A whole extra day! Yahoo!
Until I looked at my calendar.
I had one of those non-stop back-to-back meeting schedules that would gag a maggot. I get an extra day, and someone clutters it all up with stuff. The nerve! I'm not kidding - from 7:30 am until well after 5 I hardly had room to wiggle much less get anything done. Well, there is no help for it. Sometimes all the vectors of your life collide and you just have to walk through it until they untangle and smooth out.
Good thing I was feeling energetic! So I began with the cleaning of the staff lounge bright and early, then on to teaching library information to some music theory classes, then on to reference duty. Amazing after that, my schedule suddenly unknotted, and I found some freedom. I didn't have to drive carpool - more than four kids not coming home. That put a huge freeway into the day.
By evening, Drew and I were talking about doing dinner and a movie, and things had slowed considerably. Back to a sane and sacred pace. Not bad for an extra day.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Cost of Kindness
Drew was his usual late self getting out the door for school. My turn to drive carpool, so I suspect he thinks that buys him leeway to dawdle. The parking lot was its usual mix of surface snow and underlying ice, a combination I have learned to conquer by not pulling all the way into the downward sloping parking spots.
I had already brushed off the car, warmed it up, and pulled it even with the steps before Drew managed to stumble out the door. No coat, so predictable. He would way rather freeze than be 'uncool,' silly boy.
As I started to pull out, I noticed that a neighbor on the opposite side of the parking lot was stuck in her space. She spun her wheels to no avail, this single young lady. Somehow it tugged at my heart and I just couldn't leave her stranded. I stopped the car and directed Drew to go push her out of her spot.
While I waited, I checked my phone for voice mail in case someone from the morning's crew was doing a no-show. Nothing. I glanced in the mirror, and to my surprise, realized that the woman had her brakes on while Drew was pushing for all his worth. Somehow the two of them had managed to get that car more stuck than before, and now it was almost sideways in the slot.
Good grief. This would never do. I had to pick up kids. I marched over to where they were, and motioned for her to roll down her window. She must have been scared to death. I barked orders at her. "Pull all the way forward. More. More. MORE! Now straighten out your wheels. On my signal, gun it. Don't worry, you won't hit anything. And for goodness sake, keep your foot off the brake. Ready? GO!"
It took 2 seconds to launch her out of her spot. Of course, I had fallen face down on the ice, and gotten sprayed head to foot with snow from her front tires. I scrambled to brush off the wet stuff, waved her on, jumped in the car and drove like sixty two skiddo to pick up kids. We were definitely late. Definitely. And in spite of that, we waited at the first house until I sent Drew to knock on the door. "Sorry" was the mumbled response.
The next house was the farthest away place, and we pulled into the drive only to discover that the kids had gone with their father, and they had left me a voice mail message that I never got. I pulled into traffic on the expressway, realizing I was smack dab in the middle of rush hour because I was just late enough. It took forever to move beyond incoming traffic to the far side of the city where the outgoing traffic was lighter.
I was tempted to fuss and stew about the lateness, the heavy traffic, the inconvenience of stopping to help someone. But I kept seeing that young lady's face, and thinking that she was merrily on her way to work. Its a good thing to help someone else. I have been so grateful when people helped me out in some way. I have been helped by so many people.
People who gave me aid that cost them time and energy and inconvenience and made all the difference to me. In the end, it only made the boys about five minutes late for school, making them hurry to get to first period class. And a bit of adrenalin as I wove in and out of traffic trying to hurry. No big deal.
I had already brushed off the car, warmed it up, and pulled it even with the steps before Drew managed to stumble out the door. No coat, so predictable. He would way rather freeze than be 'uncool,' silly boy.
As I started to pull out, I noticed that a neighbor on the opposite side of the parking lot was stuck in her space. She spun her wheels to no avail, this single young lady. Somehow it tugged at my heart and I just couldn't leave her stranded. I stopped the car and directed Drew to go push her out of her spot.
While I waited, I checked my phone for voice mail in case someone from the morning's crew was doing a no-show. Nothing. I glanced in the mirror, and to my surprise, realized that the woman had her brakes on while Drew was pushing for all his worth. Somehow the two of them had managed to get that car more stuck than before, and now it was almost sideways in the slot.
Good grief. This would never do. I had to pick up kids. I marched over to where they were, and motioned for her to roll down her window. She must have been scared to death. I barked orders at her. "Pull all the way forward. More. More. MORE! Now straighten out your wheels. On my signal, gun it. Don't worry, you won't hit anything. And for goodness sake, keep your foot off the brake. Ready? GO!"
It took 2 seconds to launch her out of her spot. Of course, I had fallen face down on the ice, and gotten sprayed head to foot with snow from her front tires. I scrambled to brush off the wet stuff, waved her on, jumped in the car and drove like sixty two skiddo to pick up kids. We were definitely late. Definitely. And in spite of that, we waited at the first house until I sent Drew to knock on the door. "Sorry" was the mumbled response.
The next house was the farthest away place, and we pulled into the drive only to discover that the kids had gone with their father, and they had left me a voice mail message that I never got. I pulled into traffic on the expressway, realizing I was smack dab in the middle of rush hour because I was just late enough. It took forever to move beyond incoming traffic to the far side of the city where the outgoing traffic was lighter.
I was tempted to fuss and stew about the lateness, the heavy traffic, the inconvenience of stopping to help someone. But I kept seeing that young lady's face, and thinking that she was merrily on her way to work. Its a good thing to help someone else. I have been so grateful when people helped me out in some way. I have been helped by so many people.
People who gave me aid that cost them time and energy and inconvenience and made all the difference to me. In the end, it only made the boys about five minutes late for school, making them hurry to get to first period class. And a bit of adrenalin as I wove in and out of traffic trying to hurry. No big deal.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Recipe for Missing the Bus (uh, carpool)
Start with four inches of heavy, wet, packing snow on your car. Underneath, make sure there is a half inch of frozen ice, especially stuck to the windshield wipers. Once you have all that cleared away, make sure there is enough snow under the tires to prevent you from backing out of the parking space. O, yes. Make sure the son has stayed up late and is very slow about getting ready.
The pickup van was just about to leave the complex when we finally managed to pull around the corner and head towards the office. I flashed my lights like a crazy person, and fortunately the driver saw me and waited. Otherwise Drew would have been *very* late to school since I had to open the library and would not have been able to drive him until after 8 o'clock.
At least the sun was up and shining
The pickup van was just about to leave the complex when we finally managed to pull around the corner and head towards the office. I flashed my lights like a crazy person, and fortunately the driver saw me and waited. Otherwise Drew would have been *very* late to school since I had to open the library and would not have been able to drive him until after 8 o'clock.
At least the sun was up and shining
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Forty Days
Seems like forever. I am only 21 days into Lent, and the effects have been mixed. So far I have managed to stay away from the thing I gave up - well, except for one unfortunate incident when I inadvertently partook of it because it was mixed in with other stuff and I didn't realize that until afterwards.
Then I felt awful, apologized to the good Lord for not having known, and promised myself to keep a lookout for hidden temptations.
I can't imagine how Noah managed to get through not only 40 days of rain, but a whole year on board that ark. Its interesting how your perspective changes.
*First you think you are handling it just fine and its not really affecting you.
*Then you hit the craving stage and have to invoke every ounce of strength to run the other way.
*Then your discipline gets a little more stable and you are confident that you are going to make it just fine.
*Then you begin to experience the 'withdrawal' effects and become aware of how that thing was affecting you - more than you realized.
*Then you adjust to that, but you are tired of playing the game and you just want it to be over so you can get back to 'normal' if there is such a thing.
*Then you assess whether you want to go back to the way you were before, and decide a change is needed.
*Then you have to figure out how severe a change you want to make.
*Then you're just plain tired and you want to sleep!
Wow! Over such a little thing. Sigh. I think the next step should be to stop thinking about it and focus on something better. Maybe I can just replace it with an activity I love.
Yes, I'll try that this week, see what happens.
Then I felt awful, apologized to the good Lord for not having known, and promised myself to keep a lookout for hidden temptations.
I can't imagine how Noah managed to get through not only 40 days of rain, but a whole year on board that ark. Its interesting how your perspective changes.
*First you think you are handling it just fine and its not really affecting you.
*Then you hit the craving stage and have to invoke every ounce of strength to run the other way.
*Then your discipline gets a little more stable and you are confident that you are going to make it just fine.
*Then you begin to experience the 'withdrawal' effects and become aware of how that thing was affecting you - more than you realized.
*Then you adjust to that, but you are tired of playing the game and you just want it to be over so you can get back to 'normal' if there is such a thing.
*Then you assess whether you want to go back to the way you were before, and decide a change is needed.
*Then you have to figure out how severe a change you want to make.
*Then you're just plain tired and you want to sleep!
Wow! Over such a little thing. Sigh. I think the next step should be to stop thinking about it and focus on something better. Maybe I can just replace it with an activity I love.
Yes, I'll try that this week, see what happens.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Gorgeous Red Sun
It consumed most of the horizon as Drew and I headed for the library to print his papers (he had all week, why didn't he take care of this sooner??!!Wait until 6am on Monday morning????) It was the largest fiery-red orb I had seen in some time, sitting right on the horizon where sky and land kiss. Huge. For a moment you thought you were in a sci-fi movie seeing the landscape on Jupiter or somewhere.
By the time we had picked up the carpoolers, it had lifted slightly from the edge of the world, and hung suspended a few feet above the housetops, still large, still glaringly orange-red. I gazed sleepily as I listened to the high school girl's iPod - so loud I could clearly hear her music (what must that be doing to her ears!). She impatiently listened to only the first few minutes of a dozen different songs, not happy with anything, interrupting her search to text a friend repeatedly (talk about isolation! not only does she not connect with the people in the car, she doesn't even want a decent conversation with her friend - just a few scattered symbols to semi communicate some brief feeling).
I dropped the kids off and headed for StarBucks. I feel like a treat, and a scone might be just the ticket. Alas, the lines are too long and anyways, I shouldn't throw money away unnecessarily. So I swallow my disappointment (along with my drool) and head to Strong Hospital to the lab to donate my monthly 2 tubes for various tests and whatnot.
Perhaps it will trigger some leech response and take away the exhaustion I am hoping won't hit today. I grow concerned about the aching in my throat. Not a soreness, but a muscle ache that doesn't seem to want to go away. I chalk it up to the power of suggestion with all this talk of swollen lymph nodes and neck biopsies. All the same, I notice it. Rather like having someone's fingers clamped around your neck.
Once again I enter that other world of crippled, disfigured, in-pain sad humans relegated to the agony of medical land. I pray for each person I pass, check in at the lab registration window and sit to await my turn. I am in no hurry. I don't have to be to work until noon. I fiddle with my Blackberry, checking email, jotting notes of things I need to take care of. They call me fairly soon.
The technician pats my arm repeatedly, poking, probing with expertise all the while joking about his height (he is probably over six foot) and the benefits thereof. It takes him way longer to figure out where to stick me than to draw the blood, but he gets in first stick.
On my way out, I decide to be lazy and take the elevator to my car waiting quietly for me on the fifth level of the parking garage. Normally I would walk up the stairs, but I must conserve energy today. I might not have enough. I instantly regret getting into the elevator. It is crammed with wheelchairs, walkers, little kids, and one hugely overweight gentleman. I want to get off, but the doors close and I am trapped. We stop on every floor.
I realize the little boy beside me is looking out the window, not at the door, and I follow his eyes to the sky. There it is, the sun I have been watching all morning, looking for all the world like a normal small yellow sun. Shoot. And Hallelujah.
Blue skies, no wind, a few clouds, and glorious sun. What a great spring day. I step off the elevator and hear birds singing. February my fanny. Red sky at morn, sailors be warned, not likely. At least at the moment. Enjoy it. You don't get many red ball days.
By the time we had picked up the carpoolers, it had lifted slightly from the edge of the world, and hung suspended a few feet above the housetops, still large, still glaringly orange-red. I gazed sleepily as I listened to the high school girl's iPod - so loud I could clearly hear her music (what must that be doing to her ears!). She impatiently listened to only the first few minutes of a dozen different songs, not happy with anything, interrupting her search to text a friend repeatedly (talk about isolation! not only does she not connect with the people in the car, she doesn't even want a decent conversation with her friend - just a few scattered symbols to semi communicate some brief feeling).
I dropped the kids off and headed for StarBucks. I feel like a treat, and a scone might be just the ticket. Alas, the lines are too long and anyways, I shouldn't throw money away unnecessarily. So I swallow my disappointment (along with my drool) and head to Strong Hospital to the lab to donate my monthly 2 tubes for various tests and whatnot.
Perhaps it will trigger some leech response and take away the exhaustion I am hoping won't hit today. I grow concerned about the aching in my throat. Not a soreness, but a muscle ache that doesn't seem to want to go away. I chalk it up to the power of suggestion with all this talk of swollen lymph nodes and neck biopsies. All the same, I notice it. Rather like having someone's fingers clamped around your neck.
Once again I enter that other world of crippled, disfigured, in-pain sad humans relegated to the agony of medical land. I pray for each person I pass, check in at the lab registration window and sit to await my turn. I am in no hurry. I don't have to be to work until noon. I fiddle with my Blackberry, checking email, jotting notes of things I need to take care of. They call me fairly soon.
The technician pats my arm repeatedly, poking, probing with expertise all the while joking about his height (he is probably over six foot) and the benefits thereof. It takes him way longer to figure out where to stick me than to draw the blood, but he gets in first stick.
On my way out, I decide to be lazy and take the elevator to my car waiting quietly for me on the fifth level of the parking garage. Normally I would walk up the stairs, but I must conserve energy today. I might not have enough. I instantly regret getting into the elevator. It is crammed with wheelchairs, walkers, little kids, and one hugely overweight gentleman. I want to get off, but the doors close and I am trapped. We stop on every floor.
I realize the little boy beside me is looking out the window, not at the door, and I follow his eyes to the sky. There it is, the sun I have been watching all morning, looking for all the world like a normal small yellow sun. Shoot. And Hallelujah.
Blue skies, no wind, a few clouds, and glorious sun. What a great spring day. I step off the elevator and hear birds singing. February my fanny. Red sky at morn, sailors be warned, not likely. At least at the moment. Enjoy it. You don't get many red ball days.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Out of uumph
I was doing pretty good after the PET scan. Saturday was productive, and I crossed a lot of stuff off my list. Sunday the energy levels were stable and church whizzed by in a flurry of music that I loved. PrayerSong came for rehearsal at 2 and left around 3:30. So far so good.
Maybe the sluggishness would pass me by this time. Maybe I would just keep doing things and not notice an energy slump. Maybe Niagara Falls will run uphill. It zeroed in right after dinner while I was contemplating laundry. I was sitting in the comfy chair swigging hot chocolate and licking warm strawberries and applesauce from a bowl when every ounce of huzzah simply disappeared.
There would be no climbing down those cellar steps to the laundry machines. No chucking quarters into hungry slots. No, I had barely enough energy left to ask myself how many clean pair of underwear were in my dresser drawer. Enough for the next couple of days at least.
I had momentary hopes that Drew would run stuff downstairs, but I knew he would not go alone. And I knew that even if he carried everything for me, I simply couldn't negotiate even getting out of the chair. So I sat.
There was nothing on TV, and no books in the living room even if I had wanted to read. So I just sat. I know this will pass, it always does. Question is how long will it last? I didn't even want to chat on the phone, and I was too tired to get up and go to bed (besides, it was only 7pm).
Tomorrow it will not matter if I am tired. I drive carpool in the morning, then work from noon to 9pm. So one way or another, dogged or not, I must move myself through the day. It will start with energy to do stuff, but at some point it will evaporate and there I will be staring into space and hanging on.
Rats!
Last time the energy crisis lasted about a week, but it set in sooner. Perhaps the delayed start is a good sign. Time will tell. For now, I won't fuss about laundry or anything else undone. I am more and more like my old self all the time. This momentary setback will pass soon.
Meanwhile, I shall take a mini-vacation, close my eyes, and remember lying on a warm sandy beach in the summer when I was a camp counselor and had a day off. I can almost hear the waves lapping against the dock, the seagulls calling overhead, the chatter of visitors as they saunter past, the fluttering of leaves in the breeze. I soak in the warmth of the sun, inhaling the deliciousness of lolling about after a week of running after kids. I might as well enjoy it, it won't last long.
Maybe the sluggishness would pass me by this time. Maybe I would just keep doing things and not notice an energy slump. Maybe Niagara Falls will run uphill. It zeroed in right after dinner while I was contemplating laundry. I was sitting in the comfy chair swigging hot chocolate and licking warm strawberries and applesauce from a bowl when every ounce of huzzah simply disappeared.
There would be no climbing down those cellar steps to the laundry machines. No chucking quarters into hungry slots. No, I had barely enough energy left to ask myself how many clean pair of underwear were in my dresser drawer. Enough for the next couple of days at least.
I had momentary hopes that Drew would run stuff downstairs, but I knew he would not go alone. And I knew that even if he carried everything for me, I simply couldn't negotiate even getting out of the chair. So I sat.
There was nothing on TV, and no books in the living room even if I had wanted to read. So I just sat. I know this will pass, it always does. Question is how long will it last? I didn't even want to chat on the phone, and I was too tired to get up and go to bed (besides, it was only 7pm).
Tomorrow it will not matter if I am tired. I drive carpool in the morning, then work from noon to 9pm. So one way or another, dogged or not, I must move myself through the day. It will start with energy to do stuff, but at some point it will evaporate and there I will be staring into space and hanging on.
Rats!
Last time the energy crisis lasted about a week, but it set in sooner. Perhaps the delayed start is a good sign. Time will tell. For now, I won't fuss about laundry or anything else undone. I am more and more like my old self all the time. This momentary setback will pass soon.
Meanwhile, I shall take a mini-vacation, close my eyes, and remember lying on a warm sandy beach in the summer when I was a camp counselor and had a day off. I can almost hear the waves lapping against the dock, the seagulls calling overhead, the chatter of visitors as they saunter past, the fluttering of leaves in the breeze. I soak in the warmth of the sun, inhaling the deliciousness of lolling about after a week of running after kids. I might as well enjoy it, it won't last long.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Oy - taxes!
So today I determined to figure out my taxes and take the news like a grown up. I hate doing taxes. My head doesn't work well with all those "if this, then pay that" rules. Don't forget x and make sure you take into account y. Phooey.
My son had been bugging me to try TurboTax for the last two years, but I had declined, thinking I had to buy and install some software, and not wanting to have to fuss with all that. I used to pay someone to do them, but after watching them go through it, I knew I could at least do as well as they did. Easier to just slog through those darn tax manuals myself and hope for the best.
But this year, I noticed a link to TurboTax from my online bank, so I settled down with armloads of paperwork and a determination to tackle this to the best of my ability. At least I should know something by the time I finish.
I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was once I plugged in the information. The questions were straightforward, and if you didn't understand, there were links that would take you to more information. And once you had the federal done, the state was a breeze, just uploading the same info and plugging it into their formulas.
It wasn't bad. Not at all. And the news wasn't even as harsh as I had feared. Sometimes it pays to listen to your kids! Of course, I won't rest easy until I am sure everything is kosher, but for the most part, I am pretty happy with the whole thing. Not bad (except for the amounts!).
My son had been bugging me to try TurboTax for the last two years, but I had declined, thinking I had to buy and install some software, and not wanting to have to fuss with all that. I used to pay someone to do them, but after watching them go through it, I knew I could at least do as well as they did. Easier to just slog through those darn tax manuals myself and hope for the best.
But this year, I noticed a link to TurboTax from my online bank, so I settled down with armloads of paperwork and a determination to tackle this to the best of my ability. At least I should know something by the time I finish.
I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was once I plugged in the information. The questions were straightforward, and if you didn't understand, there were links that would take you to more information. And once you had the federal done, the state was a breeze, just uploading the same info and plugging it into their formulas.
It wasn't bad. Not at all. And the news wasn't even as harsh as I had feared. Sometimes it pays to listen to your kids! Of course, I won't rest easy until I am sure everything is kosher, but for the most part, I am pretty happy with the whole thing. Not bad (except for the amounts!).
Friday, February 22, 2008
Break's Over
Roberts Wesleyan students have been on spring break. At least the undergraduates. Many of the Adult Education programs and graduate programs continue on without break. They are the ones who have requested that the library stay open more hours. They juggle family, full time job, classes and studying. If they miss an opportunity to write a paper or do their research, it has a huge impact for them.
I know how difficult it can be to do a graduate degree while working and raising a family. Been there, done that. I was fortunate enough to work in a library and had a key for access when I needed that precious last minute worktime.
Of course, you can do a lot of your research online these days, but not everything. And sometimes you just need that quiet space in which to concentrate on the paper at hand and filter out the home distractions (piles of laundry and dirty dishes, kids crying, TVs blaring. . .)
Quiet is a commodity our culture little appreciates, perhaps because we encounter it so rarely. Our pastor has been encouraging us to move at a sacred and slow pace during Lent. Its not easy to do! You have to work at putting those moments into your schedule and into your day. Pause when you are headed from your car to your office and just stand a few minutes, listening.
Its an old saw, I know, but you deserve a break today. In fact, you need one. So find a way to just relax and breathe. Don't be hard on yourself about not doing something. Being quiet *is* important. Our culture gave up that family practice of sitting on the porch at night after dinner and the dishes were done, just being together, greeting neighbors, watching the kids. We have not replaced it with any healthy habits of stillness. Perhaps we should.
I know how difficult it can be to do a graduate degree while working and raising a family. Been there, done that. I was fortunate enough to work in a library and had a key for access when I needed that precious last minute worktime.
Of course, you can do a lot of your research online these days, but not everything. And sometimes you just need that quiet space in which to concentrate on the paper at hand and filter out the home distractions (piles of laundry and dirty dishes, kids crying, TVs blaring. . .)
Quiet is a commodity our culture little appreciates, perhaps because we encounter it so rarely. Our pastor has been encouraging us to move at a sacred and slow pace during Lent. Its not easy to do! You have to work at putting those moments into your schedule and into your day. Pause when you are headed from your car to your office and just stand a few minutes, listening.
Its an old saw, I know, but you deserve a break today. In fact, you need one. So find a way to just relax and breathe. Don't be hard on yourself about not doing something. Being quiet *is* important. Our culture gave up that family practice of sitting on the porch at night after dinner and the dishes were done, just being together, greeting neighbors, watching the kids. We have not replaced it with any healthy habits of stillness. Perhaps we should.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Grump, grump, grump
They tell you on the instruction sheet for the PET scan that you should keep as warm as possible. Let someone else start your car and warm it up for you. Wrap up in woolens and sweaters. Yeah, right.
First of all, the furnace still isn't working right and I awoke to a chilly 63 degrees inside. So much for staying warm! And who, praytell, shall I send out to start the car? Certainly not Drew though Lord knows he would be willing enough.
Bad enough the temperature is in the teens, but the car is covered with several inches of snow. Which will require a good twenty minutes of brushing and scraping to clear, so much for warm. (Can you tell I am feeling sorry for myself?)
I grumble through the car clearing process, sit shivering while the back window defrosts, then back out of the parking space, slightly irked that Drew has no school and is soundly sleeping. I lift my cellphone and leave a message at the office about the furnace.
No breakfast, but you have to drink 2 glasses of water, and well before I reach the clinic I need a bathroom. So it begins. I sign in, then hit the restroom before sitting down in the waiting area, hoping they don't take too much time before they call me back.
I look around the waiting room and am instantly ashamed of myself. There were several women waiting to be call, one of whom looked green with nausea, the other continuing to pat the scarf carefully tied over her obviously bald head. On the other side of the coffee table sat a man in a wheel chair, his wife gently holding his shaking hand as a tear trickles down his cheek. A thin gentleman paced near the coat racks, the pain etched in his ashen cheeks.
Two nurses come out and speak with one woman slouching in a blue corner chair. She is slated not only for a PET scan, but an EKG and various other tests for which they had transported special equipment.
Too well I remember being the one slouched over in the easy chair, barely hanging on, waiting for help. Sort of like the man at the pool of Siloam. Always ill, never able to quite get well. I take a deep breath and begin to thank God that I am feeling well, that I have the strength to handle this test, that I am not undergoing treatment.
They call me back, and I spend my hour waiting for the radiation to permeate my body praying for those with cancer that I know about, praying for grace to provide support through Jairus House well. It goes so quickly I hardly realize I am finished. It seems only a minute ago they put the IV in, and now they are taking it out.
For a brief moment, I remember the last test and how exhausted I was for a week afterwards. But there is no reason to think I will have the same reaction this time. I will trust the Lord, who gives strength sufficient for the day.
I step out the door back to the reality of the normal world, sobered by the reminder glimpse that not everyone's world is all peaches and cream.
First of all, the furnace still isn't working right and I awoke to a chilly 63 degrees inside. So much for staying warm! And who, praytell, shall I send out to start the car? Certainly not Drew though Lord knows he would be willing enough.
Bad enough the temperature is in the teens, but the car is covered with several inches of snow. Which will require a good twenty minutes of brushing and scraping to clear, so much for warm. (Can you tell I am feeling sorry for myself?)
I grumble through the car clearing process, sit shivering while the back window defrosts, then back out of the parking space, slightly irked that Drew has no school and is soundly sleeping. I lift my cellphone and leave a message at the office about the furnace.
No breakfast, but you have to drink 2 glasses of water, and well before I reach the clinic I need a bathroom. So it begins. I sign in, then hit the restroom before sitting down in the waiting area, hoping they don't take too much time before they call me back.
I look around the waiting room and am instantly ashamed of myself. There were several women waiting to be call, one of whom looked green with nausea, the other continuing to pat the scarf carefully tied over her obviously bald head. On the other side of the coffee table sat a man in a wheel chair, his wife gently holding his shaking hand as a tear trickles down his cheek. A thin gentleman paced near the coat racks, the pain etched in his ashen cheeks.
Two nurses come out and speak with one woman slouching in a blue corner chair. She is slated not only for a PET scan, but an EKG and various other tests for which they had transported special equipment.
Too well I remember being the one slouched over in the easy chair, barely hanging on, waiting for help. Sort of like the man at the pool of Siloam. Always ill, never able to quite get well. I take a deep breath and begin to thank God that I am feeling well, that I have the strength to handle this test, that I am not undergoing treatment.
They call me back, and I spend my hour waiting for the radiation to permeate my body praying for those with cancer that I know about, praying for grace to provide support through Jairus House well. It goes so quickly I hardly realize I am finished. It seems only a minute ago they put the IV in, and now they are taking it out.
For a brief moment, I remember the last test and how exhausted I was for a week afterwards. But there is no reason to think I will have the same reaction this time. I will trust the Lord, who gives strength sufficient for the day.
I step out the door back to the reality of the normal world, sobered by the reminder glimpse that not everyone's world is all peaches and cream.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Lunar Eclipse
Three young men hanging out in Drew's bedroom, playing with action figures, the TV blaring. Suddenly they heard mention of the lunar eclipse underway and the three of them bolted down the hallway and out the front door sans coats to take a look, never mind the freezing temperatures!
Periodically over the next hour, they interrupted their play to migrate to the front door and see the progress. It was enticing, the black shadow creeping across the face of the moon. I wonder if life on the moon, being unavoidable plunged into both darkness and cold, knew they were being observed.
It was the talk of the community all day. Why the fascination? Its not like we live in the dark ages, pardon the pun. We are, after all, people of science and education, not given to bouts of hysteria or taken in by some magician's slight of hand. Yet we cannot help looking at the lunar eclipse, and I don't think its just because of the rarity of occurrence.
There is something about seeing action on a grander scale than normal that reminds us we are not alone, we are not so all fired important as we sometimes think we are. To these three young men (awesome, cool, neat) the fascination lingered, momentarily jolting them from their focus on gameboy, touching them with a sense of the inordinately superior organization and balance of God's creation. A moment not easily forgotten.
Periodically over the next hour, they interrupted their play to migrate to the front door and see the progress. It was enticing, the black shadow creeping across the face of the moon. I wonder if life on the moon, being unavoidable plunged into both darkness and cold, knew they were being observed.
It was the talk of the community all day. Why the fascination? Its not like we live in the dark ages, pardon the pun. We are, after all, people of science and education, not given to bouts of hysteria or taken in by some magician's slight of hand. Yet we cannot help looking at the lunar eclipse, and I don't think its just because of the rarity of occurrence.
There is something about seeing action on a grander scale than normal that reminds us we are not alone, we are not so all fired important as we sometimes think we are. To these three young men (awesome, cool, neat) the fascination lingered, momentarily jolting them from their focus on gameboy, touching them with a sense of the inordinately superior organization and balance of God's creation. A moment not easily forgotten.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Happy Swimming
Drew insisted that we take advantage of the break to go swimming at the VAC (Voller Athletic Center) where we have a family membership (one of the many perks of working here!). And he was right. I need to get back in the habit - its so easy to fall out of it what with deadlines, feeling ill, being busy. Hard to get back in it, and I sure need this!
So we went Sunday, and again tonight. He invited his friend who also is a member, and the two boys were happily jumping off the diving board, leaving me free to swim laps at a v-e-r-y leisurely pace. No sense jumping in too quickly!
We had been lolling about for nearly an hour when kids started coming in and standing on the deck at the shallow end of the pool, waiting. I wasn't quite sure what they were waiting for, but the number kept increasing until there was a veritable crowd down there. It looked like a class to me.
I motioned Drew over and said I thought we were about to get kicked out for a class (my fingers were pretty much prunes anyways), but Drew asked the lifeguard, and was told he could stay. I gave him twenty more minutes, then we would leave. With that many kids in the pool, it wouldn't be any fun anyways.
I thought they were waiting for a coach or an instructor. No one had gotten in the water yet. As I hauled myself out of the water, feeling every pound of my excess weight, I realized these kids were all handicapped. Some physically, some mentally, others with some sort of behavioral problems. Each kid had at least one adult with them, and some had siblings along for the fun.
How wonderful that the college opens up the pool to these kids during break, giving them a chance to have a good time with family and friends. Just as I was heading for the women's shower room, the first kid jumped into the water, followed by several others, then more. Their whooping and hollering followed me into the locker room, echoing through the rafters and bouncing off the lockers.
They were irresistible, these charming young kids totally enjoying themselves, free and happy. What a lovely evening!
So we went Sunday, and again tonight. He invited his friend who also is a member, and the two boys were happily jumping off the diving board, leaving me free to swim laps at a v-e-r-y leisurely pace. No sense jumping in too quickly!
We had been lolling about for nearly an hour when kids started coming in and standing on the deck at the shallow end of the pool, waiting. I wasn't quite sure what they were waiting for, but the number kept increasing until there was a veritable crowd down there. It looked like a class to me.
I motioned Drew over and said I thought we were about to get kicked out for a class (my fingers were pretty much prunes anyways), but Drew asked the lifeguard, and was told he could stay. I gave him twenty more minutes, then we would leave. With that many kids in the pool, it wouldn't be any fun anyways.
I thought they were waiting for a coach or an instructor. No one had gotten in the water yet. As I hauled myself out of the water, feeling every pound of my excess weight, I realized these kids were all handicapped. Some physically, some mentally, others with some sort of behavioral problems. Each kid had at least one adult with them, and some had siblings along for the fun.
How wonderful that the college opens up the pool to these kids during break, giving them a chance to have a good time with family and friends. Just as I was heading for the women's shower room, the first kid jumped into the water, followed by several others, then more. Their whooping and hollering followed me into the locker room, echoing through the rafters and bouncing off the lockers.
They were irresistible, these charming young kids totally enjoying themselves, free and happy. What a lovely evening!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Rats
Here we go again. I got the reminder call from SciencePark Imaging about my upcoming PET scan. I had so thoroughly decided to be well that I forget about these momentary forays into the world of the unwell. I've half a mind to just not show up. Except of course I know I won't get away with that for long.
Its not that the test is unpleasant. Just the usual pinches from needles and IVs, the yucky tasting stuff to be ingested, the lying still, breathing patterns, taking an entire morning of your life. I know I should be grateful that I have insurance, that I am not in pain, that I have a competent medical facility right here in this city, and I am.
But.
But I just want to live my life without being a cancer survivor. I just want to be well and not constantly facing a new battle with a dread disease. I am feeling so much better. I am getting my feet down and my old self back. I don't want to plunge into the mire of chemo and radiation and surgery.
Well, its not until Thursday. I have time to ignore it and get stuff done. And I will do just that!
Its not that the test is unpleasant. Just the usual pinches from needles and IVs, the yucky tasting stuff to be ingested, the lying still, breathing patterns, taking an entire morning of your life. I know I should be grateful that I have insurance, that I am not in pain, that I have a competent medical facility right here in this city, and I am.
But.
But I just want to live my life without being a cancer survivor. I just want to be well and not constantly facing a new battle with a dread disease. I am feeling so much better. I am getting my feet down and my old self back. I don't want to plunge into the mire of chemo and radiation and surgery.
Well, its not until Thursday. I have time to ignore it and get stuff done. And I will do just that!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Glazed Car
What with all the temperature fluctuations and the sleet, freezing rain, snow, and yuck, its a wonder we aren't have power outages. This area is famous for transformers suddenly giving out, plunging us into cold dark discomfort.
This morning, I left Drew blissfully dreaming of soccer and fishing and other kid exploits (he is on winter break) and headed out to the library. Even though the undergrads are on break, the library stays open, and in fact keeps some evening hours for the adult students who are not on break.
Alas, there was Baby, my beautiful white Malibu, stuck to the ground in a glittering pile of icy coating. She looked like some Christmas tree ornament or sugared cookie. This was going to take some doing to chip all that ice off. Fortunately, the trunk lock released and I was able to pry it open enough to dig out the scrapper.
My first swipe across a window told me there would be no use scraping. Instead, I turned the tool around and used the butt end to whack away at the ice, fearful that any moment I would crack the window glass.
I needed have worried. The ice was thick enough to bear the brunt of any banging. After a bit, the sheet of ice cracked enough for me to peel away chunks. After I cleared enough of the passenger door, I was able to start the car, hoping that heat from inside would assist with the clearing from the outside.
It was a difficult process. Several times I thought perhaps I would just drive off without clearing all the ice. But I didn't want huge sheets of ice peeling off the car in mid lane only to smack into some car behind me. So I kept working at it until I had most of the ice removed from the roof, hood, and trunk as well as the windows.
There were still areas of ice not cleared, but I finally felt it was safe to drive the few blocks to work (I could have walked there by now!). I half expected to see a fairy wonderland of glittering, ice coated trees and bushes. But the ice seemed to be mostly on the cars and roads.
Sure hope the next place I live has a garage or at least a carport! I'm sure Baby is wondering what on earth happened! Even after sitting all day in the light of the sun, Baby still had patches of frozen ice dangling off her, and the roads were still somewhat treacherous.
I believe I'm ready for winter to end. So much for global warming!
This morning, I left Drew blissfully dreaming of soccer and fishing and other kid exploits (he is on winter break) and headed out to the library. Even though the undergrads are on break, the library stays open, and in fact keeps some evening hours for the adult students who are not on break.
Alas, there was Baby, my beautiful white Malibu, stuck to the ground in a glittering pile of icy coating. She looked like some Christmas tree ornament or sugared cookie. This was going to take some doing to chip all that ice off. Fortunately, the trunk lock released and I was able to pry it open enough to dig out the scrapper.
My first swipe across a window told me there would be no use scraping. Instead, I turned the tool around and used the butt end to whack away at the ice, fearful that any moment I would crack the window glass.
I needed have worried. The ice was thick enough to bear the brunt of any banging. After a bit, the sheet of ice cracked enough for me to peel away chunks. After I cleared enough of the passenger door, I was able to start the car, hoping that heat from inside would assist with the clearing from the outside.
It was a difficult process. Several times I thought perhaps I would just drive off without clearing all the ice. But I didn't want huge sheets of ice peeling off the car in mid lane only to smack into some car behind me. So I kept working at it until I had most of the ice removed from the roof, hood, and trunk as well as the windows.
There were still areas of ice not cleared, but I finally felt it was safe to drive the few blocks to work (I could have walked there by now!). I half expected to see a fairy wonderland of glittering, ice coated trees and bushes. But the ice seemed to be mostly on the cars and roads.
Sure hope the next place I live has a garage or at least a carport! I'm sure Baby is wondering what on earth happened! Even after sitting all day in the light of the sun, Baby still had patches of frozen ice dangling off her, and the roads were still somewhat treacherous.
I believe I'm ready for winter to end. So much for global warming!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
PrayerSong
It was a perfect blend right from the beginning. Unusual for three women not to have vocal conflicts! Rare that we come from such different paths, but resonate in sympathy to the same music, the same ideals, the same musical ideology.
We read through song after song from my foray into the octavo archives in Illinois, each one presenting its own charms and challenges. I'm sure for them it was a normal rehearsal, one of many activities to be involved in. I worry that I am asking too much of them, that I will cause them to burn out before we barely get started.
Inside, my tummy was tingling (and not from the flu pains either). At long long last this dream that I have dreamt for the past three or four years had taken on a reality heretofore unknown. Sounds. Plans. A date for first performance.
Oh, we have work to do, no doubt about that. Especially me. They are both ahead of me for musicianship skills and I will be working hard to carry my part, one I have not sung for decades! And right where I belong on second soprano.
Yes, I will be auditioning for more singers. Yes, we will get more dates. Yes, I am meeting next week with one of the guys from Touch of Brass to talk about a service this spring, and with my friend the recording engineer about capturing our new found sound digitally - perhaps even linking to our new website so cancer patients can download and listen.
O, I can almost touch it, this reality. I am so excited. Not for having a dream come true, but for what I hope it will bring to cancer patients. That little something extra to hang onto in the darkness of the night, in the discouragement of the doctor's pronouncement that the darn stuff has returned, a ray of hope when things look bleak, a touch of comfort in a lonely hour.
So, I memorize. I type up the words. I prepare the gig list. I pray. It is becoming more and more real. At last. At last.
We read through song after song from my foray into the octavo archives in Illinois, each one presenting its own charms and challenges. I'm sure for them it was a normal rehearsal, one of many activities to be involved in. I worry that I am asking too much of them, that I will cause them to burn out before we barely get started.
Inside, my tummy was tingling (and not from the flu pains either). At long long last this dream that I have dreamt for the past three or four years had taken on a reality heretofore unknown. Sounds. Plans. A date for first performance.
Oh, we have work to do, no doubt about that. Especially me. They are both ahead of me for musicianship skills and I will be working hard to carry my part, one I have not sung for decades! And right where I belong on second soprano.
Yes, I will be auditioning for more singers. Yes, we will get more dates. Yes, I am meeting next week with one of the guys from Touch of Brass to talk about a service this spring, and with my friend the recording engineer about capturing our new found sound digitally - perhaps even linking to our new website so cancer patients can download and listen.
O, I can almost touch it, this reality. I am so excited. Not for having a dream come true, but for what I hope it will bring to cancer patients. That little something extra to hang onto in the darkness of the night, in the discouragement of the doctor's pronouncement that the darn stuff has returned, a ray of hope when things look bleak, a touch of comfort in a lonely hour.
So, I memorize. I type up the words. I prepare the gig list. I pray. It is becoming more and more real. At last. At last.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Macaroni for Coxy's Army
We used to tease Gramma Appleby about how much food she cooked when we came to visit. We always told her she cooked for the proverbial Coxy's army - you know, that ragtag group of soldiers who marched on Washinton to protest the economic depression?
Lord have mercy, to a stringbean kid like me, Gram's table, groaning under huge beef roasts, fresh tomatoes and corn from the garden, slabs of bread and butter, mounds of potatoes, was the feast of the century. Gramp's rule was, you could have ALL you wanted, as long as you ate what you took. Not that we didn't eat at home, but with so many kids you had lots of competition for the favorite dishes.
Well, Robotics Club requires all parents to ante up for a meal - enough to feed twenty. I asked Drew what the other parents were bringing, and his response (complete with rolled eyes) was, "We are so tired of pizza and fast food. Please, please, please make the macaroni and cheese that Gramma Morton makes. Please."
How could I resist his pleading brown eyes (staring straight down at me from his towering 5'11"). So I went home at noon to cook mac and cheese the old fashioned way. I threw in some cornbread, carrots, applesauce, oranges, and chocolate chip cookies for good measure. Then of course, came the logistics of keeping it warm without drying it out, figuring out how to carry four casserole dishes without spilling anything, and getting it all carried up three flights of stairs!
I called Drew as I was pulling into the parking lot. "What took you so long? We're all starving!" Typical. I delivered my wares and drove home, too tired to eat anything myself. Good thing I don't have to cook for twenty on a regular basis, especially on a lunch break!
Lord have mercy, to a stringbean kid like me, Gram's table, groaning under huge beef roasts, fresh tomatoes and corn from the garden, slabs of bread and butter, mounds of potatoes, was the feast of the century. Gramp's rule was, you could have ALL you wanted, as long as you ate what you took. Not that we didn't eat at home, but with so many kids you had lots of competition for the favorite dishes.
Well, Robotics Club requires all parents to ante up for a meal - enough to feed twenty. I asked Drew what the other parents were bringing, and his response (complete with rolled eyes) was, "We are so tired of pizza and fast food. Please, please, please make the macaroni and cheese that Gramma Morton makes. Please."
How could I resist his pleading brown eyes (staring straight down at me from his towering 5'11"). So I went home at noon to cook mac and cheese the old fashioned way. I threw in some cornbread, carrots, applesauce, oranges, and chocolate chip cookies for good measure. Then of course, came the logistics of keeping it warm without drying it out, figuring out how to carry four casserole dishes without spilling anything, and getting it all carried up three flights of stairs!
I called Drew as I was pulling into the parking lot. "What took you so long? We're all starving!" Typical. I delivered my wares and drove home, too tired to eat anything myself. Good thing I don't have to cook for twenty on a regular basis, especially on a lunch break!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Revenge
My body has decided to go on the warpath! I had such a wonderful time in Illinois, had plenty of energy, felt well. Now every gland this side of the Mississippi had decided its time to overflow their pocket and swell into something uncomfortable. That seems to be the pattern. No pattern!
One minute you feel just fine, the next you're a puff toad! Tonight I will snuggle down with a hot water bottle and sleep it off. My tummy is still hurting from time to time - maybe I really am fighting off a flu. I don't have a fever, and I don't feel sick otherwise. So I'll just get some extra rest and see how tomorrow fares.
Meanwhile I am reading through the music I discovered at the music library in Illinois - what delightful lullabies and comfort songs! You've heard of comfort food? Well, this is comfort food for the soul indeed. Marvelous songs I've never heard, most out of print now, but high time they got resurrected. I can't wait to teach them to the other ladies.
Just not tonight. After choir practice and a full day at the library, I am beat. Think I'll just say my prayers and hit the sack.
One minute you feel just fine, the next you're a puff toad! Tonight I will snuggle down with a hot water bottle and sleep it off. My tummy is still hurting from time to time - maybe I really am fighting off a flu. I don't have a fever, and I don't feel sick otherwise. So I'll just get some extra rest and see how tomorrow fares.
Meanwhile I am reading through the music I discovered at the music library in Illinois - what delightful lullabies and comfort songs! You've heard of comfort food? Well, this is comfort food for the soul indeed. Marvelous songs I've never heard, most out of print now, but high time they got resurrected. I can't wait to teach them to the other ladies.
Just not tonight. After choir practice and a full day at the library, I am beat. Think I'll just say my prayers and hit the sack.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tummyache
Must have been something I ate. No matter how careful I am, things sneak past me sometimes. On the train, I only had a sub bought at a chain where I have eaten before, and some cereal I had brought with me. The only thing unusual I can recall at all from the whole trip was a fruit smoothie, and I know those don't give me a hard time.
Normally, these digestive disturbances pass in a day or so. Except that this bout feels more sharp than normal. I would worry about a blockage if things weren't moving along so well. It comes and goes, feeling much like some snake in my middle rolling over and twisting. Could be some perverted flubug. Sort of reminds me of that children's prayer, verse two:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
a bag of peanuts at my feet.
If I should die before I wake,
You'll know I died of a tummyache.
What a silly thing for a kid to learn. I changed that little prayer for my own boys a long time ago. What decent self repsecting parent would chant into their child's brain thoughts of dying every single night? Not that I'm particularly creative or anything. I'm sure others have made up much more pleasing words aka Hemingway's little short story. In fact, the poem has been the subject of a number of literary endeavors not to mention set to music (think Hansel and Gretel) and used as a lullaby for a few centuries.
It has a wonderful appeal of security in a topsy-turvy world where children are afraid to sleep (think Monsters, Inc and Veggie Tales). It's simplicity and directness gets to the heart of the matter, its rhyme pattern embedding itself into your brain's DNA, floating back to you at all ages and stages of life.
What could be better than to remember God watching over you, keeping you safe, ensuring that all will be well? So here's the version I taught my kiddos:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Help me sleep all through the night,
wake me with the morning's light.
It looses that eternal perspective, but doesn't scare the bajeebies out of a little kid. Anyway, as they grow up, it is inevitable that they will hear the original version's last two lines (If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take). If they need that part later on, I have no fear they will remember it.
Gee, all that from a tummyache!
Normally, these digestive disturbances pass in a day or so. Except that this bout feels more sharp than normal. I would worry about a blockage if things weren't moving along so well. It comes and goes, feeling much like some snake in my middle rolling over and twisting. Could be some perverted flubug. Sort of reminds me of that children's prayer, verse two:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
a bag of peanuts at my feet.
If I should die before I wake,
You'll know I died of a tummyache.
What a silly thing for a kid to learn. I changed that little prayer for my own boys a long time ago. What decent self repsecting parent would chant into their child's brain thoughts of dying every single night? Not that I'm particularly creative or anything. I'm sure others have made up much more pleasing words aka Hemingway's little short story. In fact, the poem has been the subject of a number of literary endeavors not to mention set to music (think Hansel and Gretel) and used as a lullaby for a few centuries.
It has a wonderful appeal of security in a topsy-turvy world where children are afraid to sleep (think Monsters, Inc and Veggie Tales). It's simplicity and directness gets to the heart of the matter, its rhyme pattern embedding itself into your brain's DNA, floating back to you at all ages and stages of life.
What could be better than to remember God watching over you, keeping you safe, ensuring that all will be well? So here's the version I taught my kiddos:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Help me sleep all through the night,
wake me with the morning's light.
It looses that eternal perspective, but doesn't scare the bajeebies out of a little kid. Anyway, as they grow up, it is inevitable that they will hear the original version's last two lines (If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take). If they need that part later on, I have no fear they will remember it.
Gee, all that from a tummyache!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Border Patrol
The train left Chicago on time, but somewhere along the line, we lost progress and were running late. Maybe it was the constant slowing for the freight trains to pass. Maybe it was the horrible icy weather. Maybe it was mechanical failure - there had been an awful lot of steam spraying us as we tried to board the cars. We pulled into Erie, PA a full hour late. Surely not too many people would be getting on or off in Erie. The station was rather small.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice asking,"Are you a citizen of the United States?"
I turned my head toward the aisle and greeted a tall well built young man with the brownest, softest eyes I had seen in a long time. His little pencil mustache was not smiling as he fingered his badge. Border patrol. I nodded my head. Unsatisfied, he asked, "Where are you from?"
"Rochester," I croaked, not having mastered yet the ability to say the word in one syllable as the native born do. He nodded and moved on, requiring everyone to respond vocally (was he checking to see if they had an accent?). He worked his way through the entire car, stopping in the last row to ask for identification.
"Gather all your belongings and follow me," he instructed the two young Asian ladies. And then the march began. There were four or five agents, each in a different car. They paraded their 'prisoners' down the aisle past us in little groups - Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Russians, Asians. You could smell the fear, see the panic in their eyes. One woman lagged behind and sat quickly in a seat, scooching way over to the window, hoping to escape. They missed her on the first and second passes, then they caught on and her gig was up. Why didn't they just show their green card?
Altogether about two dozen were herded down the narrow aisle and out the door to the waiting cars, their pitiful belongings scattered on the ground as they were loaded up. The man across from me shook his head, disgusted. "I travel this route all the time. Why the h*** don't they card these people in Chicago instead of holding up the whole d*** train in Erie, making us all late? Stinkin' illegals," he grumbled.
Wait - I wanted to yell at him. Don't you care that their lives have just been halted? Did it ever occur to you that there might be children involved? You'd do the same thing if you were in their shoes. They must be scared to death, not to mention hungry or maybe ill. I felt sick to my stomach, half afraid myself. What was this country coming to? There has to be a better way.
We sat on the tracks for a good hour until the police were satisfied. Even then, one of them escaped and managed to make it to Rochester where he was captured by waiting patrolmen. I have a terrible headache. And I AM late.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice asking,"Are you a citizen of the United States?"
I turned my head toward the aisle and greeted a tall well built young man with the brownest, softest eyes I had seen in a long time. His little pencil mustache was not smiling as he fingered his badge. Border patrol. I nodded my head. Unsatisfied, he asked, "Where are you from?"
"Rochester," I croaked, not having mastered yet the ability to say the word in one syllable as the native born do. He nodded and moved on, requiring everyone to respond vocally (was he checking to see if they had an accent?). He worked his way through the entire car, stopping in the last row to ask for identification.
"Gather all your belongings and follow me," he instructed the two young Asian ladies. And then the march began. There were four or five agents, each in a different car. They paraded their 'prisoners' down the aisle past us in little groups - Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Russians, Asians. You could smell the fear, see the panic in their eyes. One woman lagged behind and sat quickly in a seat, scooching way over to the window, hoping to escape. They missed her on the first and second passes, then they caught on and her gig was up. Why didn't they just show their green card?
Altogether about two dozen were herded down the narrow aisle and out the door to the waiting cars, their pitiful belongings scattered on the ground as they were loaded up. The man across from me shook his head, disgusted. "I travel this route all the time. Why the h*** don't they card these people in Chicago instead of holding up the whole d*** train in Erie, making us all late? Stinkin' illegals," he grumbled.
Wait - I wanted to yell at him. Don't you care that their lives have just been halted? Did it ever occur to you that there might be children involved? You'd do the same thing if you were in their shoes. They must be scared to death, not to mention hungry or maybe ill. I felt sick to my stomach, half afraid myself. What was this country coming to? There has to be a better way.
We sat on the tracks for a good hour until the police were satisfied. Even then, one of them escaped and managed to make it to Rochester where he was captured by waiting patrolmen. I have a terrible headache. And I AM late.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Gifts
I still haven't gotten an appropriate thank you gift for the wonderful woman who took Drew while I was in Illinois. Its not that I haven't wanted to, its just that I want to get her something special, something she will really use and like. And I have to confess, I don't know her well enough to predict her tastes, her collecting predilections, her favorite colors.
So I procrastinate. I ask Drew what he thinks she will like. I ask her son what she likes. No one seems to know. How typical! This woman pours her life out on her family, taking care of her children, working to help support the family, being chauffer, cook, and bottlewasher.
But no one really knows her. No one has taken the time to notice what makes her happy, what brings joy to dark days for her, what makes her smile. I could, in fact, be talking about any number of women. Oh, I know women are maligned for all sorts of quirks and issues. But really, women knock themselves out to do for others, and don't ask for much in return.
At least, women of my generation. I know a few women from younger generations who behave a bit differently. And maybe they aren't so wrong to expect things a certain way. Well, it doesn't help my problem. I shall just get her something and see what happens. I am sure something not quite right is better than nothing!
So I am off to visit that little gift shop on the corner. I am sure they will have something to touch the heart of an overworked, caring Mom.
So I procrastinate. I ask Drew what he thinks she will like. I ask her son what she likes. No one seems to know. How typical! This woman pours her life out on her family, taking care of her children, working to help support the family, being chauffer, cook, and bottlewasher.
But no one really knows her. No one has taken the time to notice what makes her happy, what brings joy to dark days for her, what makes her smile. I could, in fact, be talking about any number of women. Oh, I know women are maligned for all sorts of quirks and issues. But really, women knock themselves out to do for others, and don't ask for much in return.
At least, women of my generation. I know a few women from younger generations who behave a bit differently. And maybe they aren't so wrong to expect things a certain way. Well, it doesn't help my problem. I shall just get her something and see what happens. I am sure something not quite right is better than nothing!
So I am off to visit that little gift shop on the corner. I am sure they will have something to touch the heart of an overworked, caring Mom.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Rose Lights and Songs
Music! What glorious music I have been immersed in since I arrived in Illinois. I was privileged to sit in on a master class in choral conducting run by the former head of Westminster Choir College working with the conducting students of the university - promising talents all, and some more than others. I saw the same Mr. Flummerfelt conduct the church choir in the church where I used to conduct - a treat to hear Mendelssohn so well sung. I spent time in the music library scouring through musty old octavo files, hunting beautiful haunting lullabies for PrayerSong to learn. I heard students in practice rooms playing the tar out of repertoire. How satisfying to be so surrounded by such excellence.
But none so excellent as the concert tonight. My dear friend, a stellar pianist with more sensitivity and passion than anyone else I have ever heard, delivered a sensational concert replete with romantic repertoire par excellence (including Chopin, Brahms AND Rachmaninoff) as well as humorous if not exceedingly demanding new music written by a composition student at the university, a clever little piece called Cockroaches.
For me, the most intriguing pieces were transcriptions of songs by Mahler, by Shostakovich - dealing with difficult things in life - the death of a child, tragic circumstances. Listening to the vocal original was touching, moving despite the language barrier. The piano version was so much easier to grasp because the words didn't get in the way. Sort of like being able to eat tender delicate fish without having to stop for the bones.
There was one moment, during a Brahms intermezzo late in the program, after we had survived the angst, the passion, the weighty, the melancholic, the tragic, the incredulous, the beautific, the storms, the sweeping torrents of the soul. There was a forlorn and quiet beauty shimmering on the air and I looked up full gaze on the Rose Light window, lit for the concert occasion. The incredible blues of the stained glass, touched by just a whisper of red and yellow caught my eye at the same time the harmonic purity of the music brushed ever so slightly with unexpected harmonic color touched my heart. My ears were hearing what my eyes were seeing!
It was as if, for one brief moment, the very air was electric, reaching deep into my heart and fluttering across sleepy caverns where deep emotions lay buried, stirring them just enough to make you realize what lies beneath the surface. The pianist, unaware, caught up in the making of the music, the audience, oblivious, enthralled with the sounds, the unfortunate beyond hope of hearing. I dared not move, longing to hang on to this moment of awe, afraid to breathe for fear it would disappear. Light intertwined with sound. Aural and optical vibration intermingled. Awesome. Lingering just a moment beyond the fading of the final piano sound, leaving behind a carress for the soul.
But none so excellent as the concert tonight. My dear friend, a stellar pianist with more sensitivity and passion than anyone else I have ever heard, delivered a sensational concert replete with romantic repertoire par excellence (including Chopin, Brahms AND Rachmaninoff) as well as humorous if not exceedingly demanding new music written by a composition student at the university, a clever little piece called Cockroaches.
For me, the most intriguing pieces were transcriptions of songs by Mahler, by Shostakovich - dealing with difficult things in life - the death of a child, tragic circumstances. Listening to the vocal original was touching, moving despite the language barrier. The piano version was so much easier to grasp because the words didn't get in the way. Sort of like being able to eat tender delicate fish without having to stop for the bones.
There was one moment, during a Brahms intermezzo late in the program, after we had survived the angst, the passion, the weighty, the melancholic, the tragic, the incredulous, the beautific, the storms, the sweeping torrents of the soul. There was a forlorn and quiet beauty shimmering on the air and I looked up full gaze on the Rose Light window, lit for the concert occasion. The incredible blues of the stained glass, touched by just a whisper of red and yellow caught my eye at the same time the harmonic purity of the music brushed ever so slightly with unexpected harmonic color touched my heart. My ears were hearing what my eyes were seeing!
It was as if, for one brief moment, the very air was electric, reaching deep into my heart and fluttering across sleepy caverns where deep emotions lay buried, stirring them just enough to make you realize what lies beneath the surface. The pianist, unaware, caught up in the making of the music, the audience, oblivious, enthralled with the sounds, the unfortunate beyond hope of hearing. I dared not move, longing to hang on to this moment of awe, afraid to breathe for fear it would disappear. Light intertwined with sound. Aural and optical vibration intermingled. Awesome. Lingering just a moment beyond the fading of the final piano sound, leaving behind a carress for the soul.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Temptation
Wouldn't you know it? Just when you decide to "give something up" its everywhere! You can hardly take a step without encountering it. People you haven't seen in months suddenly appear to offer it to you. Stores who aren't known for their generosity want you to have it free of charge - force it into your hands on your way out the door! Egads. Is there no justice in the world?
Hard enough to pretend not to think about it, now one has to exert extra willpower to turn the darn stuff down. Your hand reaches out to take the forbidden fruit, grasps the coveted item, turns it over, feeling the texture, the aroma, the nuances you never knew existed.
You think, "Just this one time. It won't hurt. Besides, no one knows I made a decision not to have any. No one will think the less of me."
But you know. You know if you give in once, the flood gates will open and there will be no stopping it. You will not only have as much as you normally would have, you will gorge yourself. The latter end will be a thousand times worse than if you had never thought of leaving it alone for a short time.
And so, you give it away. To anyone who will take it. Get it out of the house, out of your reach. Refuse to think about it. Concentrate on something else. Consume your desire with something better. Stay busy. Make avoidance a habit - it only takes 49 times to create a habit! I must say NO 49 times. That's not so bad. I must have already said no (with somewhat less conviction than needed) at least 30 times already.
No.
No.
No.
And even after that, today I automatically reached for the darn stuff and without realizing what I was doing, almost partook. STOP! Don't do it. Halfway to the mouth, throw it away as if you were stung. Doggone. That was close! Work on a strategy to cope with when the time of refusal ends. Don't want to suddenly find myself in a closet somewhere glutting out. Need to realize that if I have gone without for forty days, maybe I can go without for longer. Maybe cut normal consumption in half. Or at least down by a third. Yes. Plan ahead. Exercise those discipline muscles. Select the next item to give up. Go with the flow. If you're on a roll, keep rolling!
Hard enough to pretend not to think about it, now one has to exert extra willpower to turn the darn stuff down. Your hand reaches out to take the forbidden fruit, grasps the coveted item, turns it over, feeling the texture, the aroma, the nuances you never knew existed.
You think, "Just this one time. It won't hurt. Besides, no one knows I made a decision not to have any. No one will think the less of me."
But you know. You know if you give in once, the flood gates will open and there will be no stopping it. You will not only have as much as you normally would have, you will gorge yourself. The latter end will be a thousand times worse than if you had never thought of leaving it alone for a short time.
And so, you give it away. To anyone who will take it. Get it out of the house, out of your reach. Refuse to think about it. Concentrate on something else. Consume your desire with something better. Stay busy. Make avoidance a habit - it only takes 49 times to create a habit! I must say NO 49 times. That's not so bad. I must have already said no (with somewhat less conviction than needed) at least 30 times already.
No.
No.
No.
And even after that, today I automatically reached for the darn stuff and without realizing what I was doing, almost partook. STOP! Don't do it. Halfway to the mouth, throw it away as if you were stung. Doggone. That was close! Work on a strategy to cope with when the time of refusal ends. Don't want to suddenly find myself in a closet somewhere glutting out. Need to realize that if I have gone without for forty days, maybe I can go without for longer. Maybe cut normal consumption in half. Or at least down by a third. Yes. Plan ahead. Exercise those discipline muscles. Select the next item to give up. Go with the flow. If you're on a roll, keep rolling!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Take the Lake Shore Train
If you haven't traveled by train in awhile, I recommend an adventure. It's far different than air travel. No showing up two hours in advance, spewing the guts of your personal belongings before probing machines and eyes, no winding your way through endless lines to prove that you are not a threat to national security. You can take 5 - count them, 5! - bags on board, and the seats are so spacious and comfy that sleep is almost a requirement. If you tire of sitting, you can wander the aisles, taking in the view from the observation car, snacking in the club car, eating a full course meal in the dining car. Bathrooms at the back of every rocking passenger car and then some.
I checked in an hour early, having given myself time to deal with the freezing rain mess on the roads (where the heck are the salt trucks?). At the other end of the row was a four generation family - mother, son, granddaughter, and great grandbaby. The baby was less than a year old, charming and smiling at other passengers, gaining their attention and their hearts all with a grin. Soon the train (amazingly on time) was announced, and we headed for the platform. The Grandfather carried the baby, scooping her up without her coat or blanket and heading outside. Almost with one voice, the passengers, new guardians of the little tyke, yelled in protest. "Get that baby back inside! Are you crazy? What are you thinking? Poor little thing!"
At which the mother rushed out and quickly wrestled the wriggling child into coat, hat, blankie. How interesting that the entire adult population felt it their sworn duty to protect the little girl, even if it was just from thoughtlessness. Does the heart good to know there is caring in the world.
At last the final passenger disembarked and we were boarded. First families and elderly and handicapped, then couples, and finally us straggling loners. Turned out to be wonderful since they settled us into a double seat by ourselves. We got a whole futon's worth of space to spread out in and snooze as we clacked our way west. It takes awhile to get your train legs so to speak. Lurching down the aisle to the bathroom is something of an art form, but you get the hang of it soon.
My mind was whirling almost as fast as the train wheels. It took awhile to settle down even though they turned the day lights out, leaving us in just enough soft muted light to find the bathroom. Somewhere between praying for Mom and praying for Mark, I must have drifted off. When I awoke, it was 5am! Not a bad way to travel, really. Get there while you sleep. Multi-task to the max!
I checked in an hour early, having given myself time to deal with the freezing rain mess on the roads (where the heck are the salt trucks?). At the other end of the row was a four generation family - mother, son, granddaughter, and great grandbaby. The baby was less than a year old, charming and smiling at other passengers, gaining their attention and their hearts all with a grin. Soon the train (amazingly on time) was announced, and we headed for the platform. The Grandfather carried the baby, scooping her up without her coat or blanket and heading outside. Almost with one voice, the passengers, new guardians of the little tyke, yelled in protest. "Get that baby back inside! Are you crazy? What are you thinking? Poor little thing!"
At which the mother rushed out and quickly wrestled the wriggling child into coat, hat, blankie. How interesting that the entire adult population felt it their sworn duty to protect the little girl, even if it was just from thoughtlessness. Does the heart good to know there is caring in the world.
At last the final passenger disembarked and we were boarded. First families and elderly and handicapped, then couples, and finally us straggling loners. Turned out to be wonderful since they settled us into a double seat by ourselves. We got a whole futon's worth of space to spread out in and snooze as we clacked our way west. It takes awhile to get your train legs so to speak. Lurching down the aisle to the bathroom is something of an art form, but you get the hang of it soon.
My mind was whirling almost as fast as the train wheels. It took awhile to settle down even though they turned the day lights out, leaving us in just enough soft muted light to find the bathroom. Somewhere between praying for Mom and praying for Mark, I must have drifted off. When I awoke, it was 5am! Not a bad way to travel, really. Get there while you sleep. Multi-task to the max!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Almost Not Ash Wednesday
The sleet and freezing rain didn't start until 5:30 in the evening. We had scheduled the choir to meet at 6:30 to rehearse for the Ash Wednesday service. The pastor had an afternoon funeral service in Buffalo and got stuck on the Thruway in the horrible weather. She would not make it in time for the service at the pace she was having to drive. Should we cancel?
By the time I got her voice mail, it was too late. We decided to see who was brave enough to come. Her husband would preside if necessary. A handful, mostly choir members, faced the fierce elements and showed up. I think the pastor's husband seriously thought we should cancel the service and send everyone home. Let the choir practice Sunday's selection then leave as soon as possible.
But.
But the bulletins were all printed and waiting.
But the pianist had driven clear across town on Chinese New Year to be with us.
But the people who were here had come for the Ash Wednesday service and they wanted one.
At first, it was suggested that we just do a few parts listed in the program. It would have been easy enough to have said a quick prayer, sung a hymn, and been done. But once we got into it, following the bulletin, it seemed sacriligeous to leave something out.
It was quiet, intimate, punctuated by the freezing rain against the stained glass windows. We softly spoke the Lord's prayer together, feeling somehow part of something bigger than ourselves. As we neared the place where the pastor's meditation was listed, I wondered if we would have anything to say, or if we would just note its absence and move on. As the final chord of the hymn before the meditation died away, the pastor appeared, breathless, cold, still distressed by the icy roads, the perilous journey.
She breezed down the aisle, flinging her coat over a pew, and gathering her scattered thoughts. After a brief pause, she began to share with us her desire to find God in the everyday events of our lives. We often miss Him because we are so busy, living life at a hectic pace. Could we slow down? Could we learn to be quiet? Could we live our lives at a sacred pace, even if just for the next forty days? For her, Lent was not about giving something up, but about letting things go to make room for God. Let go of the minutiae of the inconsequential to grasp the eternal.
She gave us all purple bracelets with the words "Live Life at a Sacred Pace" and "Look and Listen for God" written on them. There were no showy ashes to mark our foreheads, as if to say "Look at me - I'm religious!" There was no beating of the chest in ground scraping repentence. There was, for the handful of us gathered, a quiet encouragement to let go of the unnecessary and pay attention to the Almighty.
It almost didn't happen, that service. I almost didn't hear the importance of living not my schedule, but God's. Immediately following the short choir practice, I was whisked away to board a train, the powerful impact of that service still ringing in my ears. Life is too short to hurry through it. Pay attention. See God moving among us. Be impressed.
By the time I got her voice mail, it was too late. We decided to see who was brave enough to come. Her husband would preside if necessary. A handful, mostly choir members, faced the fierce elements and showed up. I think the pastor's husband seriously thought we should cancel the service and send everyone home. Let the choir practice Sunday's selection then leave as soon as possible.
But.
But the bulletins were all printed and waiting.
But the pianist had driven clear across town on Chinese New Year to be with us.
But the people who were here had come for the Ash Wednesday service and they wanted one.
At first, it was suggested that we just do a few parts listed in the program. It would have been easy enough to have said a quick prayer, sung a hymn, and been done. But once we got into it, following the bulletin, it seemed sacriligeous to leave something out.
It was quiet, intimate, punctuated by the freezing rain against the stained glass windows. We softly spoke the Lord's prayer together, feeling somehow part of something bigger than ourselves. As we neared the place where the pastor's meditation was listed, I wondered if we would have anything to say, or if we would just note its absence and move on. As the final chord of the hymn before the meditation died away, the pastor appeared, breathless, cold, still distressed by the icy roads, the perilous journey.
She breezed down the aisle, flinging her coat over a pew, and gathering her scattered thoughts. After a brief pause, she began to share with us her desire to find God in the everyday events of our lives. We often miss Him because we are so busy, living life at a hectic pace. Could we slow down? Could we learn to be quiet? Could we live our lives at a sacred pace, even if just for the next forty days? For her, Lent was not about giving something up, but about letting things go to make room for God. Let go of the minutiae of the inconsequential to grasp the eternal.
She gave us all purple bracelets with the words "Live Life at a Sacred Pace" and "Look and Listen for God" written on them. There were no showy ashes to mark our foreheads, as if to say "Look at me - I'm religious!" There was no beating of the chest in ground scraping repentence. There was, for the handful of us gathered, a quiet encouragement to let go of the unnecessary and pay attention to the Almighty.
It almost didn't happen, that service. I almost didn't hear the importance of living not my schedule, but God's. Immediately following the short choir practice, I was whisked away to board a train, the powerful impact of that service still ringing in my ears. Life is too short to hurry through it. Pay attention. See God moving among us. Be impressed.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Comfort Sounds
The Library is deserted this morning. Many staff were here late last night (as was I) and will come in mid-morning. A number of staff are out to attend the funeral for Sarah's Dad. Some are ill, others working the late shift. My day to open, so I arrive at 7:30 to turn on lights, unlock doors, etc. Its rainy and cold outside, a miserable day even for ducks. Our community patron who is here faithfully every morning to catch the morning paper and coffee has declined to poke his nose out. The cafe opens late, and no one cares. The downstairs fireplace is not working, the grounds crew have yet to clear the slush from the sidewalks. A dreay day at best.
I take my time getting the cash drawer open, logging in the D&C, the Wall Street Journal, USA Today. I do not hurry to enable the handicap door and take the gate count. Its plant watering day, and even the philodendron are droopy this morning. It is a quiet, unhurried day. I see students slogging across campus from Garlock Dining Hall, hoods up, heads down. No one stops in here.
The Circ Supervisor arrives, umbrella dripping, and frees me from desk duty. I tell her I will be in my office, but I do not go there. Halfway to the reference desk I hear the sound of water dripping, splashing. Do we have a leak? I go to investigate. By the newspaper reading area, the rain is hitting against the windows that form the wall overlooking the parking lot. The water congregates on the window frame and falls with a plunk plunk onto the copper ledge below.
It is the same musically rhythmic sound I remember from summer camp when we were captives in the steel bunkhouse on rainy afternoons. We would lie on our beds reading to the comforting sound of rain drumming on the metal roof overhead as we stayed warm and cozy inside. You don't hear that sound often these days, what with tar roofing tiles and intentional space between you and the roof.
This Lent we are thinking about slowing down, taking time to be quiet, listening for the voice of God in a hectic world. I sit in the overstuffed red leather armchair by the window and gaze across the parking lot to the street and the houses surrounding campus. I gaze with interest at the few hearty souls struggling their way out of cars and into the mist of day.
I listen to the rain dancing on the copper, I lean back and close my eyes and breathe deeply, exhaling slowly, savoring the moment and the memories. Its good to start the day quietly.
I take my time getting the cash drawer open, logging in the D&C, the Wall Street Journal, USA Today. I do not hurry to enable the handicap door and take the gate count. Its plant watering day, and even the philodendron are droopy this morning. It is a quiet, unhurried day. I see students slogging across campus from Garlock Dining Hall, hoods up, heads down. No one stops in here.
The Circ Supervisor arrives, umbrella dripping, and frees me from desk duty. I tell her I will be in my office, but I do not go there. Halfway to the reference desk I hear the sound of water dripping, splashing. Do we have a leak? I go to investigate. By the newspaper reading area, the rain is hitting against the windows that form the wall overlooking the parking lot. The water congregates on the window frame and falls with a plunk plunk onto the copper ledge below.
It is the same musically rhythmic sound I remember from summer camp when we were captives in the steel bunkhouse on rainy afternoons. We would lie on our beds reading to the comforting sound of rain drumming on the metal roof overhead as we stayed warm and cozy inside. You don't hear that sound often these days, what with tar roofing tiles and intentional space between you and the roof.
This Lent we are thinking about slowing down, taking time to be quiet, listening for the voice of God in a hectic world. I sit in the overstuffed red leather armchair by the window and gaze across the parking lot to the street and the houses surrounding campus. I gaze with interest at the few hearty souls struggling their way out of cars and into the mist of day.
I listen to the rain dancing on the copper, I lean back and close my eyes and breathe deeply, exhaling slowly, savoring the moment and the memories. Its good to start the day quietly.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Fat Tuesday
I almost forgot what today is! Yes, that day we have our last fling of self indulgence before the severity of Lent begins. How did that begin, anyway? I remember the good Catholics in our school rolling their eyes about meatless Fridays, and the lunch menu always featuring fish sticks. They never mentioned Fat Tuesday, merely dutifully showed up on Wednesday with the gray streaks on their foreheads.
Sometimes, they compared what they were "giving up" for Lent. They would giggle at the idea of giving up liver or spinach or visiting a spinster aunt. One guy told me he was giving up eating spiders for Lent - as if! I don't know what kind of accounting system was used in those days. On your honor, I guess. There were definite brownie points for persevering to the bitter end, and huge rewards on Easter when the communicant could once again indulge in the forbidden item.
I rarely hear anyone talk about foregoing some pleasure for Lent these days. Not fashionable I guess. Especially in this indulgent culture. Seems like an advisable activity on the basis of discipline alone. My question is, if you aren't giving up anything for Lent, do you deserve a royal Fat Tuesday?
I mean, really, has it become just an excuse for acting out, eating excessively without guilt, drinking yourself oblivious, behaving - shall we say - on the easy-squeezy side of things? I haven't serious given up something for Lent in a few years. High time I got serious about repenting, about examining my behavior, about feeling remorse for things left undone, about being serious and reconnecting with God.
So I am not indulging in a fat Tuesday this year. No last minute pigging out, wasting resources, etc. Rather, I am stuck on a fence, knowing what I should "give up" and not wanting to; rationalizing all the arguments I can dream up to forget it and just go about business as usual, all the while knowing I must let go and stick to a decision.
I shall not tell you what I am giving up. Then if I fail, I shall not have to admit my humanity. (Is that a recipe for failure?). I hope I do not have to deal with the disappointment of an unsuccessful venture. Do I have what it takes? (aka backbone?). Haven't done it voluntarily for awhile, I shall see. Stayed tuned!
Sometimes, they compared what they were "giving up" for Lent. They would giggle at the idea of giving up liver or spinach or visiting a spinster aunt. One guy told me he was giving up eating spiders for Lent - as if! I don't know what kind of accounting system was used in those days. On your honor, I guess. There were definite brownie points for persevering to the bitter end, and huge rewards on Easter when the communicant could once again indulge in the forbidden item.
I rarely hear anyone talk about foregoing some pleasure for Lent these days. Not fashionable I guess. Especially in this indulgent culture. Seems like an advisable activity on the basis of discipline alone. My question is, if you aren't giving up anything for Lent, do you deserve a royal Fat Tuesday?
I mean, really, has it become just an excuse for acting out, eating excessively without guilt, drinking yourself oblivious, behaving - shall we say - on the easy-squeezy side of things? I haven't serious given up something for Lent in a few years. High time I got serious about repenting, about examining my behavior, about feeling remorse for things left undone, about being serious and reconnecting with God.
So I am not indulging in a fat Tuesday this year. No last minute pigging out, wasting resources, etc. Rather, I am stuck on a fence, knowing what I should "give up" and not wanting to; rationalizing all the arguments I can dream up to forget it and just go about business as usual, all the while knowing I must let go and stick to a decision.
I shall not tell you what I am giving up. Then if I fail, I shall not have to admit my humanity. (Is that a recipe for failure?). I hope I do not have to deal with the disappointment of an unsuccessful venture. Do I have what it takes? (aka backbone?). Haven't done it voluntarily for awhile, I shall see. Stayed tuned!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Dead Tree
Every Monday, I wind around Union Street down Parkway Drive to Springbrook to pick up a carpool rider. They live in a cottage-sized home with an inclined driveway that I struggle to back out of. Its a narrow drive with deep ditches at the end of it. I can't seem to back in a straight line for anything, and have come perilously close to falling off the cliff on either side.
It took me the better part of three months to figure out how to back up correctly - I have just recently gotten the hang of it. So I proudly manuvered my way safely out onto Springbrook Drive, paying little attention to anything other than oncoming traffic.
I almost fainted when I pulled up even with the road and realized that a huge pine tree lay neatly across the lawn of the house across the street. How long had that been there and I had never seen it!!?? It had almost no roots at all, just a slightly thicker-than-the-truck section at the base. It must have been well over twenty foot tall. I wondered that it had fallen so precisely that it hadn't taken down any fences or porches or roofs, of which there were many to pick from.
My rider told me it had recently blown down in the last wind storm, sometime since I had last picked him up. At least I hadn't been totally oblivious. As I pulled away, I realized that this gorgeous pine tree was no more. It looked so lush and healthy. How sad to lose something that had been part of the neighborhood for so long. How thankful that no one was underneath it when it fell.
I hope they plant something beautiful in its place come Spring.
It took me the better part of three months to figure out how to back up correctly - I have just recently gotten the hang of it. So I proudly manuvered my way safely out onto Springbrook Drive, paying little attention to anything other than oncoming traffic.
I almost fainted when I pulled up even with the road and realized that a huge pine tree lay neatly across the lawn of the house across the street. How long had that been there and I had never seen it!!?? It had almost no roots at all, just a slightly thicker-than-the-truck section at the base. It must have been well over twenty foot tall. I wondered that it had fallen so precisely that it hadn't taken down any fences or porches or roofs, of which there were many to pick from.
My rider told me it had recently blown down in the last wind storm, sometime since I had last picked him up. At least I hadn't been totally oblivious. As I pulled away, I realized that this gorgeous pine tree was no more. It looked so lush and healthy. How sad to lose something that had been part of the neighborhood for so long. How thankful that no one was underneath it when it fell.
I hope they plant something beautiful in its place come Spring.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Super Bowl East
Sports are no where as big an event in the East as they are in the south or the midwest. Perhaps its the harsh climate or the exhorbitant cost of living, but the entire population rarely drops everything to congregate in viewing or to participate spectator or otherwise in any sport, even the almighty football.
Campus put the super bowl game on the big screen TV in the athletic center (no surprise there) and we librarians did the same in our study cafe (big surprise there!). We extended an offer to our student workers to come enjoy the evening with us, complete with subs, soda, chips and other snackage.
I guess the idea of turning on the sound (and off the closed captioning that is usually running) was just too foreign an idea, because few students showed up, and even students who were actually *in* the library (and believe me, there were none too many) had to be coerced to join us as we laughed at the commercials and ooohed at the fumbles and recoveries.
Not to worry, it takes time to establish a tradition. We will try again next year. Staff and their families had a great time! And our archivist suggested turning on the sound for election day evening in November - great idea! So this super bowl festivity might have been just OK, but it was a start, and ya hafta start somewhere!
Campus put the super bowl game on the big screen TV in the athletic center (no surprise there) and we librarians did the same in our study cafe (big surprise there!). We extended an offer to our student workers to come enjoy the evening with us, complete with subs, soda, chips and other snackage.
I guess the idea of turning on the sound (and off the closed captioning that is usually running) was just too foreign an idea, because few students showed up, and even students who were actually *in* the library (and believe me, there were none too many) had to be coerced to join us as we laughed at the commercials and ooohed at the fumbles and recoveries.
Not to worry, it takes time to establish a tradition. We will try again next year. Staff and their families had a great time! And our archivist suggested turning on the sound for election day evening in November - great idea! So this super bowl festivity might have been just OK, but it was a start, and ya hafta start somewhere!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
No Concert for You!
My friend and I had thought about connecting this weekend and going to hear a concert. But imagine my surprise to discover that there really wasn't anything to go hear! No Concert for You! Unbelievable for Rochester.
I had spent the morning at Sibley Library deep in research about Lullabies, discovering and selecting potential music for PrayerSong to sing for our Buffalo debut. I found some lovely pieces, and was just finishing listening to some ancient LPs when my cellphone rang and nearly scared me out of my senses in the quiet tombs of the listening room.
The weekend staff person called to say she had just been told her father was in the hospital and wasn't doing well. I made arrangements to come to work and spell her so she could go to Buffalo and headed out. Before I could get there, almost before she hung up, her father died. He had lung cancer, but this was too quick and unexpected. He was on a course of treatment and should have had more time.
I wouldn't have felt like going to a concert if we had found one to go to. I was deeply touched by her loss, by her repeated attempts to focus and think what to do next. The death of even someone we have never met affects us in unexpected ways. I quietly closed the library, feeling her sorrow. I wandered home slowly, and just sat for awhile.
Tomorrow will be better. Time has a way.
I had spent the morning at Sibley Library deep in research about Lullabies, discovering and selecting potential music for PrayerSong to sing for our Buffalo debut. I found some lovely pieces, and was just finishing listening to some ancient LPs when my cellphone rang and nearly scared me out of my senses in the quiet tombs of the listening room.
The weekend staff person called to say she had just been told her father was in the hospital and wasn't doing well. I made arrangements to come to work and spell her so she could go to Buffalo and headed out. Before I could get there, almost before she hung up, her father died. He had lung cancer, but this was too quick and unexpected. He was on a course of treatment and should have had more time.
I wouldn't have felt like going to a concert if we had found one to go to. I was deeply touched by her loss, by her repeated attempts to focus and think what to do next. The death of even someone we have never met affects us in unexpected ways. I quietly closed the library, feeling her sorrow. I wandered home slowly, and just sat for awhile.
Tomorrow will be better. Time has a way.
Friday, February 1, 2008
An Early Lent
Friday dawned miserable, sleet and freezing rain, snow and slush, a mess. News reporters cautioned drivers to allow extra time, to go slowly. School wasn't canceled or even late, so I took Drew to the carpool place. But I knew.
I knew that I would not be driving to Buffalo for the workshop on dealing with the terminally ill. I didn't mind, really. After reading the pamphlet more closely, I wondered how teaching cancer patients to use their dreams would be an asset. Dreams, yes. Prayers, no. I shook my head.
But I also knew that I would not go to work in the library. I had made arrangements for others to cover for me, and as far as they knew, I would be attending the workshop. I had awakened with a sense that God was calling me to spend time in prayer. He had arranged a whole day for me to be free to do that.
If He had gone to such great lengths, the least I could do was cooperate. I returned to the apartment, took up my Bible, and waited. I didn't feel inclined to turn to my usual reading place. I lighted some candles and some incense, and sat waiting. Passages came to mind from here and there in the Bible, and as I thought of a chapter or a verse, I looked it up and read it out loud.
After an hour or so of reading, I felt impressed to begin praying. First for my family and friends, then for specific events and people, then for Jairus House. I know the Lord was asking if I were willing to intercede for this ministry, to come to Him in prayer. This year, Lent for me will be a time of intense awareness of God, awareness of spiritual things, of giving of myself to Him.
It began early. It will intensify. He has a plan, and I wait to be instructed. There is a sense of important beginnings, the unfolding of work to be done. Let me be ready to do what I am asked. To follow His lead. To reflect His light into dark corners.
I knew that I would not be driving to Buffalo for the workshop on dealing with the terminally ill. I didn't mind, really. After reading the pamphlet more closely, I wondered how teaching cancer patients to use their dreams would be an asset. Dreams, yes. Prayers, no. I shook my head.
But I also knew that I would not go to work in the library. I had made arrangements for others to cover for me, and as far as they knew, I would be attending the workshop. I had awakened with a sense that God was calling me to spend time in prayer. He had arranged a whole day for me to be free to do that.
If He had gone to such great lengths, the least I could do was cooperate. I returned to the apartment, took up my Bible, and waited. I didn't feel inclined to turn to my usual reading place. I lighted some candles and some incense, and sat waiting. Passages came to mind from here and there in the Bible, and as I thought of a chapter or a verse, I looked it up and read it out loud.
After an hour or so of reading, I felt impressed to begin praying. First for my family and friends, then for specific events and people, then for Jairus House. I know the Lord was asking if I were willing to intercede for this ministry, to come to Him in prayer. This year, Lent for me will be a time of intense awareness of God, awareness of spiritual things, of giving of myself to Him.
It began early. It will intensify. He has a plan, and I wait to be instructed. There is a sense of important beginnings, the unfolding of work to be done. Let me be ready to do what I am asked. To follow His lead. To reflect His light into dark corners.
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