Dental ER

I found a lump on my gum when I was brushing my teeth last night. I'm not in pain or anything, but what with the weekend fast approaching, I don't dare not have it looked at. So I called ahead and came in as a dental emergency even though I wasn't really feeling too emergency-ish.

My goodness, remind me never to have a dental emergency again, especially if I am in pain. When I checked in at the front desk, I asked how many were ahead of me, trying to get some sense of how long I might be there. (Yes, I brought my reading for class assignments - the one with the most number and the most difficult to wade through.) "Gee," the receptionist said, "You're lucky. There are only 9 people ahead of you. Usually by this time we have 20 or 30."

Yikes! Even with 9 I can't imagine how long that might take. I select a seat away from the hustle and bustle of the desk, but where I can hear if they call my name, and delve into my reading. Hours go by. I am beginning to be concerned that I will have to leave for carpool before they get to me. Suddenly I hear a heated conversation - yelling really - by a young lady who was obviously in pain. "I have been here since 8am and I am in excruciating pain. No one has even looked at me yet. Can't you at least give me something for the pain?" The guy sitting across from me is moaning, his eyes filled with agony as well.

"I'm sorry," the dental assistant said. "The dentists will be leaving for a required training session and will go right from there to lunch. They won't be back until 2. We can offer you some ice if you like."

2? I have to leave at 2:30 for carpool! And both the people in pain were here before me. Not sure how many others were here earlier. "Lord," I prayed, "tell me what I should do." Just then they called my name. I was escorted back, treated, and out in a short fifteen minutes. How did that happen? Had to be God! As I maneuvered my way down the hallway toward the exit, I overheard a conversation among a dozen workers about the two people in pain and how long they had been waiting. Should they try to get them in before the class? They would both take a long time to deal with. No, no way around it, they will have to wait.

My head hurt just listening to them. I blessed God and headed out the door, praying for the unfortunates left behind. Dental ER - a mixed bag. I am grateful I am a card carrying member of the clinic and that they took me right away after four mere hours!

Trip Tix

AAA offers its members trip tickets - wonderful little maps giving directions to your destination and back. I suppose they are becoming more obsolete with the navigational systems available now. When you rent a car, they give you the option to add a GPS into the mix. So far I (and my pocketbook) have resisted. So I still call AAA, order a personal agenda, and go pick it up. They make it sound so simple. Just follow the directions and all will be well.

The advantage is that I can see the whole journey from beginning to end, and avoid areas of construction, or potential slow downs. Just about every page of this map had high traffic warnings about slow downs. Sigh. Perhaps the price of gas will thin things out a bit, but I doubt it. Driving around Chicago is always demanding.

I will do as I always do - bring lots of CDs, remember to stop at the last rest area before a major city (otherwise you will be singing anchors away for hours), and trust the good Lord to get me through safely. Travel is difficult at best, stressful to all, and even without complications, tiring.

I just heard from the kids in Wyoming, and they are having a stressful time for sure. Little kids, unfamiliar surroundings, sick people, strange hotels, unusual foodstuffs - they don't have a trip ticket for what they are encountering. I am praying for them to have "a table prepared beforehand" to quote Psalm 23. For God to go ahead and make their way endurable. I can't be there with them to help, but I sure can cover them with prayer. Not a trip ticket, but a good thing all the same.

Making a Good Thing Bad

I was wandering around in the Penfield Wegmans this morning, killing a bit of time before taking Drew for his dental cleaning (no way I am driving home just to turn around and drive back with the price of gas these days!). I had brought a book to read, but I just wasn't in the mood, so I thought I'd check out the tea aisle and see what new neat stuff Wegman's had to offer.

At one point, I found myself in the health food section (they have a wonderful *pricey* selection of fancy organic teas), and was amused to notice that they had a whole refrigerator section of what can best be described as nothing short of "junk health food!" For every imaginable junk food, they offered a healthy alternative. There was a whole grain all organic soy based vegetarian version of pizza, hot dogs, french fries, ice cream, gooey desserts, lasagna - you name it and it was on the shelf!

Am I crazy, or is that a bit warped? Shouldn't health food LOOK healthy? Shouldn't it be unprocessed, natural foodstuffs? Are we that ridiculous that we have to take wholesome goodness and package it as if it were smut? And you know it isn't going to taste like the junk food we have all grown up with and love so much. Greatness is such a poor substitute for lowbrow quality.

I find this trend in academia. We try to package liberal arts thinking in games. If its fun it has to be good for you - and incidentally you will become a genius. In fact there are parallels in so many areas, including our faith. Why can't we just say "This is better for you" and be happy with that and not try to package it as something common and less than desirable?

Well, where did that little sermon come from? Have a soy pop on me!

Fly By Night

Dear God. 4:00am comes way early when you have stayed up until 1am. In order for Kiel to catch his flight we need to leave at 4:30 to get him through security for a 5:30 board time. He is not ready. He throws things in the little suitcase, fusses about where his medicine got to, tells me he is going to take a shower. Take a shower! You have to be kidding! We should be walking out the door now.

I sit in the chair biting my tongue, praying for patience and grace. The momentary irritation at having to haul myself out the door so early dissolves into an awareness that it is a very small price to pay considering what is happening in the lives of others both in North Carolina and in Wyoming. I am happy to be able to do some little thing to assist, small as it is.

At least there is no traffic to speak of and we are able to get to the airport in a timely way. I drop Kiel at the door. I haven't a dime on me, so I can't park and go in with him. Instead, I pull to the cell phone waiting area and instruct Kiel to call me when he is through security safely. With last minute tickets, you can never be too sure.

As I wait for Kiel's call, I am grateful that I have over a half tank of gas and will be able to keep the car running and warm while I wait. I lay the seat back, pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my eyes, and doze while half praying for travel mercies for everyone, for strength for Shannon and the girls, for peace for DJ and wisdom for all.

Kiel calls to let me know that he is at the gate, boarding pass in hand. I pull away from the curb and head home to catch a few more minutes of shut eye before getting Drew to carpool and heading out for a 9am meeting. I have ref desk tonight until 9, so I will be able to go home for a few hours in the afternoon, thank God.

Kiel texts me that he is in NC, headed for the luggage pickup. Step one of the plan is complete. Tomorrow the family flies to Wyoming. I pray that Sandy will stay stable and conscious, that she will enjoy her time with the grandchildren, that she and Shannon will have time for the necessary things to be said. And that maybe, just maybe, a reprieve will be granted. The prayer vigil continues.

Family Crisis

DJ seldom calls me in the daytime. He is a night owl, and I often find myself not answering his midnight calls because I am already asleep. He says a quiet hello, and I ask how things are going. He says, "Not so good." and I know something is amiss.

His wife Shannon's Mom has taken a turn for the worse. She has been struggling with cancer for a few months now, and I knew things were hard. Even though I have never met this woman, I feel for her agony. I have prayed for her, sent her a prayer shawl, a card. She battled gall bladder surgery, bedsores, nausea to the point of unremitting vomiting, and depression. Now a tumor has blocked her bile duct and her bilirubin count is climbing. They can surgically remove the blockage, but it will buy precious little time and make more pain and agony. Sandy has refused the surgery. Eventually the climbing count will bring the end.

The time has come for Shannon to go home and be with her Mom. My heart is aching inside, remembering hard days of my own. Shannon and I have had conversations about how cancer and chemo affect you, what the struggles require, how behavior changes.Wyoming is so far away. Travel is so expensive, so hard on young children. With Kelly not quite 2 and Katie not 1, it will be a grueling trip.

DJ asks for help with the expense. I do not have the means to buy them the tickets, but I can pray that God will work it out. We talk over all the different scenarios. Just Shannon could go, but her Mom won't get to see the girls one more time. Shannon could take one of the girls and probably manage to handle the stress. DJ worries that she will break down. There is no one to meet them at the airport and drive them the hour or more to the right town.

Shannon's Dad's health is not good either. DJ could go if they had the money, but he has limited vacation time left and can't stay long. And if he goes, someone will have to take care of the dogs and the goats. Maybe Kiel could come down and at least keep the house going. We agree to ask my sister for help. I have to go since I am on reference desk.

After I hang up, I start praying. Sometimes no matter how much you want to do something to help there just isn't anything you can do. I toss things around in my mind for hours. It makes the most sense financially for just Shannon to go. But this is a one time deal. I remember when my grandfather died I wanted to go home and be with Gram and the family, but I didn't have enough money to travel even by bus from Texas to NY.

We asked to borrow the money from the church, and they turned us down, told us that if it had been my father perhaps it would have made sense, but it was just a grandfather and we shouldn't stress our family trying to find a way for me to go. I swallowed my disappointment, but I never forgot how cruel it is to do what makes sense at a time when the heart is involved and eternity is brushed against.

Of course they should all go. Fortunately, my sister agreed to help make that happen. Kiel will help out. I will sit alone in Rochester weeping over a woman I have never met, praying for ease from pain, for God's grace to be intimately wrapped over this time, for healing and restoration, a miracle, a peaceful passing, the best for everyone, calmness, the presence of God, the peace that passes understanding, and above all, gentleness and kindness from every direction.

Catch Up Day

Memorial Day. Monday. The last day of freedom. I have to finish my paper for class, finish outlining and reading, but there is an all day marathon of NCIS on TV. I sigh and begin the assignments. There is no help for it, I have put it off too long and now I must pay the piper. There will be no sitting outside enjoying the sun, no walk, no dinner until the last paragraph has been written and the last page read.

Even though I start early, it takes me all day. I worry because I find myself dealing with blurry vision. What if I go blind trying to read all this stuff? I won't be able to work, won't be able to learn new music, won't be able to dress myself without relearning the whole procedure. Wait, this is me running away with silly fears because I have been studying for way too long.

Still, that nagging thought occurs that maybe the double vision is from a swollen gland in my head pressing on an optic nerve. See what having cancer does to your sanity? How ridiculous! Quit dreaming up tragic scenarios and get back to work! Focus!

I finally release myself from the tyranny of the syllabus, stack all the books in a pile, fold the papers, and close the notebook. I have gone far enough. I sit back in my chair. The TV marathon has long since ended, but I feel a certain satisfaction with having conquered my room, spent an enjoyable afternoon at the beach with Drew, and still managed to finish the work. Now if I can just get those dishes done before I retire. . .

Reading at the Beach

Sunday service ended earlier than usual since the Chime Choir is done for the season and I have no more after-service rehearsals. I miss them already, but it was nice to have a bit of extra time. Drew had mentioned the other day that the only time I talk with him is to bark orders or yell about something not being done. He called me angry.

It made me stop and evaluate. He is right. I don't spend time with him in pleasant pursuits - I figured he plays with his friends and that's enough. But he made a valid point. I guess lack of money had kept us from going out to a movie or bowling or roller skating, and we used to do those things.

But lack of money needn't keep us from having a good time together. So I decided we should celebrate Memorial Day weekend doing something together. I selected a visit to Ontario Beach. There is no fee for parking or entering like at Hamlin Beach. I made sure to slather on sunscreen, then we headed for the mile long pier, wandering together out into the expanse of the great lake, watching seagulls wheel overhead, stepping around dead fish left by weekend fishermen, stopping to let the speed walkers pass, avoiding the water beaded spiderwebs decorating the rusty metal railings.

After the pier walk, we headed up the beach, both of us stripping off our shoes and squishing the warm sand between our toes. Drew and I meandered right at the edge of the water, sometimes letting the cold waves wash over our ankles, sometimes standing in the soft sand while the whirlpool of receding tide sucked the sand from beneath our soles, burying us in a swirling bottomless hole. We gingerly picked our way over piles of sharp seashells, and chucked pieces of driftwood back into the water (did you know that drift wood skips better than stones?) as we chatted about this and that and nothing.

We finally reached the far side of the beach area and turned back towards the scattered groups of people timidly populating the beach, not sure if they should strip down and take the icy plunge or if they should just sit quietly and enjoy the fresh breeze.

I settled down on a sand dune to read my book while Drew began digging a hole. What is there about boys that requires them to dig pits? Drew fashioned a sand chair for me and I moved into the comfy but chilly seat to finish reading while he lay on his back gazing into the blue sky and resting. Time had sped away and too soon it was necessary to head home.

We left just in time to avoid the chill of evening setting in. I had to agree. It was nice to spend time together when I was not barking orders or setting expectations. Good job!

Cleaning My Room

For weeks I have been shoving piles of stuff into my spacious bedroom, promising myself that I would sort and organize on the weekend. Somehow the weekends come and go and I barely manage to squeeze the household chores and running errands around the PrayerSong rehearsals and concerts, the seminary readings, the prep work for going places.

Just when I think I will catch a break and have some time to organize, I end up traveling to Arizona or Kiel comes in on the train or there is a commencement happening. My plan for this holiday weekend was to figure out some way to get Kiel's stuff home from ENC. Since the good Lord provided a way for that to happen without involving my time, my next agenda item was to finish my usual seminary reading and paper and begin the final, a 20 page review and reflection paper due at the end of June.

But somehow when Saturday morning dawned, I just couldn't take the clutter and confusion any longer. Realizing I had one extra day of not having to work in the library, I gave myself permission to address the mess. I started in the closet and weeded out clothes that were too small, too stained, too ugly, too wintry and stacked them in piles.

Now the room looked worse than ever! It was discouraging. But after I got the excess clothing taken care of, everything else zipped along well, and I was beginning to feel lean and trim again until I hit the paperwork. Good grief, I could have drowned in all the stacks of letters, ads, documents, articles, and shot records. I pulled fully five bags of expired paperwork from the floor, the dresser, the files, the minitramp, the boxes. The sheer magnitude was daunting.

Afterwards, I felt like a new woman. I knew exactly where everything was, and I even packed three boxes for the move. It took the better part of the day, and I knew I would pay for it somewhere along the line, but it was wonderful not to have all that stuff interfering with my ability to function!

In the new place, my room will no longer be the catch all for everything not kids. No more Christmas decorations, camping gear, power outage supplies, seasonal gear or white elephants in my room! What I can't pawn off on someone else will go downstairs in the storage closet. Simple is definitely better.

I Finally Get It

I could never understand just why kids love texting so much. I would way rather talk to someone "in person" and live than spew out cryptic little misspelt messages on tiny little screens. What is the big deal anyways? Surely this is one of those fads that will fade into oblivion.

But with the Arizona trip, I finally realized that its an issue of privacy and connection. In this cell phone age, talking outloud in public places requires that you share your private life with everyone in the area! That is completely obnoxious. And NOT connecting with people constantly throughout the day means you are alone, lonely.

It is indeed a different mindset - constantly staying connected to others and doing it under the radar as you engage in other activities. I find myself texting more and more often these days, misspellings and all. You can take care of all kinds of business right in the middle of a board meeting, a church service, another conversation. You can set things up in advance.

The downside is that you are supposed to answer instantaneously and be always online and ready. It also means that you are in fact never alone. So I see more and more the value of it, and also am glad I do not constantly engage in it. But at least I finally see why people are so enamored of it. Besides, its nice to catch your kids whenever you want to know what they are up to, though frustrating when they don't respond. Boomer age showing {blush}

Teaching!

What an honor to be asked by one of the music faculty to take his class while he needed to be away on a family emergency. Normally I would have asked to change the date of the library instruction because Thursday evening is choir rehearsal for me, a major commitment. But he needed to deal with the death of one parent and the subsequent placing of the other parent in skilled care, and out of state to boot.

Besides, we are winding down the church season. There are only a handful of Sundays left before the choir will disband for the summer. I asked the accompanist to hold down the fort until I could get there - two of the last three pieces they have sung every year and are favorites, so they basically know them from memory.

Then I sketched out what the faculty person wanted. One hour of introducing various resources that will help them find 5 or 6 sources addressing the three topics of the paper (biography, era history, analysis). Then two hours of individual hands-on instruction with the goal of leaving with all the needed resources.

The instruction part went well, and about half the class had taken the master's of music education instruction I had given earlier. All of them are music teachers, so they already know some ways to find resources. I was very encouraged that they asked me excellent and specific questions that led to removing roadblocks and gaining articles and books. We sleuthed our way through bibliographies, encyclopedias, and electronic databases for about 90 minutes.

When everyone felt they either had what they needed or knew where to find it, they slowly began filing out until there were just three students, and we were able to intensely pursue their topics until they found what was required. I enjoyed working more closely with them than I would have normally had a chance to do.

Before I knew it, I was headed for church and choir, arriving just in time for the final run through for Sunday's piece. Nice.

Cheesecake

Once a month the library staff gets together and celebrates either birthdays of staff or a holiday that fall in the month. We take turns providing the eats and the activities, but mostly it affords us an opportunity to chat, catch up on changes, discuss the campus politics, etc. What with an early Easter this year and no birthdays in May, the staff person determining the social activity settled on National Blueberry Cheesecake Day.

Can't say I have ever heard of such a thing, and I would have put it August when the blueberries are ripe. Nonetheless, we were happy to gather in the staff lounge, ooohhing and aaahhhing over the delicious looking confection setting on the table in front of us. It took awhile to get everyone in the room. Some had a tutorial session with a vendor representative, investigating the new interface coming in July. Others had meetings in the Administrative building or were helping patrons find materials. Still others were making rounds, counting warm bodies in the building, noting any facility issues, bringing reshelving materials to the circ desk.

At last we were all together, and the cheesecake was divied up amongst us. I took the first bite. Rich and creamy and smooth, just the right blend of cheese and sour cream with the perfect counterpoint of juicy succulent blueberry. Wow! An oral delight! I savored it slowly, chasing it around in my mouth, swirling it with my tongue, sucking every last ounce of flavor from the velvety substance before allowing myself to swallow. Unbelievable.

As we chatted, I measured time between bites, allowing the last essence to fade from my taste buds before reloading. I have seldom enjoyed a treat more - between the extraordinary quality of the homemade cheesecake and the pleasant conversation, it was an afternoon delight in every sense.

We sat for a long time after every crumb had disappeared, reticent to depart, bathed in the warm afternoon sun, chatting, resting from our labors of the semester, nothing immanent dragging us back to work. At long last, there was simply nothing more to say and we each were called away, tucking the memory safely into the appropriate space in our brains to provide sustenance at some necessary time in the future.

Cheesecake indeed!

PrayerSong

Our second venture to Roswell Cancer Institute in Buffalo. We know what to expect, have a better idea about what music works well in the space, what couldn't be heard well. We are still experimenting, seeing what changes will improve our presentation, make the music hit the mark of bringing joy and encouragement to those who are discouraged and depressed.

We go sans pianist, the two best pianists taking turns playing (I definitely have some work to do!). We try some pieces a Capella - they worked in my living room. We have added in some new songs, taken out a few that didn't really flow. We added in another singer. We are ready for round two.

Once again, we are well received. People come up to thank us and express their appreciation. The head of volunteers reiterates that we sound so nice, so professional. For me, it is less smooth than the first time out. I am much more aware of where I goofed or missed a cue.

Afterwards, we all need to get to work, so we don't linger over lunch. But we do take time to evaluate. Turns out that rounds and songs with round-like qualities are excellent as a Capella pieces, and there was a reason for the piano accompaniment for the songs we tried sans piano.

I am also beginning to see that there is room for two part pieces and I resolve to search for arrangements that flow well in two voice. Every venture brings more understanding. This is good. After a year or two, I should know what on earth I am doing, and we ought to be able to bring ALL excellent music to the lobby for refreshment!

WINTER!

Brrrr! Its a chilly sub 40 degrees today. Just when I thought summer was upon us, the weather turned fickle and froze me out. I am back to wearing my warm woollies complete with knee socks and leather jacket. My breath hangs frozen on the air, moist steam hovering before my face as I shiver in the cold gray of morning light. There is frost on the car window. I wonder that the flowers and leaves are not curled up and withered by the blast of cold. Time to turn the heat ON!

Actually, summer doesn't truly come until end of June. We have been so spoiled with the warm sun and blue skies that the sudden dip in temperature seems cruel and unfair. How tempting to cuss this normal weather for not being more accommodating. Its rather like that with the seasons of life. When things are going well despite difficulties, we get used to feeling good. And when the normal stresses of life surface as they inevitably will, we get grumpy and think we are being mistreated.

As normal discouragements and disasters of life hit, how much more intelligent to simply put on the warm woollies - cover yourself with prayer, trust in God, truth, peace, the comfort of friends and family - and keep moving, finding some small appreciation in the tiny things of beauty that hover like our frozen breath on the air. This too shall pass. Warmer times will come, all in due course.

RWC Commencement

There is always a sense of excitement about donning that long black gown and multi-colored hood to march with faculty in the graduation ceremony. Roberts faculty line up in Rinker Administration building in two lines, down the south and north hallways, the conversation growing in proportion to the lines.

You see faculty who are laughing, enjoying the day, catching up with colleagues - such a nice change from the strained looks they often wear when the come in the library. Women were fussing with bobby pins, trying to keep their mortarboards on, men were hanging up raincoats and umbrellas and stripping off sweaters.

Conversation revolved around past graduations, years when the weather was unseasonably hot, times when the event was held in Parmeter Chapel, rare occasions when the President was not able to attend. Good days, bygone years, people who had long since passed through the pearly gates.

The wait seemed interminable, and then suddenly we were moving down the stairs through financial aid department and out the side door under the white awning and into the Voller Athletic Center. We filed past the pool, now deserted and calm, down the hall where the racketball courts stood empty and silent. The close we came to the gym, the louder the music from our brass ensemble.

The ceremony was a production in efficiency. In perfect order, each division and degree lined up and filed across the platform, stood with the President for a photo op, filed down the stairs into the waiting arms of the faculty in their division. I have never witnessed such sincere joy. Hugs, back slapping, tears, shouts - faculty wished them all hearty congratulations. It was extremely touching, as if watching close friends celebrating.

For most of my own graduations, if I happened to see a faculty person across the crowded space, I would be fortunate. But here it is like family. It was truly remarkable. I wonder if these kids realize how unique it is?

Lo-o-o-o-ong Day

I don't usually find myself beginning and ending a day in the am hours, but it happened. Day began with chores at 5:45 am on a chilly Friday. There were things I just hadn't gotten to on Thursday, Kiel was coming home, I had a PrayerSong rehearsal in the evening before his train arrived. The house was rather a mess because on Thursday night after choir practice I was too tired to pick up. So I knew I had to start early and get things done. Since Drew was planning to work after school at his lawn care job, he wouldn't be able to help me get things in order before the rehearsal, so there was no help for it but to begin at the crack of dawn to clear away the clutter and clean up.

It was a carpool day, a supervisor day, a lunch with friends day, a reference desk heavy day, so I had little time to contemplate and think ahead. Still I have not had time to read my class assignments, something I am usually halfway done with by this time. Think about that later. The day disappeared in back-to-back activities and suddenly I found myself home to finish the cleaning, practice the music for the evening's rehearsal, plan out Saturday's events.

There was that nagging thought about how much reading I had to accomplish and the 5 page paper to write. How could I get it all done? Normally by 7pm (PrayerSong rehearsal time) I am exhausted and barely able to function. While music energizes me, it also takes a lot out of me. Sort of like exercising. Yet somehow I would have to not only be fully charged for practice but able to keep going afterwards to drive to the city.

Time for prayer. Time for trusting God to get me through. Rehearsal went well, Drew came home, Kiel called that his train was delayed, Drew went to bed and fell irrevocably asleep, at midnight I finally left to get Kiel. Funny, I was not tired! It felt more like mid afternoon than 1am.

I suspect that Mom was praying for me. She does that a lot. I can't imagine what life would be like if she didn't spend time praying for my well being. It makes me double my efforts to pray for my own children. Lord knows, life is tough. We can all use all the prayer we can get.

Upside Down Tree

In a small circular raised flower bed in the middle of the path from Smith Science Center to the Northeastern Seminary building stands a unique tree surrounded by brightly colored tulips and crisp white daffodils.

All the branches of this delightful little tree grow downwards towards the warm earth, their lacy branches stretching towards the flowers in a caring, embracing way. The tippy top of the near barren tree is a skinny branch that is the only branch starting to grow upwards, and then at the last minute, it changes its mind and droops down with its sister branches, completing the illusion that the tree is planted in the ground completely upside down.

Even the leaves are unique, a brilliant waxy maroon to the spring green of the rest of the trees in the area. At first glance, the leaves look like last year's dead stuff not yet sloughed off, but they are in fact new growth stretching their shiny faces towards the sun to absorb their version of chlorophyll.

Every time I walk past this tree, I am struck by its singular beauty. In comparison with 'normal' trees, it would flunk in every category. Yet taken as its own self, it quietly wraps you in the grace and timeless perfection of its own nature. I remarked about it one day to a colleague, and she summarily dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Oh, yes, there are several trees like that on campus. No big deal."

But I have yet to discover the kindred trees on campus. I shook my head that she did not seem aware of its elegance and beauty. In fact, students and faculty alike stride past it every single day, and few ever seem to really look at this paragon of gracefulness. But then, do we see our surroundings - really see them?

I shall be interested in locating the other upside down trees. How wonderful to note that sometimes when you don't follow the recipe, you end up with a wonderful thing of merit all by itself. Classy.

Babies!

Thursday mornings I pick up the kids from the home farthest away for carpool. They stuffed themselves into my "standard sized" Malibu and settled in for the half hour ride to school, plugging in their earbuds and leaning their heads against the back of the seat. I worry that our society will soon be changing all services to 'open at lunch, close at midnight' hours. There will be nothing for morning people!

Because they live five or six miles farther north, I have to take the 531/490/390 routes which means encountering traffic slowdowns. I wove my way over the winding back roads to the 531 on ramp, heading past the fruit farm with all the blossoming apple trees, turned left by the barn, zipped past the horse farm with three big blacks munching quietly near the worn fences of the roadside ring. Then a right onto Shepherd Road. I am not the only person shortcutting through the back way. Four cars in front of me blink yellow as they slow for the direction change.

Others tend to drive a bit faster than I do. Shepherd Road winds around some, and there are deep irrigation ditches on both sides of the road. I always feel as if I am "walking a tightrope" so to speak. There are some industrial complexes, and cars ahead of me turn in here and there. One car had just turned in front of me, and I was starting to accelerate when I saw them.

"Babies!" I exclaimed, and a few heads in the back poked up with interest. There in the road in front of us waddled a crew of about a dozen fuzzy babies geese chaperoned by two adult geese. Not exactly a gaggle of geese. More like a giggle, especially watching them navigate the cracks in the pavement and figuring out how to deal with the tall grass on the other side of the road.

They were all safely across, but one of the adult wandered back to the middle of the road, standing stubbornly right in the way of the car. "Come on, Dad," I mumbled. "Move aside." I was about to beep the horn when three stragglers stumbled out of the grass and spilled into the road. The goose nipped at them, pushing them along, his wings extended in a flapping protective way. I would not want to cross that guy!

Finally they were safely to the other side, and I was able to drive on, glancing in the mirror at the several cars behind me who were no doubt wondering what on earth I was doing at a dead standstill in the middle of the road for no apparent reason.

As I edged into traffic on the expressway, it occurred to me that I had just seen a perfect picture of my heavenly Father watching over me, making sure I was safe from danger, standing guard to keep the big bad things from flattening me. I smiled at my sleeping passengers and changed lanes for the 390 exit.

Cars on the Quad

I was running around the library all day taking care of a million little details, wrapped up in not only ending this semester but also in making sure we were set for summer schedule which begins next week - Monday, in fact! Yikes! At one point I was in an office on the second floor, and the person I was consulting received a phone call. I stepped away from her desk to give her a bit of privacy, and turned my gaze to her huge window and the scene below.

What on earth? There are four cars parked right on the grass in the quad. Who would drive their car onto the lawn and just leave it there? Don't they know we have graduation Saturday? The grounds people have been scrambling to tidy up the landscape, pruning, raking, planting, filling the huge urns in front of the buildings, watering stuff. Muddy ruts from tires would not be a pretty backdrop for gowned grads.

I was just turning about in my mind who ought to know about this situation when I realized that students living in the dorms were loading up and moving out. Of *course* they had parked their cars on the lawn right in front of the doors of their dorms. Who wants to lug 300 boxes clear around to the parking lot?

I smiled as I watched three strapping young men hauling mini fridges, microwaves, TVs, stereo gear, overstuffed chairs and footlockers to cram into trunks and vans. College is sure not what it used to be! You bring ALL the comforts of home and then some. I don't know how they get all that stuff into their tiny little rooms. Why would you need a neon lighted palm tree or a standing pink flamingo or a life size poster of Elvis? (Elvis? Really?) I remember going to college with one footlocker, two suitcases, a wastebasket and a box of goodies. And it was crowded then. I'm pretty sure the rooms are still the same size.

Of course, I am not one to talk. When I go to Concordia in June, I am going to drive out because I need to take my own version of the comforts of home (laptop, scores, dishes, pans, etc). And I'm only going to be there a month.

My friend hung up the phone and we continued our conversation about schedules while the students kept loading their parents' vehicles. They were still at in when I finished my business and headed back to my own office. I wish them well.

Pink Rain

It had been a long day. So much to take care of at the end of a semester, especially during exam week when students can't work their regular schedules and staff find themselves tending to more and more of the daily details. It had been overcast and gloomy most of the day, and as I drove home for a quick bite to eat before evening seminary class, it was raining and windy.

I stopped at the corner of Orchard and Buffalo Roads, waiting for a break in the traffic, and I glanced along Buffalo Road at all the flowering plum and apple trees dancing in the breeze. How graceful and beautiful they were. Suddenly I realized that the wind was blowing their flower petals off en mass, sweeping them sideways like colored rain. For a few minutes the air was pink, then white, then pink again. I started laughing. I have never seen pink rain! But that's exactly what it looked like.

Of course, when God created the world, he very sensibly made the sky blue, the grass green and the clouds gray. No pink rain. Then I laughed at myself. If God has chosen to make the sky orange, the grass purple and the rain pink, we would have thought that normal and beautiful! Of course, God is much more sensible than that (-:

Dead, mon

Every once in awhile something reminds me that Drew still carries about the effects of my bumpy life. After the Lilac Festival, right towards the end, my energy ended. Not ran out, ended. We were on the way home, and it was as if my body just shut down. I felt heavy - not just tired, but truly weighted. I knew I was done for the day. I needed to get home and just sit still for awhile, and I did just that.

Drew went to play with friends and do stuff, but I just sat in the chair, waiting for the tiredness to pass. It showed no sign of relenting, so I finally hauled myself into the bedroom, stripped down and crawled beneath the covers. Drew wandered in somewhere around 9:30 and I heard him ask me a question, but I was too tired to open my eyes, so I ignored him and kept resting.

This morning we were chatting and he mentioned the incident, stating that the thought had crossed his mind that I was actually dead. I was startled that he would be concerned about it, but I can see its not easy for a 14 year old guy to deal with his mother's health issues. Of course he would not want to encounter that scenario, but I didn't know he had ever given it a thought.

Ah, there is still healing to be done. Not sure whether time will take care of that (eventually since he will move out at some point) or if there is something specific and practical that I can do to address his fears. For now, I note it and move on. If there is anything to be done, it will make itself known.

Mother's Day

This year Drew and I agreed to go to the Lilac Festival. For him, a nostalgic ticket to when days were happier, life was gentler - long before cancer or divorce or poverty took its toll. He reminisced repeatedly about fried dough and huge lakes and good times. I knew it was important for him to recapture some of that normalcy we have been missing. So Mother's Day was about being a good mother and doing something for my son.



Not that I don't enjoy the Lilac Festival! It is delightful to wander about, swimming through the heady fragrance of a thousand blooming purple and white lilacs, the air redolent with greasy grilled foods, spilling over with noisy bands, vendors hawking their wares, children crying, mothers yelling. Such a typical fair! You can always find unique crafts, beautiful pictures, extraordinary pottery. Not to mention wandering about outdoors after being cooped up most of the winter.



The day was 65 and breezy, a nice cloud covering preventing glaring sun. I wore my Concordia baseball hat anyways, and urged Drew to get wear his. Drew dislikes crowds, and we picked the banner day for attendance. I truly thought most people would be taking their mothers to dinner at some restaurant, not hauling them about Highland Park in the chill of spring.



Without even talking about it, we both headed where the crowds were less imposing, up the path towards the reservoir, the very hillside where the majority of lilac bushes grew. Drew had brought his camera, and it seemed the thing to do to snap a few pictures. There were so many hues to see, so many different fragrances. It made you downright giddy.



Drew selected a deep purple blossom with a full bodied perfume to begin his photo journal. We worked our way up the hill well off the path, reading the tags on the different bushes, marveling at the sheer magnitude of variety. I had no idea there were so many kinds of lilacs. Drew began seeking the perfect angle, sometimes laying on the ground and pointing his camera up, sometimes standing tall and pointing his camera down. He took distance shots that encompassed whole bushes bending and groaning under their fully loaded branches. He took intimate closeups of single florets. He held a full head of blossom to catch the sun just so. He moved back and forth, mindful of others, seeming to know just what he wanted.



I suddenly realized he was capturing for me a garden full of flowers that I would be able to enjoy for some time to come. I entered the game, asking him to catch button daisies, tulips of every color imaginable, flowering trees of varieties I had never heard of, ancient multi-branched behemoths, even a beaver skulking beneath the underbrush, scared of the unexpected invasion.



It took two full hours to work the little park. We took one short swing through the craft booths, but it was so crowded you couldn't stop to look at anything even if you had wanted to. No matter. I was perfectly happy at walking around outdoors collecting pictures of beautiful flowers and trees. I plan to use a lot of his pictures on the Jairus House website to encourage others. Happy Mother's Day!

The Old Man and the E (Game)

I keep remembering an elderly gentleman who sat across the aisle from me on the plane from Tucson to Atlanta. He must have been in his 80s easily, and looked to be a simple man, perhaps a farmer. His hands were wrinkled and scarred from manual labor of some sort, his fingernails very short and etched in the blackness of a lifetime of handling dirt, his face and neck tough leather from years of being outdoors.

He couldn't hear well, but that didn't bother him a bit. He was unconcerned that he missed the stewardess' emergency instructions. He sat comfortably holding a small white electronic game, watching the screen with studied interest, pushing buttons here and there indiscriminately. I suspect he had no idea what he was doing, and had bought the thing in the terminal out of sheer boredom and curiosity.

The rest of us could hear the typical game music and sound effects as he poked and prodded the little toy. The expression on his face never changed, despite the fact that he was repeating the same mistakes and missing the same opportunities. There was no sense of impatience, regret, frustration that often accompanies trying to master one of those obnoxious computer rigged sets. Just a dogged continuation of exploration that garnered precious little change.

Though the sounds were becoming a bit irritating, no one wanted him to stop. The young girl in the seat behind him peered over his shoulder from time to time, especially if he seemed to have elicited a new sound. She would mouth her amazement and approval that someone so ancient would be doing such a new thing. She considered him 'way cool.'

It was a paragon of amusement to see the old world encountering the new. It reminded me of my own grandmother who at the tender age of 84 took her first motorcycle ride and loved it. Who was willing to drink Coke instead of coffee (until it had an adverse effect). Who went into a pizza place and ordered two pies - one for her and one for her hubby. Make no mistake, she knew what she liked and what she didn't. No sense wasting resources on something just to be hip. But her natural curiosity and her open willingness to try things kept her young and connected to the world around her.

I want to be like them. Regardless my age, I want that exploratory nature, not the one that says "look at me, I'm cool" or "hey, something new, let's jump in with both feet," but the one that says "I wonder what that's like? I'll try it on my terms. I might not be cool and adept, but if it has merit, I will adopt it." Keep learning. Keep experiencing. Yes, I can do that.

Stoned?

Esther+Rochester+May=kidney stones. At least, that's been the case in the past. I woke this morning with definite pain in my left back and groin area, and immediately the sensation was familiar. One thing I have learned about kidney stones is that I can never pass them unassisted, and that means medical procedures.

I am sick of medical procedures. I just don't want to have anything more done to me if I can avoid it. I also know that moving around while keeping the muscles relaxed should help. So I gobble aspirin (which I am supposed to do anyway but haven't lately), apply a bit of heat, and climb in the car to drive carpool. I take a huge bottle of water with me, and pray like mad.

Throughout the course of the day I consume 4 mugs of steaming hot ginger tea, 4 tall glasses of ice water (you'd think my poor teeth would crack with the temperature changes!), a bottle of cranberry peach juice, a Coke, and 3 cups of ice tea, black, straight up. It had quite an effect on my kidneys! I spent the other half of the day running to the bathroom, which was good because I wasn't really going all that much.

The pain has subsided, and I am wondering if perhaps it was not a stone, but the effect of having consumed 2 fruit smoothies, one yesterday and one the day before. Perhaps the fiber was just too much. Yes, I'll hang onto that idea - much preferable to having a stone removed. Maybe I just overdid the healthy eating thing.

I can fix that. Where's the chocolate?

Baby Falcons

Today I decided to drive home via Elmwood Avenue, a boulevard that runs straight through the south side of the city all the way from Charles Finney School to the University of Rochester. I'm tired of driving expressways, and I know its more stop and go but there are interesting things to see along the way. Besides, some days you don't want to zip along a 65 dodging silly drivers even if you can keep moving.

I thought I might as well be truly leisurely about it, and put on WXXI radio to listen to Garrison Keillor's morning Poetry spot along with whatever classical music might be in the air. There were several nice symphonic movements - a bit of Brahms and Tchaikovsky and Poulenc (have you ever heard his Stabat Mater? Its marvelous - you really should get a recording and take a listen). One of the things they mentioned as I was slowly wending my way to work was the FalconCam mounted on the Kodak building and how the peregrine falcon couple were in the process of hatching 5 eggs!

So I took a look when I got the chance, and its worth seeing. Check it out:

http://rfalconcam.com/rfc-main/mainView.php

Not everyday you get to see baby falcons live - well, sort of. Make sure you check the History and the Education links for more info and better pictures. Cool stuff!

Snow! O, wait. . .

I glanced out the window of the front hall and thought for a moment it was snowing. The air was filled with white flakes floating about, falling downward, covering the ground. But it wasn't snow. It was some sort of pollen. I thought it might be dandelion fuzz, and it looked similar, but wasn't quite the same.

The white stuff floated about all day, not making life difficult, but reminding you of movies where volcanic ash sifts to the ground after some mountain blows its top. This was a day of comings and goings, a day when I needed to make life easy. I had to open the library early, and I made myself a cup of warm green tea and carted it about with me as I turned on lights, checked shelves, unlocked doors, booted pcs, moved signage. The warm liquid brought me comfort, slowed me down, kept me from rushing. Float along, like the white stuff outside. Take things easy. Don't miss life while you are doing pointless activities.

I went home for lunch, made something real instead of packing sterile stuff. I sat in my comfy easy chair, put my feet up, and read something just for fun, something interesting. I ate slowly, floating though lunch hour, not constantly thinking about getting back to work to attack the stacks of stuff waiting on my desk to be addressed. I'll get to those things. Right now, I am relaxing.

I take time to write a few letters to encourage the people who called me in distress while I was in Arizona. Take time for people. Connect to the important things. I mailed them on my way back to work, standing in line at the post office without fussing about how slow the person ahead of me was, chatting amiably with the clerk.

After work, I collected Drew and the laundry and headed for the laundromat. He was in fuss mode, as I often am myself, anxious to get stuff done, to run errands, to be DOING stuff. We went to Wegmans and picked up a small sub to split as we were doing laundry. Rather than gobble it down quickly while sitting in the laundromat watching the clothes swirl around in the machine, we headed back to the car, put on some quiet music, ate slowly while we watched the white pollen stuff swirl about.

After flipping the laundry to the dryer, we took a walk together up the strip mall, gazing in store windows, chatting, connecting. I walked very slowly, and he did not object. We discovered a used game store and Drew longingly drooled over games, talked with the store owner, asked questions. Then we wandered back to the laundromat. I could feel my legs turning to rubber. Time to call it a day. Pack up and go home. I am desperate to lie down now.

The white stuff is still falling, sifting down. I take a deep breath, and we stop for soft ice cream. Chocolate. Its not hot out, but not cold either. My stomach needs something soft and gentle to settle it down. We sit in the car and watch the people who have gathered for ice cream, watch the white stuff fall.

Then we drive home under a clear sky. It has been a day of quietness and recovery. A day to remember what is important. To slow down and live instead of rushing like a fool pell mell into the next day. Sometimes you do need to just stop for a few minutes and breathe.

Amazing Chapel

She entered our classroom after we had already heard two hours of lecture, assuring us that we would get a much needed break after chapel. Petite, blond, and quiet, she began by handing out a hymn for us to sing together. O God, our help in ages past. Most of us knew it, though not all.

Then she began reading her testimony. It was heartrending to hear of her struggles. She placed them in the context of Psalm 88, a Psalm of disorientation that ends in darkness instead of the usual resolution, the part where God saves and restores. Judy's husband, a faithful minister of many years, was diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer. They pursued every course of help they could, prayed and believed that God would heal him, would let him overcome the disease. They had tons of people praying for them, support like nobody's business, faith to know that everything would be fine. God would save.

He continued to preach throughout his treatment, sitting when he could no longer stand, memorizing when he could no longer read. He remained faithful, believing, confident. And he died nine months later. That same year, within months of her husband's death, Judy experienced other family crises. Car accidents, miscarriages, floods, disaster after disaster until she felt like Job. It was unbearable. How could she go on? Where was God? She didn't even bother with the 'why me' question.

Years have passed since that season of her life. Ten years. She has changed the direction of her life in ways she could never have imagined. She is working with Aids victims in Africa now, and realizes her compassion for their darkness is born of her own experience of darkness. God did not prevent, but God did not leave her. God did not take away the darkness, God went into it with her.

She is now married again and serving with her husband, about to return to Africa, to extend God's hand of love to those for whom there is no answer, no cure, no return from disaster. And she understands. She is amazed. She shares her faith because we are on a path to minister to others whose lives may be darkness that will not be turned to light in this world.

Do not try to force happy endings. Do not predict where and how God will move. Point instead to the fact that you do not understand everything, do not have the answers. But you know God and He is faithful. He will never leave you. He will make a way for you. Believe.

And we sang again O God our help - this time with a different understanding.

The Write Stuff

Another Monday, this one a catch up day. I was glad to have some time in the morning before needing to get to work because I still had to write that paper for class, a comparison of prophet, wise man, and psalmist. With all the travel, the conversations, the church activities, the tiredness, I just hadn't found time to do it. So after carpool, I resisted the urge to go back to bed, and sat at the computer, praying. God, please let this thing go together smoothly. Give me the words, the thoughts, the flow to make it happen in a very short time.

Generally it takes about an hour per page to collect all the readings, compare them, think about stuff, write, rewrite, edit, then footnote. But I didn't have an hour a page for the five page paper. I had three hours. Three hours to ignore the stacks of laundry and dirty dishes, to forget about the huge black flies that had somehow made their way into the apartment while I was away (I had already killed a dozen, but there were still a few left buzzing about irritating me). I didn't want this to be less than my best effort, but the deadline was firm. Turn it in, no exceptions!

So I opened my eyes and began. Just get stuff down, worry about flow and comprehensive coverage later. And for goodness sake, don't even THINK about footnotes until after your reference shift tonight at 9. You can make it pretty then. So I wrote. And as I wrote, God opened my brain and poured thoughts in that I needed. There was sudden insight, unique ideas, remembrances of things said in lecture that I hadn't written down. Yes, God was definitely enabling me.

I had hoped to get to the bank before heading out to work, but that didn't happen. I wrote right up to the moment I had to leave for work, and I just managed to complete the assignment except for correcting the footnotes. I would read it over again at night after my workday ended, fix a few sequence problems, tighten up the verbiage, and get the footnotes settled. Wow! I should always write that way. Its so much easier than wracking my brain and trying to be clever. Perhaps its a good thing to experience a time crunch. It makes you discover better ways of doing things.

Confirmation

Six young people had taken the pastor's class over the last twelve weeks. Six young people stood ready to profess their faith in Christ and make their commitment to the church. They had practiced taking part in the service, each one ready to read a Scripture, lead a prayer, play an offertory. The air was filled with anticipation at this special event, this milestone in their lives. Family and friends had come, cameras flashed everywhere.

The confirmands were dressed all grown up, the girls had their hair upswept and fastened with delicate pins and clips. The dresses were prom worthy, the suits for the guys stiff and new. Shoes were shined, faces glowed as they proudly took their place in the first row, each young adult seated with his or her mentor and sponsor.

They performed their parts of the service admirably. The choir sang a special piece called Order My Steps. And then it was time for the ceremony. They rose from their pew and moved forward to the altar rail, nervous but somehow confident. The pastor read the vows, the group responding 'I do' and 'I will' as did the congregation, promising to oversee the spiritual growth of these brave people. Then each one kneeled to receive the pastor's prayer. The sponsor stood beside them, receiving a lighted candle from the pastor to remind them that they will continue to be God's light to their confirmand.

The pastor slipped a cross necklace about each one's neck. Hugs all around as we sang them welcome. It was a rite of passage. No longer would these people come forward for the children's sermon. No longer would they be excluded from communion. They have come of age, made their personal choice, been made a part of the fold. It was extremely touching. I do not often have opportunity to mark such milestones. I remember when I was 12 and stood before the church in Johnstown, reconfessing my own faith in Christ. Now I am in seminary, still learning about Him. I am touched by the continuity of faith, excited for these who are just beginning their journeys. I have to admit, a few tears slid down my face. This is a good thing.

Neverending Day

The day began at 3:30 am Arizona time. To catch the *only* flight that leaves Tucson for the East these days, I had to be at the airport at 5 for a 6am flight. And the "stagecoach" decided I needed to leave the hotel at 4am. Sigh. I hate days that start in the middle of the night.

The wait at the airport went by quickly. There was a bit more rigamarole to checking in, and turns out the stagecoach was right. We beat the masses by about fifteen minutes. The lineup behind me was long and snaked back out of sight.

The four hour flight to Atlanta seemed to take much longer than the flight from Atlanta to Tucson - not sure if we were fighting a headwind or not, but it was bumpy the entire way no matter what altitude we were flying at. The captain never once said, "I have turned off the fasten seatbelt sign and you are free to move about the cabin." (Who are they kidding? Free to move about the cabin? They make it sound like you are on vacation in the piney woods at a quaint little hideaway filled with hammocks and fishing boats and thinking about taking a leisurely stroll. There is no 'cabin' - only a skinny aisle. And as for moving about, well, if you can turn sideways and time it so you don't get stuck behind the serving cart, you might be able to actually stand up for a few minutes.)

I had time in Atlanta to get lunch and relax for about an hour, then we boarded for NYC. What should have been a two hour flight ended up taking longer, and I was nervous about missing my last leg to Rochester. When we landed, I had only about a half hour before they would start to board. We sat at the gate for a good twenty minutes waiting for someone to drive the breezeway to the plane door. I watched the precious minutes tick away, panic rising in my throat. If I miss this flight, it is the last one of the evening, and I will be stuck. I nervously mention it to the person standing in the aisle next to me. He nods, mentioning that he is in the same fix.

They finally open the hatch and we spill out. Tired kids block the ramp and tie up traffic. I manage to squeeze around them, their strollers, suitcases, adult entourage completely oblivious to my plight, and gaze frantically about for the screen that will tell me what gate. I have a gate on my boarding pass, but they often change the gate and given the two minutes I have, I don't want to go to the wrong place. I have never been in this terminal before, so I am clueless as to where I need to be. I start moving in the direction of the gate I know, watching for the departure information as I move quickly, threading my way around other passengers.

I keep seeing the signs for Gate 25, the arrows directing me farther and farther from everything. I think I am headed for the outback, down one hall, around the corner, past a few fast food places, down a second hall, around three more corners, up a ramp, down a flight of steps. Still I haven't seen departure information. I am sure they are already boarding my flight though I have not heard an announcement. Who could hear with all the noise of conversation and little transports beeping and bells going off and airplane engines whining!

I finally see Gate 25 in the distance. I have been running for at least ten minutes. My legs ache, my breath comes in heaving little gasps. I think I will not make it to that gate, but I am encouraged to see a swarm of people still standing there. I finally get close enough to read the sign. Yes, it lists Rochester, and doesn't direct me to another gate. But there is no activity. Then I realize it lists about ten destinations - Bangor Maine, Buffalo, Boston. What is this?

I approach the desk, boarding pass in hand and ask about the Rochester flight. The attendant looks at me like I am stupid, and says snippily, "That flight is delayed until 9 o'clock." I am so relieved that I haven't missed it that I don't know whether to be happy or upset. At very least I will have time for a bite of dinner. I look around, afraid to wander too far. There aren't many options at this end of the airport. It is as if we have come to the end of the world and find only the dregs left.

I settle for a bottle of water - suddenly realizing how thirsty I am - and a piece of lemon pound cake. Not much of a dinner, but it will do. I am lucky to find a seat near the gate, and I settle down to enjoy my repast and take a deep breath to recover from the recent frantic dash. Two young ladies - and I use the term loosely - sit next to me, holding long cellphone conversations with unknown persons, grumbling about the flight delay, teasing each other, being loud and brash and obnoxious.

We endure repeated announcements about the status of our flight - now delayed until 9:30, now ten, now unknown because they have a plane but no crew, then the hostess just gives up and berates us verbally for being there and expecting to board a flight home when she cannot arrange it.

At long long last we board a plane, and the steward tells us to expect no less than an hour of taxing before we will be first in line for take off. I believe him because I saw the lineup for takeoff when I landed and it was non stop. The steward offers free alcohol to pacify the disgruntled passengers, and tells us to go to the bathroom now before we take off because the air is rough and we won't be allowed once we are airborn. The queue fills the aisle.

It seems like forever before we finally leave NYC behind us, the glow of the lights oranging the sky long after we are away. I doze, grateful that once again the Lord has arranged for me to be seated on the side of the aisle where there is only one seat, so I have no infringing neighbors to contend with after such a long day. My butt aches from sitting in uncomfortable seats. My legs ache from being cramped in small spaces. My arms are weary of being held over my chest because the guys next to me insist that they need the armrests (imagine what they would do if they had breasts to deal with!).

The flight is gratefully short - only about an hour. We see the lights of Rochester, and I try to make out where things are. I see the red letters of several Wegman's stores, but can't quite orient myself. I finally see downtown, the towering skyscrapers a dead give away. And then we land. It takes forever for the luggage to arrive - almost as long as the flight! What on earth could the holdup be? I spot my bag, but can't get anywhere near the conveyor belt for the crowd. I manage to squirm my way in and wait about ten minutes until it comes around again, grab it, and head from the parking lot.

I have parked in the far lot, the one that is least expensive. It is a twenty minute walk. I worry a bit about safety, but there are plenty of people about, lots of lights. I am *so* happy to see Baby patiently waiting for me, and taken aback to discover that the right rear tire is soft. Very soft. At this hour I am not sure there will be a gas station open, so I pray like mad that I will be able to make it home without it going completely flat.

I hold my breath and drive. My tummy is rumbling, letting me know that dinner has not met the requirements and I need food. I pick up Drew, check with my sister to see how things went (not horrible, but not easy either), then head for the gas stations near my house. Yes, I can get air at one even though it is closed. There was only 7 pounds of pressure in that tire - thank you Lord!

I suggest a quick stop at Timmy's for a pastry, and Drew is happy to comply. We arrive home well after 1am. I have church choir in the morning. Daylight will come fast. Fortunately, I am tired enough to be able to fall asleep quickly. 3am to 1am. Whew! I am glad this day finally called it quits and let me get some rest. Let's not do that again real soon.

Playing hookie

The morning activities had been productive, but I was tiring. I could feel the demands of the trip catching up, the expense of so much talking, so much concentration. There were still two presentations to be attended in the afternoon, but after the lunch, during which a speaker took our attention, I felt suddenly exhausted. I knew I could not endure. It was just a few hours, and I owe it to my institution to wring every ounce of benefit from this conference since they are paying the bill. But I also know my limitations, and when my body says stop, I listen. I called it a day and went to my room, sad that I would miss a part, but relieved that it wasn't something I had felt drawn to.

Good thing I did. Shortly after entering the little suite I got a call from one son, then another, then my daughter-in-law, then a friend. I lay on my bed listening to a litany of woes and troubles, helpless to do anything practical about any of it, able to pray, to hear their hearts. How strange that it was easier to listen from Arizona than it would be from home. There were no distractions in Arizona, nothing to make me measure my time in terms of stuff I had to get done (other than homework which could wait).

And since I had been walking about under heavenly blue skies, my eyes filled with the beauty of cactus in full bloom (which I am told is rare - and that I exchanged one set of pollen for another!), my senses inundated with the sweet rose honeysuckle perfume of some flowering bush I am not familiar with, my soul lifted by the colors, the sensuousness of this new place, I was in a good position to absorb and not react. To reflect and not scorch.

Perhaps I shall be forgiven for my lapse of commitment to work, since what I ended up doing while playing hookie from libraryland was still good and necessary to life in general. I never did get my paper done. Oh, well. There is always tomorrow.

Mountains!

I have forgotten how beautiful the mountains are in Tucson. They dominate the view and show every intimate detail as if you are gazing through a telescope. Natives tell me I should visit the state parks, and I would love to do that sometime. The wonderful mountains completely ring the city, standing out in pristine relief against the light blue almost white of the sky and the absolute flatness of the landscape otherwise. It gives a whole new meaning to the verse "I will lift up my eyes to the hills from whence comes my help."

Of course, I didn't come here to gawk at the beauty of the scenery, as fascinating as that is. I thought perhaps due to the time difference I would wake early enough for a morning stroll before registering. I wasn't counting on being jarred awake by my cell phone at 4:30 am - the carpool driver subbing for me had completely missed the little detail about picking Drew up at my sister's, and he was none too happy to be delayed at my house and no Drew in sight. It took about fifteen minutes to straighten it out. By then, I was too awake to go back to sleep, but it was too dark to take a stroll.

Never mind, I have a lot of reading to do, and I jumped in until time to wander down to the conference. Fortunately, the keynote speaker was excellent, as was the second speaker - very thought provoking information about the sustainability of our lifestyle and how 15% of the world's population consumes 90% of the world's resources. They preached a social consciousness that the church has preached for years. I smiled at their exuberance and fervor for their message of concern based not on love of fellow man, but of self interest.

In between presentations I reconnected with people from previous jobs and conferences. It was so good to see friends, to catch up, to meet the new kids on the block, to share adventures and updates. That's always a part of conferences that I forget about until it happens, and then I am so happy about it.

My concerns about energy and strength faded away as I got caught up in the meetings. Soon it was time to quit for the day, and I realized I had a lot of homework waiting for me in my room. I was happy to take a short break and wander about outdoors for a bit before shutting myself in for the night with a highlighter and pen. Its nice to be in a different place for a change. I recommend it.