wider than I thought, I didn't have enough yarn, and I would be October finishing the blanket for a baby due in May/June. Somehow that just didn't fit, and after than much work, frogging was out of the question.
Right now, I have a very pretty, somewhat heavy, piece of crocheted ripple that is about 36 inches wide and 12 inches long. Each ball makes about four inches. I have three, well four if you count two of one color, balls left. Blanket would be 36 x24, and in ripple pattern that just doesn't look right. Good cotton yarn is not cheap; so this would be a very expensive baby blanket to finish it properly or even half properly.I think I'll use a different yarn, a larger hook (to make it more lacy and less heavy) and keep this to finish as an afghan eventually. Since the Mom is a vegan, I will have to use cotton or wool - they are better for babies anyway. In a fire, acrylics melt and stick to the skin. Cottons and wools don't stick to the skin.
The ripple afghan will be beautiful. And, surely, I can do a baby blanket - a small one - in just a few weeks.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Anger masquerades
Anger can be destructive or can be the greatest inspiration for a solving a problem. For people with latent anger, the outbreaks are often inflicted on other people - those they love, the old lady crossing the street (unless she hits the front of your car and inflates your airbag), your pets, yourself. But, most often latent anger masquerades as other emotions.
When I am angry at myself, sometimes my anger bursts out in a shopping spree or in fierce activity. Both relieve the stress. At other times, my anger eats itself into oblivion. When I get tired of being angry, I just don't care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. If whatever depends on my action, then whatever doesn't happen. Whatever.
At a masked ball, anger can be jovial cutting remarks, sexy flirting, silence, wall-flowering, drinking, dancing every dance until you drop, cutting in on a couple that seem very happy, envy, lying - almost any emotion it wants to be. Anger uses many disguises. Depression is only one of them.
Someone said that anger is fear; yes, that's one of anger's faces, but, again, not the only one. Fear of loss of possessions, spouse, prestige, whatever you value. Fear and anger are closely related.
Anger, fear and freedom are also related. As Janis Joplin sang, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." When you feel there is nothing left to lose, when you have that freedom, then fear and anger lose their meaning. Numbness creeps into the folds where emotions once lived. You have chosen to die - however slowly that death may be; you are not living - for, if you live, you have anger and you have fear and you have hope.
Also true is that another person's anger can drain your emotions if you let it. Then you are not living either. In these last days of Lent, the image of taking up your cross is appropriate; you must take up your anger and fear and ride it out, work it out, carry it forward to resolution.
I don't know where my angers and my fears lie, but I do know that I no longer care. The motions are here; the words are here; but the life is not. So on this Palm Sunday as many church congregations read the Passion story of Jesus triumphant entry into Jerusalem followed by his betrayal, suffering and death, I resolve to find my cross (my emotions - all of them) and bear it with as much courage and serenity as possible. Now, all I have to do is find this cross - the masquerader.
When I am angry at myself, sometimes my anger bursts out in a shopping spree or in fierce activity. Both relieve the stress. At other times, my anger eats itself into oblivion. When I get tired of being angry, I just don't care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. If whatever depends on my action, then whatever doesn't happen. Whatever.
At a masked ball, anger can be jovial cutting remarks, sexy flirting, silence, wall-flowering, drinking, dancing every dance until you drop, cutting in on a couple that seem very happy, envy, lying - almost any emotion it wants to be. Anger uses many disguises. Depression is only one of them.
Someone said that anger is fear; yes, that's one of anger's faces, but, again, not the only one. Fear of loss of possessions, spouse, prestige, whatever you value. Fear and anger are closely related.
Anger, fear and freedom are also related. As Janis Joplin sang, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." When you feel there is nothing left to lose, when you have that freedom, then fear and anger lose their meaning. Numbness creeps into the folds where emotions once lived. You have chosen to die - however slowly that death may be; you are not living - for, if you live, you have anger and you have fear and you have hope.
Also true is that another person's anger can drain your emotions if you let it. Then you are not living either. In these last days of Lent, the image of taking up your cross is appropriate; you must take up your anger and fear and ride it out, work it out, carry it forward to resolution.
I don't know where my angers and my fears lie, but I do know that I no longer care. The motions are here; the words are here; but the life is not. So on this Palm Sunday as many church congregations read the Passion story of Jesus triumphant entry into Jerusalem followed by his betrayal, suffering and death, I resolve to find my cross (my emotions - all of them) and bear it with as much courage and serenity as possible. Now, all I have to do is find this cross - the masquerader.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Update on Ancestry, fiber stuff, and health
John Dean and wife, he died in 1893Wow, I've learned some really interesting things and even found a picture of my great-great-great grandfather - so I could identify who was in the picture of him that I have. Amazing. I knew we were related, but I didn't know who he was. The woman with him is undoubtedly his wife - the question is, which one? My guess is she's not the one to whom I'm related...Perilee Butler Dean, that's who she is. Probably my relative's best friend since they were born about the same time and lived in the same area. My relative died young, possibly in childbirth - and so Pop married her best friend. Of course, this is conjecture, but it will make a good fictional story about them.
I'm working a new pattern for a skinny scarf using Knit Col, a lightweight variegated yarn, and so far, it's looking great. Of course, I'm only on row 7, but, hey, so far, so good. It's a twelve row pattern; so I have six more rows to knit before I can really see what it is like.
I hurt. I've been sitting in front of the computer too much, and now I've gone to the garage and dug out my aunt's notes about our family. I think this stuff is addictive. I forgot to take my afternoon medicine; so my legs moved around a lot while we watched Jeopardy. Maybe I'll play a little Wii bowling to get some movement in today. Working at the shop on Thursday; so I have to feel good then.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Facebook and Genealogy Addictions - Part 2
"Facebook Addiction: The Life and Times of Social Networking Addicts", is the first fictional book to address what doctors and experts are calling Social Networking Addiction. The book takes a satiric look into the lives of twelve individuals who have entered into rehab (“Social Networking Anonymous”) to help kick their habit. Each chapter is the testimony of one of these individuals, all reflecting the vivid and creative imagination of the author. Recognizing the overall seriousness of this issue, Osuagwu collaborated with the New York Daily News to provide real life accounts of Facebook addiction gone wrong." From the website http://www.thefacebookaddiction.comAfter the initial surge of puzzle solving with my Ancestry.com spree, I am back to looking for more details and stories about people closer to me and writing down stories about my grandparents and great-grandparents. However, I'm having lots of trouble getting back to my usual sleep routine. Part of that may be lingering jet lag from traversing two time zones on Wednesday, but I suspect more of it is due to staying up until 2 am.
Personally, I am a fickle addict. I spent several years and quite a few dollars making beaded jewelry, and I haven't done any for a couple of years now. Almost four years ago I learned to knit and crochet, and I have a full complement of yarn for almost any project I'd want to make, but my activity there is waning. A number of years ago, I began collecting frogs, then turtles. Now, it's Coca Cola stuff and miniature Christmas ornaments. The room overfloweth. So doth the garage, but I haven't started on the attic yet.
So many crafts call out to me. I begin with lots of enthusiasm and then I slow. Finally, I drag to stop and start something new. The thrill of new! There's the addiction.
That's true with my relationship with God and the Bible. If I can't drag new meanings from the Biblical texts, then I get bored with them and leave them alone for years. If I can't find new ways to have a relationship with God, then I get bored and stay home or, worse, get bored and go to church. God has a way of jerking my head back in place sometimes. Some days I'm just grateful to have a god in whom I believe.
Game addiction
A number of friends seem to be addicted to the games you can play competitively on Facebook. Others play bridge on the internet with real people. The number of games that adults can play on the computer are seemingly endless. I do several of them each morning just to see how sharp I am that day, but I don't usually sit and play them to see if I can beat someone or get a higher score than I did before. And, so, my internet time is spent more often in looking at new yarns and patterns and following chatter on knitting and crochet groups to discover new ideas.
However - perhaps I should put that in all caps - HOWEVER, Thursday evening we watched Jeopardy as our first TV program since returning from Baja California, and we didn't immediately turn it off after the program was over. Suddenly, I am caught up in this African American dude, a former football star, tracing his genealogy, and he used Ancestry.com at one point. Bad move for me.
So, we tired of that quickly and I moved to my computer where the first thing I did was to examine Ancestry.com. I was immediately addicted. Now this football star was also out interviewing people and looking at cemeteries and hiring good help in his search. I'm online and being amazed at what I can find. This is like a puzzle, and I do love puzzles.
First you put in what information you know. If you can get back before 1930, all the better. Then, the program begins giving you clues - places where that name is found in census records on file up to 1900, marriage records from many states, and more usually, other people's research and public family trees. A little green leaf appears with each "hint".
So, I entered some family information that I remembered (lots more is written down somewhere in my files and stored for safekeeping, LOL). I got several little green leaves, and I clicked on them. As I reviewed the information, I discovered what my grandmother's birth name probably was - she changed it somewhere before Social Security began. I had always heard that here birth name was something like Pamelia; presto, her grandmother was Permelia. Other family records listed her as M. Permelia - so, now I have my grandmother's birth name. Incidentally, she was called Mae most of her life.
I keep clicking on these little green leaves and following people from Maryland, briefly through Virginia, and into North Carolina and Georgia. I can see when they moved from Georgia into Mississippi. I can also see how many brothers and sisters died before they were a year old. I remember lots of little graves in our old family cemetery. And, now I can connect with who they were. I had little interest when we were there. All I wanted then was to see the tombstone for the man who had his amputated arm buried. We used to race to see who could find the graves of both the arm and the man to whom it had belonged.
Tonight as I wait for my antihistamine to work, I don't dare go to that website. Thursday night moved into Friday morning before I finally went to bed at 2 am. I lost most of Friday in sleep and more time on Ancestry.com. I am addicted to following those little green leaves. And, when they run out, I can take names that are apparently dead ends and look for clues in census, birth, marriage records. For instance, Mary Dozier Vick, born in 1775 seems to have no family records on this particular website. So, I began looking for the name Dozier in the area where she was born - lots of them, but all the Marys were married to people whose names I didn't recognize, and few of them had parents listed. But, I dutifully traced the parents of those possibilities until I determined that none of them belonged to my Mary Dozier Vick. My great-grandfather was Nathan Dozier Skelton; so I'm pretty sure that Mary is an ancestor and that Dozier is a family name.
I found pictures of tombstones in Mt. Pleasant cemetery, wherever that is, and census records and lots of people who are related distantly. However, I know I can add lots of data in some places because my Mom kept writing down names and dates and places and spouses and children. She would love this program absolutely - unfortunately, so does her daughter. I am addicted to this puzzle.
Some family names fade away - Skelton is probably a derivative of Shelton - and they fit the Irish/Scottish background that my grandfather Skelton claimed. Ralph Shelton, an Irishman, married a Scottish girl, and their son changed his name to Skelton - possibly due to poor handwriting. My uncle was Ralph Skelton, an echo to an Irishman who may have been our ancestor.
So, what does all this mean for me. I have to ration my time on this website, but, like the football star, I'm discovering more about who I am and what traits I have (like moving around a lot)that may have been inherited from long-dead ancestors. Do I know who I am? Probably not. Does it matter? Probably not. But, the puzzle is fun. Maybe I'll go cemetery trekking one day. And, maybe I'll find Mom's notes someday.
However - perhaps I should put that in all caps - HOWEVER, Thursday evening we watched Jeopardy as our first TV program since returning from Baja California, and we didn't immediately turn it off after the program was over. Suddenly, I am caught up in this African American dude, a former football star, tracing his genealogy, and he used Ancestry.com at one point. Bad move for me.
So, we tired of that quickly and I moved to my computer where the first thing I did was to examine Ancestry.com. I was immediately addicted. Now this football star was also out interviewing people and looking at cemeteries and hiring good help in his search. I'm online and being amazed at what I can find. This is like a puzzle, and I do love puzzles.
First you put in what information you know. If you can get back before 1930, all the better. Then, the program begins giving you clues - places where that name is found in census records on file up to 1900, marriage records from many states, and more usually, other people's research and public family trees. A little green leaf appears with each "hint".
So, I entered some family information that I remembered (lots more is written down somewhere in my files and stored for safekeeping, LOL). I got several little green leaves, and I clicked on them. As I reviewed the information, I discovered what my grandmother's birth name probably was - she changed it somewhere before Social Security began. I had always heard that here birth name was something like Pamelia; presto, her grandmother was Permelia. Other family records listed her as M. Permelia - so, now I have my grandmother's birth name. Incidentally, she was called Mae most of her life.
I keep clicking on these little green leaves and following people from Maryland, briefly through Virginia, and into North Carolina and Georgia. I can see when they moved from Georgia into Mississippi. I can also see how many brothers and sisters died before they were a year old. I remember lots of little graves in our old family cemetery. And, now I can connect with who they were. I had little interest when we were there. All I wanted then was to see the tombstone for the man who had his amputated arm buried. We used to race to see who could find the graves of both the arm and the man to whom it had belonged.
Tonight as I wait for my antihistamine to work, I don't dare go to that website. Thursday night moved into Friday morning before I finally went to bed at 2 am. I lost most of Friday in sleep and more time on Ancestry.com. I am addicted to following those little green leaves. And, when they run out, I can take names that are apparently dead ends and look for clues in census, birth, marriage records. For instance, Mary Dozier Vick, born in 1775 seems to have no family records on this particular website. So, I began looking for the name Dozier in the area where she was born - lots of them, but all the Marys were married to people whose names I didn't recognize, and few of them had parents listed. But, I dutifully traced the parents of those possibilities until I determined that none of them belonged to my Mary Dozier Vick. My great-grandfather was Nathan Dozier Skelton; so I'm pretty sure that Mary is an ancestor and that Dozier is a family name.
I found pictures of tombstones in Mt. Pleasant cemetery, wherever that is, and census records and lots of people who are related distantly. However, I know I can add lots of data in some places because my Mom kept writing down names and dates and places and spouses and children. She would love this program absolutely - unfortunately, so does her daughter. I am addicted to this puzzle.
Some family names fade away - Skelton is probably a derivative of Shelton - and they fit the Irish/Scottish background that my grandfather Skelton claimed. Ralph Shelton, an Irishman, married a Scottish girl, and their son changed his name to Skelton - possibly due to poor handwriting. My uncle was Ralph Skelton, an echo to an Irishman who may have been our ancestor.
So, what does all this mean for me. I have to ration my time on this website, but, like the football star, I'm discovering more about who I am and what traits I have (like moving around a lot)that may have been inherited from long-dead ancestors. Do I know who I am? Probably not. Does it matter? Probably not. But, the puzzle is fun. Maybe I'll go cemetery trekking one day. And, maybe I'll find Mom's notes someday.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
by Emily
I'll tell you how the Sun rose
by Emily Dickinson
I'll tell you how the Sun rose --
A Ribbon at a time --
The Steeples swam in Amethyst --
The news, like Squirrels, ran --
The Hills untied their Bonnets --
The Bobolinks -- begun --
Then I said softly to myself --
"That must have been the Sun"!
But how he set -- I know not --
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while --
Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray --
Put gently up the evening Bars --
And led the flock away --
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Parsing Theology
Stream of consciousness thinking: Can we parse theology the same way we parse a sentence? The subject is God; the verb is "is" (from "I am who I am"). Given that statement made to Moses, can we say anything else for certain? I believe that everything else we say is just that: belief. But, isn't most of religion about belief? And, how do we pick and choose from all the different images found in the scriptures about God and in the New Testament about Jesus?
What else would I say to complete the sentence: God is....
- aware
- creative
- will reclaim all of creation not just some of it (universal salvation)
- mostly unknowable
- present
and, I like to think that God is:
- good
- has a sense of humor
- allows us to be co-creators
- all powerful, all good and all knowing (but I have serious doubts about this)
- an intervener in earthly matters
- a user of the willing as instruments of change and intervention
- able to really know every hair on my head (however small they may be now)
- listener of prayers
- expectant of my participation
What I think that God isn't is a much longer list some of which simply contradicts what others may believe/think: God isn't:
- all-knowing, all-powerful, all-good (contradictions in this trilogy)
- concerned with how we worship
- limited by time, space or other constructs of humanity
- going to "rapture" those who believe
So, this is something I will muse on for a few hundred years, but the truth is that I don't know anything about God beyond "God is".
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