Every summer, the students hold a recital called Coburg Recital, which allows us to share what we have been working on for the past few weeks, and affords an opportunity to work out the nervous nellies and see what still need a bit of work, places where something messes up.
Usually the performers are mostly organ people with a few vocal solos mixed in and sometimes a flurry of handbells. This year is no different. Mostly organ pieces with a few vocal solos and one handbell duet. My advisor reminds me that once before I gathered a small choir and conducted a piece on the Coburg. He urges me to do it again, that the choral folks should be represented.
OK. I am game. I select the Tavener piece. Once you conquer the first 2 measures, the rest is basically the same with a few changeups here and there - very minimalist. I ask around. Are you willing to sing in my choir? Some are, most aren't. I am worried that we will not have all the parts covered. I begin a recruiting campaign. More people agree to help out. Many will either not be at the Recital or are feeling a bit buried with work and can't spare the time (papers I suppose).
We practice in conducting class and make some progress. I schedule a rehearsal for Tuesday at 5:15, right after classes end. A few not in conducting class come to that one. We have never been all together to sing this challenging but beautiful song. We do a 'dress rehearsal' right before the concert starts, but again, not everyone is there. Yikes!
At this juncture, you leave it in the good Lord's hands and trust that no matter what happens, good will still come of it. We are second to last on the program. When our turn comes, we walk down the long aisles to the front of the chapel, move around the Steinway to the steps and position ourselves. I play the opening 4 notes - g,a,b-flat,c. Not a great way to start a song, not even a chord. Here we go.
Yes, the speed is slightly faster than the composer calls for, but we breathe together in all the right places. We do not lose pitch, causing bass stress since their lowest note is a D 2 octaves below middle C! The words are familiar, so not to worry about text declamation. While we do not reach shimmer, it works the better than all the rehearsals. I am satisfied that we did the piece justice.
On the way back to my seat, I get a thumbs up and applause from my professors. Yeah! Good thing this wasn't a service though. Tavener would be rolling and he isn't even in his grave.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sleepless in Mequon
Normally I can sleep anywhere.
I can sleep on a bus, I can sleep in a train.
I can sleep in the heat, I can sleep in the rain.
I can sleep in Des Moines, I can sleep in Champaign.
I can sleep when I'm crazy, I can sleep when I'm sane.
Well, you get the idea. Ticking clocks, dripping water, glaring lights do not prevent me from dozing off for the most part. Sometimes I will ask the boys to turn down the volume on their music/movie/whathaveyou, and don't tell them, but really I would fall asleep even with it blaring.
Tonight though, I watch the hours tick by on my alarm clock and try as I might, the body and brain do not close down. Rats. I will be exhausted tomorrow. Once or twice a year I experience this, and I have always attributed it to hormonal levels inexplicably being beyond my norms. I wonder what that means? Can it be my body is recuperating to the point of beginning to work more normally?
Sigh. I resort to my usual ploys when sleep does not come. First, try reading. I plow through my research book Living Through Pain: Psalms and the Search for Wholeness - I jot ideas about which Psalms might be worth including in my Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients Undergoing Chemotherapy DVD.
My eyes begin to feel heavy. I close the book, shut off the light and hope for snoring, but as soon as the dark settles, I am wide awake. I pick up my prayer beads and prayer for everyone on the list. Still no sleepiness. Luther and I chant through a dozen great Psalms. Nothing. I decide I should work on my score study. I grind through a few scores laboriously. No desires for sleep arise. Hum.
I try a warm drink despite the heat. Some chamomile tea. Nothing. Well, hopefully I will make it through class tomorrow without zoning, and by evening whatever is bugging my system will have worn off or moved on. Just as I give up hope, I doze off and get at least 3 hours before the blasted lawn crew begins its 6am daily mowing of the athletic fields just outside my window.
Sigh. Some days you just can't make no progress nohow.
I can sleep on a bus, I can sleep in a train.
I can sleep in the heat, I can sleep in the rain.
I can sleep in Des Moines, I can sleep in Champaign.
I can sleep when I'm crazy, I can sleep when I'm sane.
Well, you get the idea. Ticking clocks, dripping water, glaring lights do not prevent me from dozing off for the most part. Sometimes I will ask the boys to turn down the volume on their music/movie/whathaveyou, and don't tell them, but really I would fall asleep even with it blaring.
Tonight though, I watch the hours tick by on my alarm clock and try as I might, the body and brain do not close down. Rats. I will be exhausted tomorrow. Once or twice a year I experience this, and I have always attributed it to hormonal levels inexplicably being beyond my norms. I wonder what that means? Can it be my body is recuperating to the point of beginning to work more normally?
Sigh. I resort to my usual ploys when sleep does not come. First, try reading. I plow through my research book Living Through Pain: Psalms and the Search for Wholeness - I jot ideas about which Psalms might be worth including in my Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients Undergoing Chemotherapy DVD.
My eyes begin to feel heavy. I close the book, shut off the light and hope for snoring, but as soon as the dark settles, I am wide awake. I pick up my prayer beads and prayer for everyone on the list. Still no sleepiness. Luther and I chant through a dozen great Psalms. Nothing. I decide I should work on my score study. I grind through a few scores laboriously. No desires for sleep arise. Hum.
I try a warm drink despite the heat. Some chamomile tea. Nothing. Well, hopefully I will make it through class tomorrow without zoning, and by evening whatever is bugging my system will have worn off or moved on. Just as I give up hope, I doze off and get at least 3 hours before the blasted lawn crew begins its 6am daily mowing of the athletic fields just outside my window.
Sigh. Some days you just can't make no progress nohow.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Stravinsky
Yet another setting of the Lord's Prayer that I am including on my program is Stravinsky's setting. So simple on the page, so tough on the singers. I have yet to approach a decent singing of his chant-like composition with the conducting choir. Like so many things in life, simple is never easy.
The interesting thing about both the Tavener and the Stravinsky settings is that they have presented a communal prayer in an intimate way. Personal and individual yet inclusive of the entire body of Christ, regardless of country.
For the first time, I have been comparing the Matthew account of this prayer with the Luke account. Seems there is room for both group and single application of the words. Check it out. I am certainly not a theological expert on these passages, but with such a staple of Christianity, I intend to learn as much as I can about this particular prayer.
It does make me wonder how well Stravinsky knew it, how much he embraced of the theology behind it. Can a person do justice to a text musically without a thorough understanding of its intent? Probably not.
At any rate, this setting presents a number of choral challenges that I will be working on over the next few months. If done well, perhaps it will connect the hearts of the hearers with the heart of God. That is the goal, the hope, the desire.
The interesting thing about both the Tavener and the Stravinsky settings is that they have presented a communal prayer in an intimate way. Personal and individual yet inclusive of the entire body of Christ, regardless of country.
For the first time, I have been comparing the Matthew account of this prayer with the Luke account. Seems there is room for both group and single application of the words. Check it out. I am certainly not a theological expert on these passages, but with such a staple of Christianity, I intend to learn as much as I can about this particular prayer.
It does make me wonder how well Stravinsky knew it, how much he embraced of the theology behind it. Can a person do justice to a text musically without a thorough understanding of its intent? Probably not.
At any rate, this setting presents a number of choral challenges that I will be working on over the next few months. If done well, perhaps it will connect the hearts of the hearers with the heart of God. That is the goal, the hope, the desire.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Last Paper
Seminary seems so far away from my current reality of bluff walking and singing and fellowship with friends around tables dorm and otherwise. Yes, I attended my final class via phone Tuesday, and really, I meant to have the paper done before ever I left Rochester. I worked on it, but between one thing and another, coupled with some sort of writer's block, it never became a done deal.
Every single night I remind myself that I must work on this paper who's topic is so far removed from anything I am working on here. Flannery O'Connor is a prickly pear in any setting, but particularly here in the beauty and quietness of this peaceful campus, I do not wish to engage with her twisted characters, her grotesque stories, her dark portrayal of depravity.
Flannery - odd name - is new to me. I have never read her stories before. But I picked her from the list, and I am stuck with the assignment of describing whether or not she believed, with Dostoevsky, that "Beauty Will Save the World." I suspect my blockage begins with the total lack of any beauty in Flannery's stories. Even her characters have warts and lack distinguishing features. Her landscapes are gray, her treatment of the peculiar handled so as to mislead us into thinking that the behavior is normal.
By her own admission, she must gain the attention of an uncaring and complacent audience by being "out there" in the shock factors. And we are shocked when we read the cavalier murders the Misfit carrys out in A Good Man is Hard to Find, or the self mutilation of the 'preacher' in Wise Blood.
Sigh. Well, there is no help for it. I simply have to make myself confront my mental stymies and get cracking. Due dates are due dates and carry them out I must. But, really. 20 pages? Arghh.
Every single night I remind myself that I must work on this paper who's topic is so far removed from anything I am working on here. Flannery O'Connor is a prickly pear in any setting, but particularly here in the beauty and quietness of this peaceful campus, I do not wish to engage with her twisted characters, her grotesque stories, her dark portrayal of depravity.
Flannery - odd name - is new to me. I have never read her stories before. But I picked her from the list, and I am stuck with the assignment of describing whether or not she believed, with Dostoevsky, that "Beauty Will Save the World." I suspect my blockage begins with the total lack of any beauty in Flannery's stories. Even her characters have warts and lack distinguishing features. Her landscapes are gray, her treatment of the peculiar handled so as to mislead us into thinking that the behavior is normal.
By her own admission, she must gain the attention of an uncaring and complacent audience by being "out there" in the shock factors. And we are shocked when we read the cavalier murders the Misfit carrys out in A Good Man is Hard to Find, or the self mutilation of the 'preacher' in Wise Blood.
Sigh. Well, there is no help for it. I simply have to make myself confront my mental stymies and get cracking. Due dates are due dates and carry them out I must. But, really. 20 pages? Arghh.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Psalm Singing
I recently discovered the book Reading the Psalms with Martin Luther. I add it to my collection of personal devotional tools along with Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours. Each Psalm is preceded by a short commentary about the Psalm and followed by one of Luther's prayers that elaborates on the thoughts expounded in the Psalm.
At the beginning of the book are 6 or 7 "melodies" or chant formulas that can be used to sing the Psalms, and the selection of which musical recipe is left to the discretion of the singer. The Psalms are 'pointed' or marked so you know when to move from one note to another in the formula, all of which are interchangeable.
This will be helpful as I pull together the proper Psalms for my "Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients Undergoing Chemotherapy" DVD. I am hoping to record/videotape this in August, but time is flying and I am not quite ready. I may have to put it off even though I already have a good deal of interest in getting copies.
Stay tuned for more info on the DVD.
At the beginning of the book are 6 or 7 "melodies" or chant formulas that can be used to sing the Psalms, and the selection of which musical recipe is left to the discretion of the singer. The Psalms are 'pointed' or marked so you know when to move from one note to another in the formula, all of which are interchangeable.
This will be helpful as I pull together the proper Psalms for my "Morning and Evening Prayers for Cancer Patients Undergoing Chemotherapy" DVD. I am hoping to record/videotape this in August, but time is flying and I am not quite ready. I may have to put it off even though I already have a good deal of interest in getting copies.
Stay tuned for more info on the DVD.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Kopps
First time I heard the name Kopps bandied about, I couldn't help thinking it was some kind of gansta place. Imagine my surprise when we pulled into the parking lot and were greeted by rows of white cows standing on pedestals like so many Greek gods!
The place is always packed and though the lines are long, they move quickly. You select your flavor, opt for cup or cone, and are handed a frozen custard delight topped with a crispy cookie triangle. Some kind soul taped a Flavor of the Day chart on the dorm hallway door, so you could arrange to join the troops when your flavor comes up.
And what a choice they offer! In addition to the usual chocolate, vanilla and twist, they have confections of delight such as chocolate raspberry cheesecake, burgundy cherry, orangesicle, mint, and peaches and cream, some of my favorites.
They also offer hamburgs and fancier than cone stuff like strawberry sundaes. But the best part about Kopps is that we all go together, we gather in the side hall around a small table or outdoors on nice nights on the amphitheater steps and chat while we lick away. One night we stood there for well over an hour chatting and laughing. The fellowship is the sweetest part of the whole evening. How can you possibly have a tiff with someone who has shared an evening at Kopps with you??
It is yet another great piece of summer at Concordia, one we indulge in frequently. Slurp!
The place is always packed and though the lines are long, they move quickly. You select your flavor, opt for cup or cone, and are handed a frozen custard delight topped with a crispy cookie triangle. Some kind soul taped a Flavor of the Day chart on the dorm hallway door, so you could arrange to join the troops when your flavor comes up.
And what a choice they offer! In addition to the usual chocolate, vanilla and twist, they have confections of delight such as chocolate raspberry cheesecake, burgundy cherry, orangesicle, mint, and peaches and cream, some of my favorites.
They also offer hamburgs and fancier than cone stuff like strawberry sundaes. But the best part about Kopps is that we all go together, we gather in the side hall around a small table or outdoors on nice nights on the amphitheater steps and chat while we lick away. One night we stood there for well over an hour chatting and laughing. The fellowship is the sweetest part of the whole evening. How can you possibly have a tiff with someone who has shared an evening at Kopps with you??
It is yet another great piece of summer at Concordia, one we indulge in frequently. Slurp!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Butterfly
I can't believe I have been here four days and still haven't taken a walk on the bluff! How can that be? I am determined to rectify that, and after slathering my arms and face with sunscreen, I take off in the direction of the lake and the wonderful walking paths created for exploring the natural wetlands areas.
The sky is gorgeous blue dotted with perfect cotton candy white clouds. A faint breeze stirs the wildflowers that rampage down the face of the cliff. I amble along, breathing deeply of air freshened by the lake, scented of seaweed and faint fishy flavor. The descent is slow and I see a few others enjoying some outdoors time down below.
I glance to my right toward the water, and there, suspended in thin air, is a beautiful yellow butterfly fluttering frantically. I stop to watch and realize that the poor thing is caught in a spider web. It struggles and flaps helpless wings, disentangling itself from one strand of web only to be caught by another heartless strand.
I consider plunging into the weeds and freeing the poor thing, but I am stopped by the realization that I am an outsider here, that these sorts of scenarios play themselves out every day one way or another. Do I have the right to interfere and deliver the spider's dinner to freedom? If the butterfly gets out of jail free, will that inhibit its strength to fight another day?
I stand rooted to the path, fascinated by the drama unfolding before my eyes, cheering on the tiny creature, wishing it to win the battle. After long agonizing minutes, without warning, it suddenly frees itself and darts away towards the lake, stopping to sip a bit of nectar from a huge clover blossom before disappearing into the air.
I wonder sometimes if God has such a perspective. Good thing he knows better than I the ramifications of involvement. One thing I am sure of. He is cheering us on and wanting us to win our battles. I shake my head and continue on down the path, enjoying every colorful flower, every cawing seagull, every flashing bird. It is, indeed, a glorious day.
The sky is gorgeous blue dotted with perfect cotton candy white clouds. A faint breeze stirs the wildflowers that rampage down the face of the cliff. I amble along, breathing deeply of air freshened by the lake, scented of seaweed and faint fishy flavor. The descent is slow and I see a few others enjoying some outdoors time down below.
I glance to my right toward the water, and there, suspended in thin air, is a beautiful yellow butterfly fluttering frantically. I stop to watch and realize that the poor thing is caught in a spider web. It struggles and flaps helpless wings, disentangling itself from one strand of web only to be caught by another heartless strand.
I consider plunging into the weeds and freeing the poor thing, but I am stopped by the realization that I am an outsider here, that these sorts of scenarios play themselves out every day one way or another. Do I have the right to interfere and deliver the spider's dinner to freedom? If the butterfly gets out of jail free, will that inhibit its strength to fight another day?
I stand rooted to the path, fascinated by the drama unfolding before my eyes, cheering on the tiny creature, wishing it to win the battle. After long agonizing minutes, without warning, it suddenly frees itself and darts away towards the lake, stopping to sip a bit of nectar from a huge clover blossom before disappearing into the air.
I wonder sometimes if God has such a perspective. Good thing he knows better than I the ramifications of involvement. One thing I am sure of. He is cheering us on and wanting us to win our battles. I shake my head and continue on down the path, enjoying every colorful flower, every cawing seagull, every flashing bird. It is, indeed, a glorious day.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Old Haunts
How comforting to be in a familiar place, eating at the same little restaurants we students always hang out in, like the Chancery and Highland House and Prime Minister and Panera's. I missed the annual trek to Organ Piper Pizza, a pizza place with live pipe organ music - the style of which is driven by requests and you get everything from Take Me Out to the Ballpark to Widor's Toccata!
We also take a field trip to Northwest Publishing House's bookstore, a dangerous place because you can drop $100 without blinking. I always come away with several CDs and handbell music and piano books - great material not available from elsewhere, not even from their website. Still, I wouldn't miss it!
I also discovered that there are brand new pianos in the practice rooms in Undercroft, the area beneath the chapel. Thank goodness! Organs you can find, but a good piano has been a challenge. Not that I plan to spend hours working on repertoire, but I usually need something with working keys and at least somewhat in tune when I am working on score study. Besides, I didn't bring a digital keyboard this year.
I quickly fall into a pleasant routine, taking into account the various aspects of life at Concordia in the summer. But this year I do not rush about rising. I have no morning class to drive me out early, so I rest long hours and take my leisure about appearing on campus. I join whatever group is going off campus for lunch, attend class all afternoon, join the dinner group, work on assignments, and retire early. What a life! Sometimes its great just to do the same old same old without all the hype. Definitely delightful.
We also take a field trip to Northwest Publishing House's bookstore, a dangerous place because you can drop $100 without blinking. I always come away with several CDs and handbell music and piano books - great material not available from elsewhere, not even from their website. Still, I wouldn't miss it!
I also discovered that there are brand new pianos in the practice rooms in Undercroft, the area beneath the chapel. Thank goodness! Organs you can find, but a good piano has been a challenge. Not that I plan to spend hours working on repertoire, but I usually need something with working keys and at least somewhat in tune when I am working on score study. Besides, I didn't bring a digital keyboard this year.
I quickly fall into a pleasant routine, taking into account the various aspects of life at Concordia in the summer. But this year I do not rush about rising. I have no morning class to drive me out early, so I rest long hours and take my leisure about appearing on campus. I join whatever group is going off campus for lunch, attend class all afternoon, join the dinner group, work on assignments, and retire early. What a life! Sometimes its great just to do the same old same old without all the hype. Definitely delightful.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
One Last Summer Seminary Class
Story, Image and Metaphor. That is the name of the summer seminary class I am taking. Unfortunately, the final class is today and I am in Wisconsin. I had made arrangements to webcam in and attend on a fellow student's laptop, but her computer has a virus and its a no go. I ask to attend via cell phone, and she graciously agrees.
Cell phone connection on Concordia's campus is terrible. Calls keep dropping every few minutes, so I arrange to have an old fashioned phone connected in my dorm room. The connection is just about as bad. Sound cuts in and out. The professor keeps asking if I am still there, and I am. It is hard to hear, but I hang in there. Two and a half hours later, my classmate says she is down to a half a bar of battery, and if it cuts out, we will be done.
Somehow, we make it to the finish line and wrap things up before it all goes dark. What a crazy way to complete a class! But then, I suppose you have to be crazy to work on two degrees at the same time! Oh, well. It must be good practice for something.
Cell phone connection on Concordia's campus is terrible. Calls keep dropping every few minutes, so I arrange to have an old fashioned phone connected in my dorm room. The connection is just about as bad. Sound cuts in and out. The professor keeps asking if I am still there, and I am. It is hard to hear, but I hang in there. Two and a half hours later, my classmate says she is down to a half a bar of battery, and if it cuts out, we will be done.
Somehow, we make it to the finish line and wrap things up before it all goes dark. What a crazy way to complete a class! But then, I suppose you have to be crazy to work on two degrees at the same time! Oh, well. It must be good practice for something.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Progress
Seven long years ago when I started my Master of Church Music degree, the choral conducting professor was talking about retiring. Several years ago, while I was busy battling cancer, he did retire, and we were told that we could be grandfathered out under his call-back expertise. But since I dilly dallied around and decided to undergo yet another round of cancer, he really and fully retired.
This means that I will now be working with the new choral conducting director without having taken classes from her except for this year's advanced conducting. Fortunately she realizes that I may not be on her page, especially helpful for when I reach the Written and Oral Comprehensive Exams.
I have never studied under a woman director before. All my teachers have been men. Whether her gender gives us a better rapport or she simply has a style that speaks to me, I don't know. But I can easily say I have better understood and made more progress in two short weeks than in years of trying to figure out how to communicate sound through movement.
Her frank explanations, her patience, her willingness to slow things down until we get it, her clear connection between what we are hearing and how we are moving, her excellent diagnostics - wow. Watching her work with the other students was as enlightening as when she was working with us individually.
Besides all that, she generously met with me everyday to work on the music I will be doing in my recital/concert/service. What a rare and blessed opportunity! I am simply thrilled to be making clear progress.
Sometime in the spring, I will conduct my recital/service. I am calling it "Teach Us To Pray: a Musical Exploration of the Lord's Prayer." This takes each of 7 petitions from the Lord's Prayer and performs a setting of the text from throughout the centuries (from chant to Tavener), an anthem by the choir that elaborates on that aspect of the text, and a congregational hymn that also speaks to the text. Woven throughout will be Luther's shorter catechism on the Lord's Prayer and his hymn of the same.
I'll let people know the date as soon as it gets set. I am very excited about the whole idea. I hope you will all come if you are able and share in our exploration of prayer. I will be videotaping it as well. Yahoo! I may actually be able to do justice to the music.
This means that I will now be working with the new choral conducting director without having taken classes from her except for this year's advanced conducting. Fortunately she realizes that I may not be on her page, especially helpful for when I reach the Written and Oral Comprehensive Exams.
I have never studied under a woman director before. All my teachers have been men. Whether her gender gives us a better rapport or she simply has a style that speaks to me, I don't know. But I can easily say I have better understood and made more progress in two short weeks than in years of trying to figure out how to communicate sound through movement.
Her frank explanations, her patience, her willingness to slow things down until we get it, her clear connection between what we are hearing and how we are moving, her excellent diagnostics - wow. Watching her work with the other students was as enlightening as when she was working with us individually.
Besides all that, she generously met with me everyday to work on the music I will be doing in my recital/concert/service. What a rare and blessed opportunity! I am simply thrilled to be making clear progress.
Sometime in the spring, I will conduct my recital/service. I am calling it "Teach Us To Pray: a Musical Exploration of the Lord's Prayer." This takes each of 7 petitions from the Lord's Prayer and performs a setting of the text from throughout the centuries (from chant to Tavener), an anthem by the choir that elaborates on that aspect of the text, and a congregational hymn that also speaks to the text. Woven throughout will be Luther's shorter catechism on the Lord's Prayer and his hymn of the same.
I'll let people know the date as soon as it gets set. I am very excited about the whole idea. I hope you will all come if you are able and share in our exploration of prayer. I will be videotaping it as well. Yahoo! I may actually be able to do justice to the music.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Driving to Wisconsin
Here we go again. The butterflies in my tummy, the knot in my brain, the angst at having to leave the safety of my sister's place and drive alone to Wisconsin. I thought perhaps I had gotten over the ridiculous and unfounded fears, but, no. It is not as bad, but I am kibitzing about leaving. Something nags at the back of my brain.
I ask Deb to help me check my oil. Kiel wasn't sure when I left home where the level was. Deb looks. She can't tell. She suggests we go to Valvoline where she has her car taken care of. The first mechanic thinks the level is fine. The second mechanic looks and laughs. I am low. He adds the necessary fluid, then, on finding out that I am driving to Wisconsin, checks all the other levels too.
He overinflates my tires a tad, explaining that with the high heat index (105 degrees), its best to do that. He warns me not to speed. Take it easy and you may avoid a tire giving out. I heed his warning and finally bid farewell to Deb and John and with some trepidation, begin the long trek. I am still somewhat ill at ease.
The heat does not help. My arm is burning through the window glass no matter how I try to keep it out of the sun's reach. Every few miles, I see a car pulled to the side of the road, broken down, many with flat tires. AAA must be maxed. Dear God, please be with me and keep me safe. I putz along at barely 65, cars whizzing by. I do not care.
It feels as if I am suspended in time, making precious little progress. At this rate, I will likely find a hotel room for the night and finish the drive in the morning. I pray as I drive along. Traffic slows to a crawl for agonizing miles. An RV is pulled to the side, disabled. Traffic opens up. And with it my heart. Suddenly the unreasonable fear is gone. I do not know why. But I am relieved. Perhaps it just took awhile for me to adjust or process whatever fear was driving my anxiety. Perhaps I have once again come to realize that God is watching over me and all will be well.
All at once I was surprised to find myself in the middle of a windmill farm. Hundreds and hundreds of modern shiny metal windmills dotted the scenery in every direction. Not one of them was turning, but they sure looked impressive, giants protecting the land. Very cool. Who knew such a thing existed as a windmill farm?
I could almost feel my blood pressure lowering. The air began to cool. I stopped for gas, then decided to drive until I was too tired. Lo and behold, I drove on into the night until I reached Concordia somewhere around 11:30, called security to awaken the RA and trucked my stuff down the familiar dorm hallway to my suite. I asked for a single room and they awarded me an entire suite!
I unpack quietly, then roll out my sleeping bag (dorm mattresses are notoriously lumpy) and settle in for some much needed rest. Tomorrow I will plunge into my final class in my Master of Church Music program. It is good to be moving forward once again. I close my eyes and smile at the sound of the crickets chirruping. Sleep comes easily here on the shores of Lake Michigan and on the peace filled convent turned campus.
I ask Deb to help me check my oil. Kiel wasn't sure when I left home where the level was. Deb looks. She can't tell. She suggests we go to Valvoline where she has her car taken care of. The first mechanic thinks the level is fine. The second mechanic looks and laughs. I am low. He adds the necessary fluid, then, on finding out that I am driving to Wisconsin, checks all the other levels too.
He overinflates my tires a tad, explaining that with the high heat index (105 degrees), its best to do that. He warns me not to speed. Take it easy and you may avoid a tire giving out. I heed his warning and finally bid farewell to Deb and John and with some trepidation, begin the long trek. I am still somewhat ill at ease.
The heat does not help. My arm is burning through the window glass no matter how I try to keep it out of the sun's reach. Every few miles, I see a car pulled to the side of the road, broken down, many with flat tires. AAA must be maxed. Dear God, please be with me and keep me safe. I putz along at barely 65, cars whizzing by. I do not care.
It feels as if I am suspended in time, making precious little progress. At this rate, I will likely find a hotel room for the night and finish the drive in the morning. I pray as I drive along. Traffic slows to a crawl for agonizing miles. An RV is pulled to the side, disabled. Traffic opens up. And with it my heart. Suddenly the unreasonable fear is gone. I do not know why. But I am relieved. Perhaps it just took awhile for me to adjust or process whatever fear was driving my anxiety. Perhaps I have once again come to realize that God is watching over me and all will be well.
All at once I was surprised to find myself in the middle of a windmill farm. Hundreds and hundreds of modern shiny metal windmills dotted the scenery in every direction. Not one of them was turning, but they sure looked impressive, giants protecting the land. Very cool. Who knew such a thing existed as a windmill farm?
I could almost feel my blood pressure lowering. The air began to cool. I stopped for gas, then decided to drive until I was too tired. Lo and behold, I drove on into the night until I reached Concordia somewhere around 11:30, called security to awaken the RA and trucked my stuff down the familiar dorm hallway to my suite. I asked for a single room and they awarded me an entire suite!
I unpack quietly, then roll out my sleeping bag (dorm mattresses are notoriously lumpy) and settle in for some much needed rest. Tomorrow I will plunge into my final class in my Master of Church Music program. It is good to be moving forward once again. I close my eyes and smile at the sound of the crickets chirruping. Sleep comes easily here on the shores of Lake Michigan and on the peace filled convent turned campus.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Nashville Orchestra Despite the Flood
We followed the signs to the small college where the Nashville Orchestra was holding a concert. Just days before, the flood had devastated the basement of their building, destroying all their pianos and timpani. Despite their best efforts, they could not get them to the main floor because the power was out and the elevator non functional. Their loss was part of downtown's devastation.
What a treat to go to a concert - Brahms, Beethoven, lovely. Deb looked elegant in her red evening dress and the opal earrings and necklace she had recently purchased when vacationing in Australia and New Zealand. We parked the car and headed toward the ushers stationed along the sidewalk directing us to the auditorium.
At the top of the stairs a small string ensemble played lovely music while we waited in line to enter. The hall was small, the skinny balcony surrounding on three sides filled to overflowing with young people from some music camp. Our seats were comfortable and close to the front. I settled back in anticipation, waiting for the lights to dim and the baton to come down.
From the first note, a sense of coziness and intimacy enfolded us. The small room could barely contain the full sound of the orchestra, but they were wonderful about not overpowering us. The formal informality created such a delicious camaraderie between performers and audience, drawing us in as participants.
One so seldom experiences the "time suspended" sensation, and here we were for several hours cocooned in music oblivious to the passing of time. I love being with my sister, and even though Nashville is new to me, I was not ostracized due to my funny New York accent or my foreign status. Music is, after all, the universal language. I am determined to speak it much more often.
What a treat to go to a concert - Brahms, Beethoven, lovely. Deb looked elegant in her red evening dress and the opal earrings and necklace she had recently purchased when vacationing in Australia and New Zealand. We parked the car and headed toward the ushers stationed along the sidewalk directing us to the auditorium.
At the top of the stairs a small string ensemble played lovely music while we waited in line to enter. The hall was small, the skinny balcony surrounding on three sides filled to overflowing with young people from some music camp. Our seats were comfortable and close to the front. I settled back in anticipation, waiting for the lights to dim and the baton to come down.
From the first note, a sense of coziness and intimacy enfolded us. The small room could barely contain the full sound of the orchestra, but they were wonderful about not overpowering us. The formal informality created such a delicious camaraderie between performers and audience, drawing us in as participants.
One so seldom experiences the "time suspended" sensation, and here we were for several hours cocooned in music oblivious to the passing of time. I love being with my sister, and even though Nashville is new to me, I was not ostracized due to my funny New York accent or my foreign status. Music is, after all, the universal language. I am determined to speak it much more often.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Hot Tubbing
I wiggle into my bathing suit, happy that the boys are not around to mock me out, and tiptoe downstairs to the back patio where Deb has uncovered her hot tub. She pours us sparkling peach juice and we gently slide into the warm water, sighing contentedly.
Ginger, her dog, plays nearby while we chat and soak, lifting our faces to the blue blue sky and laughing as tiny bubbles tickle our legs. It has been eons since Deb and I have had each other to our selves with no other sister or kids or friends about to interrupt our conversation. We leisurely catch up on life, both of us having been through tough spaces lately.
We share our hearts and I remember how Deb met us in NYC when we were traveling home for Michael's funeral. She was in med school and ferried us through a maze of streets while my heart was raw and bleeding, sheltering us from further distress, seeing to our needs as we took our son home for burial.
I remember when Deb returned from a summer in Africa, full of stories about how bad the medical care is over there, how hard life was, how demanding the situations in which she found herself. We talked all night long, so into our conversation we never realized the passing of time. We have done that before, talked all night.
When I had my first bout of cancer, she took massive time off to come be with me, helping with the care of the boys, explaining about medical stuff, just being available. What would I do without this precious sister? She and I are nothing alike. She is NY sophisticated, slender, beautiful, caring. I am frumpy older country pumpkin beaten up by life. Yet we never lack for topics that interest us both.
She could not take the hard places out of my life nor I hers. But I am very fortunate that she has taken time to be invested in my life when I most needed a hand to hold. Sisters can indeed be blessings beyond imagining. Especially when she owns a hot tub!
Ginger, her dog, plays nearby while we chat and soak, lifting our faces to the blue blue sky and laughing as tiny bubbles tickle our legs. It has been eons since Deb and I have had each other to our selves with no other sister or kids or friends about to interrupt our conversation. We leisurely catch up on life, both of us having been through tough spaces lately.
We share our hearts and I remember how Deb met us in NYC when we were traveling home for Michael's funeral. She was in med school and ferried us through a maze of streets while my heart was raw and bleeding, sheltering us from further distress, seeing to our needs as we took our son home for burial.
I remember when Deb returned from a summer in Africa, full of stories about how bad the medical care is over there, how hard life was, how demanding the situations in which she found herself. We talked all night long, so into our conversation we never realized the passing of time. We have done that before, talked all night.
When I had my first bout of cancer, she took massive time off to come be with me, helping with the care of the boys, explaining about medical stuff, just being available. What would I do without this precious sister? She and I are nothing alike. She is NY sophisticated, slender, beautiful, caring. I am frumpy older country pumpkin beaten up by life. Yet we never lack for topics that interest us both.
She could not take the hard places out of my life nor I hers. But I am very fortunate that she has taken time to be invested in my life when I most needed a hand to hold. Sisters can indeed be blessings beyond imagining. Especially when she owns a hot tub!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Steinway
Though my morning began with the same fears of yesterday, I am close to Deb's now. I count the miles, ticking off the number of hours before I will reach the safety of her home and her known surroundings. Silly, really, to think that all the fright will dissipate just because my sister will be with me. But that is how it is.
Family connection, the support and help of another human being, is tremendous. Keep those avenues open and well oiled - in both directions! I arrive around 3pm. I am so happy to see Deb and John, my brother who is staying with her. My blood pressure returns to something resembling normal. Hallelujah. I am safe.
Deb built a house a couple of years ago, and this is the first I have seen it in person. It is absolutely gorgeous. A castle really, on 5 acres of land. I love the stone work and the window space. She has nearly 7,000 sq ft of room filled with warm colors and a kitchen to die for. Not to mention a shower straight out of House Beautiful with shower heads coming at you from every possible angle.
What catches your eye as you enter the front door is a beautiful Steinway grand piano, signed by the elder Steinway. I touch the keys lovingly and the sound is mellow and pleasing. Deb plays me some music and it floats up the stairwell and fills the house with joy. The piano is the anchor of this structure, housed in the lower level of the library and casting an elegant tone both literally and figuratively.
I once had a Steinway, a piano abandoned at a moving company, a piano with a sad story. It seems that the moving company somehow lost the legs to the piano, and had to pay to replace the entire piano for the people who had entrusted it to their care since alternate legs could not be found to match the rest of the instrument. The owner of the moving company took a terrible loss on it, and tucked it away out of sight.
I happened to run across it one day and asked about it. He told me that if I paid to move it I could have the darn thing and good riddance. I was ecstatic. I found a friend with a trailer who was willing to help and we moved the legless wonder to my apartment. I propped it up on cement blocks (who cares about appearances - I wanted the sound) and was overjoyed to become the new owner of a Steinway!
It too was an anchor in my tiny apartment and served me well. Sound is such heart medicine, whether from a beat up abandoned piano or a spanking new Steinway. And today, I am happy for the soul soothing. Sigh. My heart is much happier thinking on music than stressing over unfounded fears.
Family connection, the support and help of another human being, is tremendous. Keep those avenues open and well oiled - in both directions! I arrive around 3pm. I am so happy to see Deb and John, my brother who is staying with her. My blood pressure returns to something resembling normal. Hallelujah. I am safe.
Deb built a house a couple of years ago, and this is the first I have seen it in person. It is absolutely gorgeous. A castle really, on 5 acres of land. I love the stone work and the window space. She has nearly 7,000 sq ft of room filled with warm colors and a kitchen to die for. Not to mention a shower straight out of House Beautiful with shower heads coming at you from every possible angle.
What catches your eye as you enter the front door is a beautiful Steinway grand piano, signed by the elder Steinway. I touch the keys lovingly and the sound is mellow and pleasing. Deb plays me some music and it floats up the stairwell and fills the house with joy. The piano is the anchor of this structure, housed in the lower level of the library and casting an elegant tone both literally and figuratively.
I once had a Steinway, a piano abandoned at a moving company, a piano with a sad story. It seems that the moving company somehow lost the legs to the piano, and had to pay to replace the entire piano for the people who had entrusted it to their care since alternate legs could not be found to match the rest of the instrument. The owner of the moving company took a terrible loss on it, and tucked it away out of sight.
I happened to run across it one day and asked about it. He told me that if I paid to move it I could have the darn thing and good riddance. I was ecstatic. I found a friend with a trailer who was willing to help and we moved the legless wonder to my apartment. I propped it up on cement blocks (who cares about appearances - I wanted the sound) and was overjoyed to become the new owner of a Steinway!
It too was an anchor in my tiny apartment and served me well. Sound is such heart medicine, whether from a beat up abandoned piano or a spanking new Steinway. And today, I am happy for the soul soothing. Sigh. My heart is much happier thinking on music than stressing over unfounded fears.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Driving to Deb's
What in the world is wrong with me? I suddenly find myself terrified to drive to my sister's place in Tennessee. Good grief. Negative thoughts flood my head. A litany of "what if's" insist on streaming non-stop through my mind.
What if the car breaks down? What if you throw a rod? What if your tires explode? What if your brakes give out? What if you have a terrible accident? What if someone steals your purse? What if an 18 wheeler runs over you? What if your port suddenly blows up? What if another tooth falls out? What if you suddenly have a relapse? What if you have a kidney stone?
I have never encountered such a problem stemming an ocean of negativity. What gives? I think about it. I remember after Dad had his by pass surgery, he didn't want to go far from home, didn't want to get beyond the help of doctors who knew his case, who could step in and do whatever was necessary to prevent such a thing from hitting him again.
I know my druthers would be to curl up in my little apartment and never stray far from home again. I also know that if I don't push myself to go, I could get stuck battling a far stronger homing urge than I want to deal with. Go now before it conquers your freedom. Go with God. Learn to trust despite foreign situations.
So you are far from the mechanic you trust. That doesn't mean you will be stranded in some strange city with no help available. You are so set up to connect with friendly faces - cell phone, laptop, AAA. Not to worry. Put your trust in the goodness of God and know that just because you have had some tough stuff happen, that doesn't mean that every experience will be challenging. If some health issue surfaces, count yourself lucky to be driving in America where health care is readily available.
Despite my arguing with myself constantly, despite playing a CD of encouraging hymns, despite putting in a CD of Scripture being read by James Earl Jones, the negative thoughts just keep coming. I was totally unprepared for this battle. My blood pressure must be through the roof. I find myself clenching the steering wheel until my fingers ache.
What am I so afraid of? Where did this come from? I do not know. I just keep driving farther and farther from the safety of my little community, farther and farther into the unknown. On some level, I understand that everything will be fine. When at long last I pull over and check into a hotel for the night, I face new fears.
What if someone damages my car while I sleep? What if someone breaks into my room and hurts me? What if the trunk of my car gets broken into and all my stuff gets stolen? On and on and on the crazy thoughts go. How ridiculous. I hang on to and keep repeating Psalm 4:8 - I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.
And so I finally drift off, suspended in a world of angst. This too shall pass. I know it to be true. This too shall pass.
What if the car breaks down? What if you throw a rod? What if your tires explode? What if your brakes give out? What if you have a terrible accident? What if someone steals your purse? What if an 18 wheeler runs over you? What if your port suddenly blows up? What if another tooth falls out? What if you suddenly have a relapse? What if you have a kidney stone?
I have never encountered such a problem stemming an ocean of negativity. What gives? I think about it. I remember after Dad had his by pass surgery, he didn't want to go far from home, didn't want to get beyond the help of doctors who knew his case, who could step in and do whatever was necessary to prevent such a thing from hitting him again.
I know my druthers would be to curl up in my little apartment and never stray far from home again. I also know that if I don't push myself to go, I could get stuck battling a far stronger homing urge than I want to deal with. Go now before it conquers your freedom. Go with God. Learn to trust despite foreign situations.
So you are far from the mechanic you trust. That doesn't mean you will be stranded in some strange city with no help available. You are so set up to connect with friendly faces - cell phone, laptop, AAA. Not to worry. Put your trust in the goodness of God and know that just because you have had some tough stuff happen, that doesn't mean that every experience will be challenging. If some health issue surfaces, count yourself lucky to be driving in America where health care is readily available.
Despite my arguing with myself constantly, despite playing a CD of encouraging hymns, despite putting in a CD of Scripture being read by James Earl Jones, the negative thoughts just keep coming. I was totally unprepared for this battle. My blood pressure must be through the roof. I find myself clenching the steering wheel until my fingers ache.
What am I so afraid of? Where did this come from? I do not know. I just keep driving farther and farther from the safety of my little community, farther and farther into the unknown. On some level, I understand that everything will be fine. When at long last I pull over and check into a hotel for the night, I face new fears.
What if someone damages my car while I sleep? What if someone breaks into my room and hurts me? What if the trunk of my car gets broken into and all my stuff gets stolen? On and on and on the crazy thoughts go. How ridiculous. I hang on to and keep repeating Psalm 4:8 - I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.
And so I finally drift off, suspended in a world of angst. This too shall pass. I know it to be true. This too shall pass.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Vitamin B12 Shot
Flagging, dragging, running on empty, call it whatever you will. I am in desperate need of an energy boost. It has only been four weeks since my first shot of B 12, but I could have used a refill more than a week ago. I wonder if I can convince them to shoot me more often?
I am surprised to hear the nurse tell me that the first shot I got was doubled in order to jump start the process. This one will have less impact. Oh, no. That can't be good. Don't they know that I am going out of town and will need every ounce of energy I can muster? I want to beg for special consideration, but I can't bring myself to plead my cause.
As with the first shot, there is no instant boost. I suppose it will gradually bolster the energy levels. I am definitely not falling as far down the tired slope as I used to. Still, I want a magic pill, something more akin to rocket fuel. Ah, me. Perhaps I shall just have to continue at a mortal pace and learn to be content with that.
I am surprised to hear the nurse tell me that the first shot I got was doubled in order to jump start the process. This one will have less impact. Oh, no. That can't be good. Don't they know that I am going out of town and will need every ounce of energy I can muster? I want to beg for special consideration, but I can't bring myself to plead my cause.
As with the first shot, there is no instant boost. I suppose it will gradually bolster the energy levels. I am definitely not falling as far down the tired slope as I used to. Still, I want a magic pill, something more akin to rocket fuel. Ah, me. Perhaps I shall just have to continue at a mortal pace and learn to be content with that.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Lunch Date
Girls day out. We struggle to find a time when the three of us can get away. Summer has no down time in our library. Projects, projects, projects galore. We set a date, then cancel. Set another one, cancel again. Life just keeps us hopping.
At long last, we find a time to "do lunch." Even then, we come from different places and meet at Panera's. Stand in line. Order. Take your pager. Get your drink. Pick up the food. SIT! At last, we have landed and are able to take a deep breath.
We happily chat and munch, catching up on kids, summer plans, life issues, health concerns. How wonderful to connect away from the bustle of the workplace. Too soon the hour flies by and we must return to the hurry scurry of a day teeming with life. It was good to be together. We will do it again soon.
At long last, we find a time to "do lunch." Even then, we come from different places and meet at Panera's. Stand in line. Order. Take your pager. Get your drink. Pick up the food. SIT! At last, we have landed and are able to take a deep breath.
We happily chat and munch, catching up on kids, summer plans, life issues, health concerns. How wonderful to connect away from the bustle of the workplace. Too soon the hour flies by and we must return to the hurry scurry of a day teeming with life. It was good to be together. We will do it again soon.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Purple Tree Hangers
What are these crazy looking purple boxes dangling from trees? They are cropping up everywhere. I first spotted the triangular boxy affair hanging from a tree on Buffalo Road in a wooded area. Is this some new fangled bee trap? Or a new way to address some pest infestation that is destroying a particular type of tree, like the old Dutch Elm disease thing?
Maybe it serves to hide food from the bears, but no, there isn't enough room inside to store any amount of edible goodies. I have to ask, why purple? They neither stand out from the green of the forest nor are camouflaged.
OK, all you outdoors types. I am sure some sportsman or environmentalist somewhere could shed light on these elusive purple tree hangers. Please fill me in. What on earth are these plate sized purple things? Do tell.
Maybe it serves to hide food from the bears, but no, there isn't enough room inside to store any amount of edible goodies. I have to ask, why purple? They neither stand out from the green of the forest nor are camouflaged.
OK, all you outdoors types. I am sure some sportsman or environmentalist somewhere could shed light on these elusive purple tree hangers. Please fill me in. What on earth are these plate sized purple things? Do tell.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Sleeping In
I cannot believe it! NOTHING is on my calendar! No kids at home, no responsibilities to meet, no work to get to, no papers to write that are due immediately, no plans to hatch, no house to clean, no laundry climbing the walls, no dirty dishes - what is this world coming to!
There is nothing forcing me to arise and get about the business of the day. SO I DON'T! I open my eyes at my usual early time, realize I am free, roll over, and veg. Marvelous! This is a definite repeat activity. I lallygag about until almost 10am before I finally haul myself out and putter about.
Sugar is confused, but agreeable. Let's not do anything. We take a long leisurely walk about. We make ice tea and drink long cold glassfulls. We read for FUN. We chat on the phone with a few friends. Ooohhh. So nice not to have to jump through anyone else's hoops. Can it be that people do this often? I would love to have more free days to enjoy.
My body is happy to have some down time to work on recuperation. Me too. My soul is refreshed with quietness and slowing down. I should definitely do this more often.
There is nothing forcing me to arise and get about the business of the day. SO I DON'T! I open my eyes at my usual early time, realize I am free, roll over, and veg. Marvelous! This is a definite repeat activity. I lallygag about until almost 10am before I finally haul myself out and putter about.
Sugar is confused, but agreeable. Let's not do anything. We take a long leisurely walk about. We make ice tea and drink long cold glassfulls. We read for FUN. We chat on the phone with a few friends. Ooohhh. So nice not to have to jump through anyone else's hoops. Can it be that people do this often? I would love to have more free days to enjoy.
My body is happy to have some down time to work on recuperation. Me too. My soul is refreshed with quietness and slowing down. I should definitely do this more often.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Midnight Flight
It's time. I must let Ramseyes go back to his own little beddie bye, his own sweet Mom and Dad. No more kissing chubby cheeks and nuzzling "fresh from the tub" baby sweetness. No more giggling and laughing and chattering. No more reading books to wide eyed quietness. No more sticky hugs and sharing snacks.
We debate about the best way to transport the little man and agree that traveling at night is easier for a not-quite-two-year-old. So Kiel packs the car and gears up for staying awake late into the night while Ramseyes works out the wiggles and kinks by running around, chasing Sugarbear, and making a final mess, scattering cereal about and tossing toys.
Drew packs and plans to spend some time with Dad, his return train ticket carefully tucked in his wallet. Kiel will pick up a newer car from his connection out there as well. Three men in a car. Generational family strength. Fleeing at midnight to worlds unknown, adventures awaiting, excitement calling.
And I, I sit alone in the quietness after they leave and pray. Keep them safe, Lord. Lead them through the darkness and for all their lives. I am content to stay home and let go. They will do just fine.
We debate about the best way to transport the little man and agree that traveling at night is easier for a not-quite-two-year-old. So Kiel packs the car and gears up for staying awake late into the night while Ramseyes works out the wiggles and kinks by running around, chasing Sugarbear, and making a final mess, scattering cereal about and tossing toys.
Drew packs and plans to spend some time with Dad, his return train ticket carefully tucked in his wallet. Kiel will pick up a newer car from his connection out there as well. Three men in a car. Generational family strength. Fleeing at midnight to worlds unknown, adventures awaiting, excitement calling.
And I, I sit alone in the quietness after they leave and pray. Keep them safe, Lord. Lead them through the darkness and for all their lives. I am content to stay home and let go. They will do just fine.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Bridal Shower
It's a banner year for weddings! Four of our student workers are engaged and will be getting married in the next year or so. Today, we organized a little shower for the young woman who is getting married in just a few days.
We gathered in the Fireside Reading Room where punch, a beautifully decorated cake and coffee welcomed us. We had selected a few items from her registry list and wrapped them, filed a few favorite recipes in a recipe box, and surprised her completely. She had been asked to walk around and record building usage statistics, a bogus errand, and when she got to the Fireside Room, we all yelled surprise! She was!
We drilled her with questions. How did he propose? Where is the wedding being held? What does your dress look like? Where are you going on your honeymoon? Those of us who were married reminisced about our weddings and shared stories about how we were proposed to. Some were romantic down-on-his-knee stories, and others more pragmatic. How fun to hear each person's experience, to catch the wistful "those were the days" tone of voice.
For over an hour we stepped into that wonderful world of rite of passage conversation, blocking the real world from our heads as we partook of the beautifully decorated cake (one of our staff created a marzipan flowered delight in the bride's chosen colors) and indulged in a duet of memory lane and dreams yet to come.
Remembering . . . back when the world was simple and the responsibilities not overwhelming. Back before children complicated life and scary bumps in the road were encountered and moving happened and stress and jobs. Back when dreams could come true and every day was bliss and no one argued about which way the toilet paper should hang.
Dreaming . . . ahead to where the happy couple will live and work and build a life together. Ahead to how many children they hope to have, how they will connect with grandparents, what they will accomplish, just two together.
I haven't been to a bridal shower in a long time. Its good to participate in life this way, to remember, to dream again, to share this link of commonality. Sigh. Ah, how refreshing.
We gathered in the Fireside Reading Room where punch, a beautifully decorated cake and coffee welcomed us. We had selected a few items from her registry list and wrapped them, filed a few favorite recipes in a recipe box, and surprised her completely. She had been asked to walk around and record building usage statistics, a bogus errand, and when she got to the Fireside Room, we all yelled surprise! She was!
We drilled her with questions. How did he propose? Where is the wedding being held? What does your dress look like? Where are you going on your honeymoon? Those of us who were married reminisced about our weddings and shared stories about how we were proposed to. Some were romantic down-on-his-knee stories, and others more pragmatic. How fun to hear each person's experience, to catch the wistful "those were the days" tone of voice.
For over an hour we stepped into that wonderful world of rite of passage conversation, blocking the real world from our heads as we partook of the beautifully decorated cake (one of our staff created a marzipan flowered delight in the bride's chosen colors) and indulged in a duet of memory lane and dreams yet to come.
Remembering . . . back when the world was simple and the responsibilities not overwhelming. Back before children complicated life and scary bumps in the road were encountered and moving happened and stress and jobs. Back when dreams could come true and every day was bliss and no one argued about which way the toilet paper should hang.
Dreaming . . . ahead to where the happy couple will live and work and build a life together. Ahead to how many children they hope to have, how they will connect with grandparents, what they will accomplish, just two together.
I haven't been to a bridal shower in a long time. Its good to participate in life this way, to remember, to dream again, to share this link of commonality. Sigh. Ah, how refreshing.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Hallelujah!
Today is a banner day. This morning at 9:30 am I mailed Jairus House's application for 501c3 status to the IRS! Yeah, yeah and yahoo! This has been such a long time coming. I am truly blessed to be working with a very competent consultant, Paul Mastrodonato of nonprofitworks. He has helped me wade through everything, knew just what questions to ask, explained what the process would be, helped me know the best way to word things, made excellent suggestions as to what the website should reflect, then filled out the paperwork.
Yesterday, I signed the paperwork, wrote the check, and this morning, I MAILED IT OFF!!! Paul says its possible that by end of summer we will be approved. He doesn't foresee any blocks, which he has a good sense of since he has helped a number of organizations get their approval. What a joy to work with someone so helpful. If anyone out there is thinking of starting up a not for profit organization, I highly recommend his services.
So the waiting begins. The application will be assigned to a case worker once it is received. They will get in contact with us with any questions or requests for further information. It's all good. Stay tuned for further updates. Meanwhile, I am working on a summer video project.
I am writing Morning and Evening Prayers for People Undergoing Chemotherapy. This is the first volume of what I hope will be a helpful DVD series. I want to record it in the chapel at the seminary at Nazareth College - a beautiful space. There will be prayers on rising, prayers at midday, and prayers before retiring that focus on preparing for chemo, undergoing chemo, and after chemo - a week's worth of meditations taken from the Psalms, from the prayers of holy people of the past, and including sung Lord's Prayers and Gloria Patria's.
It's similar to Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours, but addressing the things a cancer patient would encounter as they consider and undergo chemo. Some of the passages are chanted, others read, others sung. I have already begun to enlist people with resonant voices or peaceful demeanors to assist. I hope to have both a written version and a "performed" version on DVD. Someone suggested for future DVD's that I ask cancer patients and survivors to read/chant/sing. Great idea. I will look into it.
Yesterday, I signed the paperwork, wrote the check, and this morning, I MAILED IT OFF!!! Paul says its possible that by end of summer we will be approved. He doesn't foresee any blocks, which he has a good sense of since he has helped a number of organizations get their approval. What a joy to work with someone so helpful. If anyone out there is thinking of starting up a not for profit organization, I highly recommend his services.
So the waiting begins. The application will be assigned to a case worker once it is received. They will get in contact with us with any questions or requests for further information. It's all good. Stay tuned for further updates. Meanwhile, I am working on a summer video project.
I am writing Morning and Evening Prayers for People Undergoing Chemotherapy. This is the first volume of what I hope will be a helpful DVD series. I want to record it in the chapel at the seminary at Nazareth College - a beautiful space. There will be prayers on rising, prayers at midday, and prayers before retiring that focus on preparing for chemo, undergoing chemo, and after chemo - a week's worth of meditations taken from the Psalms, from the prayers of holy people of the past, and including sung Lord's Prayers and Gloria Patria's.
It's similar to Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours, but addressing the things a cancer patient would encounter as they consider and undergo chemo. Some of the passages are chanted, others read, others sung. I have already begun to enlist people with resonant voices or peaceful demeanors to assist. I hope to have both a written version and a "performed" version on DVD. Someone suggested for future DVD's that I ask cancer patients and survivors to read/chant/sing. Great idea. I will look into it.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Stigmata
This week's assignment is to read a ton of poetry, then write our own poem to share with the class. Here is the one I wrote. Warning, its a bit bleak.
June 8, 2010
Stigmata
Radiation tattoos riveted to my hips
Become my Juden armband.
I am marked.
As if my chemo naked head,
My gray leathered skin,
The thousand bottles of drugs on my dresser
Signs too small to warn.
Turn aside. Don’t look. Don’t risk knowing.
I bear in my body the torture of experiments
Debilitating as Dachau,
Quietly endure bioptic chunks of flesh carved out.
You could die, my papers say; others have.
I am forced to sign consent,
To march to the chambers unaided.
To willingly stretch out my arms for stabbing,
To calmly submit while they chop and slice, radiate and sterilize.
To swallow their poison as if it were milkshake wholesome.
My body slides into the maw of a hundred scanners
Like so much tortured refuse stuffed into Auschwitz ovens.
I hang suspended between hope and death
Suffering quiet agony while onlookers stare and worry.
I bleed.
I cry.
I thirst.
I nearly die.
God, have you forsaken me?
Into the silence He suddenly slips,
Surrounding me with sinewy arms.
His wounds overwrite mine, obliterate the horror.
His love enwombs me, cocoons me.
I am not alone.
He has been in this valley before.
On the other side radiation tattoos translate to envious accolades of honor
Beyond what this dastardly dimension dare demand.
I slip my wounded self into his nail scarred hands and walk on.
June 8, 2010
Stigmata
Radiation tattoos riveted to my hips
Become my Juden armband.
I am marked.
As if my chemo naked head,
My gray leathered skin,
The thousand bottles of drugs on my dresser
Signs too small to warn.
Turn aside. Don’t look. Don’t risk knowing.
I bear in my body the torture of experiments
Debilitating as Dachau,
Quietly endure bioptic chunks of flesh carved out.
You could die, my papers say; others have.
I am forced to sign consent,
To march to the chambers unaided.
To willingly stretch out my arms for stabbing,
To calmly submit while they chop and slice, radiate and sterilize.
To swallow their poison as if it were milkshake wholesome.
My body slides into the maw of a hundred scanners
Like so much tortured refuse stuffed into Auschwitz ovens.
I hang suspended between hope and death
Suffering quiet agony while onlookers stare and worry.
I bleed.
I cry.
I thirst.
I nearly die.
God, have you forsaken me?
Into the silence He suddenly slips,
Surrounding me with sinewy arms.
His wounds overwrite mine, obliterate the horror.
His love enwombs me, cocoons me.
I am not alone.
He has been in this valley before.
On the other side radiation tattoos translate to envious accolades of honor
Beyond what this dastardly dimension dare demand.
I slip my wounded self into his nail scarred hands and walk on.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Writing History
One of this summer's projects is to come up with a history of the library here at Roberts Wesleyan College and Northeastern Seminary. Somehow I assumed that people who have been working here for decades would just know it off the top of their heads. Silly me.
I asked the person who serves as archivist if he could throw something together so that we could put it on our website. After a year or so, I realized that his plate is too full for this relatively low level project and that if I want a history, I need to schedule time with him to hammer it out. He brought ancient books to our meeting, handwritten reports and accession books and histories. No one has ever tackled this project. It will have to be constructed from scratch.
OK. I can deal with that. I will work with him to pull information together. I create a table so we can match dates with events and people. But hunting through the rhetoric for clues about book collections proves elusive. Our hours produce a scant bare bones skeleton. We have way more questions than answers. Even the documents seem to be in conflict.
Gradually the scope of this project hits me. This is a dissertation! This requires wading through primary documents written for purposes other than ours for clues and references. It will take some time and patience. The archivist, having outlined the need, turns it over to me with a smile. No wonder he had not responded.
But I am interested enough to keep wading. While I am scarcely of a historian bent, this particular project is intriguing. Be the first to pull it together! Besides, once I have the framework and some narrative, I can run it past the experts who will be able to spot the discrepancies and gaps.
So here I sit ensconced in notebooks and yearbooks and documentation, sleuthing out details and tracking down statistics. Not what I envisioned for this summer, but, hey, at least its interesting.
I asked the person who serves as archivist if he could throw something together so that we could put it on our website. After a year or so, I realized that his plate is too full for this relatively low level project and that if I want a history, I need to schedule time with him to hammer it out. He brought ancient books to our meeting, handwritten reports and accession books and histories. No one has ever tackled this project. It will have to be constructed from scratch.
OK. I can deal with that. I will work with him to pull information together. I create a table so we can match dates with events and people. But hunting through the rhetoric for clues about book collections proves elusive. Our hours produce a scant bare bones skeleton. We have way more questions than answers. Even the documents seem to be in conflict.
Gradually the scope of this project hits me. This is a dissertation! This requires wading through primary documents written for purposes other than ours for clues and references. It will take some time and patience. The archivist, having outlined the need, turns it over to me with a smile. No wonder he had not responded.
But I am interested enough to keep wading. While I am scarcely of a historian bent, this particular project is intriguing. Be the first to pull it together! Besides, once I have the framework and some narrative, I can run it past the experts who will be able to spot the discrepancies and gaps.
So here I sit ensconced in notebooks and yearbooks and documentation, sleuthing out details and tracking down statistics. Not what I envisioned for this summer, but, hey, at least its interesting.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Early to Bed
What is the matter with me? I am so tired. I wanted to do laundry today after church, but I come home, eat lunch, then lay down for a nap. I toss and turn, reading a bit, then snoozing, then starting awake again. My skin crawls and I can't seem to either have energy to get up or calmness enough to sleep. Bah.
The clock near my bed continues to crawl ahead. Hours are passing and they seem like minutes. I should really be doing something. Walk the dog. Play with the baby. Check on Drew. But I lay there and fuss instead. I don't want to get up. Its too early to go to bed. I'm not hungry. In fact, I am a bit nauseous. Maybe a cold drink will help. I wander out to the kitchen and pour myself a tall glass of cold water and gulp it straight down. Good, but not enough. I fill the glass again. Now I am too full to drink.
My skin feels tight and dry. My mouth is cottony. I can hardly see straight. Pooh. I hate this. I don't know what's wrong or how to move beyond it. I finally give up, make a piece of toast to quell my queasy tummy, then go to bed for the night. Let the chips fall where they may. CancerCare told me there would be days like this. Tomorrow will be better. It always is.
The clock near my bed continues to crawl ahead. Hours are passing and they seem like minutes. I should really be doing something. Walk the dog. Play with the baby. Check on Drew. But I lay there and fuss instead. I don't want to get up. Its too early to go to bed. I'm not hungry. In fact, I am a bit nauseous. Maybe a cold drink will help. I wander out to the kitchen and pour myself a tall glass of cold water and gulp it straight down. Good, but not enough. I fill the glass again. Now I am too full to drink.
My skin feels tight and dry. My mouth is cottony. I can hardly see straight. Pooh. I hate this. I don't know what's wrong or how to move beyond it. I finally give up, make a piece of toast to quell my queasy tummy, then go to bed for the night. Let the chips fall where they may. CancerCare told me there would be days like this. Tomorrow will be better. It always is.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Bathtime
Last time Ramseyes visited, he wailed and bawled the whole time we were giving him a bath. I dreaded going through that again. I didn't want anyone thinking I was torturing the poor soul. I cautiously fill the tub bottom with bubble bath water, checking to make sure the water is just the right temperature (translate, plunge your wrist in there). I gathered floating toys including a little duckie. Towels are standing at the ready.
I scoop peanut up and cart him into the bathroom where I proceed to strip off his shorts, tee shirt, shoes, socks and diaper. Gently, I lower him into the sloppy water. He squeals - with delight! He splashes the water, pounding with both hands until the walls and everything else are drenched. He scootches back and forth, slopping water over the side of the tub, chattering happily.
I fill a cup and every so slyly dribble it over his back and shoulders, hoping to work my way up to the hair. He turns round and round trying to escape the shower. He grabs the cup and I let him play, hoping he will end up dumping water over his own head. All at once the cup slips and he douses his face. He jumps up, cramming his fists into his eyes and gasping for air.
Uh-oh. I hold my breath, fearful that he will be too scared to continue. But he sits back down, locates the duck, and begins a new game. Whew! Eventually, we get his hair as clean as the rest of him. Imagine my surprise when I pull the plug and rinse him off. NOW he screams. He has no intention of having bathtime come to an end.
What a switch. He can no more keep an even perspective than I can.
I scoop peanut up and cart him into the bathroom where I proceed to strip off his shorts, tee shirt, shoes, socks and diaper. Gently, I lower him into the sloppy water. He squeals - with delight! He splashes the water, pounding with both hands until the walls and everything else are drenched. He scootches back and forth, slopping water over the side of the tub, chattering happily.
I fill a cup and every so slyly dribble it over his back and shoulders, hoping to work my way up to the hair. He turns round and round trying to escape the shower. He grabs the cup and I let him play, hoping he will end up dumping water over his own head. All at once the cup slips and he douses his face. He jumps up, cramming his fists into his eyes and gasping for air.
Uh-oh. I hold my breath, fearful that he will be too scared to continue. But he sits back down, locates the duck, and begins a new game. Whew! Eventually, we get his hair as clean as the rest of him. Imagine my surprise when I pull the plug and rinse him off. NOW he screams. He has no intention of having bathtime come to an end.
What a switch. He can no more keep an even perspective than I can.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Sugar Craze
Soft rain pattered against my window when I retired for the evening. Ramseyes will only settle down if you turn off the lights and go out of the room, and since he is sleeping in the living room, it makes a wonderful excuse to retire early. The other boys hole up in their room and watch movies, but I read a bit, then succumb to heavy eyelids by shutting them and drifting off.
Somewhere in the middle of the night in the dark, I am awakened by my bed shaking. Half asleep, I kick whatever it is and roll over, unwilling to come fully to. But the shaking does not subside. Those boys, I mutter. What are they doing?
It is not the boys. I hear a soft whimper and I realize that Sugar has let herself out of her tent and is cowering at the foot of my bed. Every brilliant flash of lightning makes her shiver. Every roar of thunder makes her shake. Poor baby. After being chased around and harassed by Ramseyes all day, she gets no peace now.
Gently, I nudge her back into her tent and tuck in her favorite chew toy. I pile the blanket around her and talk softly. "Poor baby. Don't be afraid. Its just a little storm. It can't hurt you." I lie back in bed, leaving my hand over the side where she can see it. She settles down, stops shaking, and only whimpers when the really loud and bright storm breaks through.
The whole time I am quieting her, I realize that is just what God has been doing with me recently as possibilities of further harm from my cancer treatment have cropped up. Don't be afraid. Ultimately, it can't hurt you. It's just a storm. It will stop soon. And He leaves evidence of His presence around so I will know He is close by, reassuring me that I am not alone in the dark.
Somewhere in the middle of the night in the dark, I am awakened by my bed shaking. Half asleep, I kick whatever it is and roll over, unwilling to come fully to. But the shaking does not subside. Those boys, I mutter. What are they doing?
It is not the boys. I hear a soft whimper and I realize that Sugar has let herself out of her tent and is cowering at the foot of my bed. Every brilliant flash of lightning makes her shiver. Every roar of thunder makes her shake. Poor baby. After being chased around and harassed by Ramseyes all day, she gets no peace now.
Gently, I nudge her back into her tent and tuck in her favorite chew toy. I pile the blanket around her and talk softly. "Poor baby. Don't be afraid. Its just a little storm. It can't hurt you." I lie back in bed, leaving my hand over the side where she can see it. She settles down, stops shaking, and only whimpers when the really loud and bright storm breaks through.
The whole time I am quieting her, I realize that is just what God has been doing with me recently as possibilities of further harm from my cancer treatment have cropped up. Don't be afraid. Ultimately, it can't hurt you. It's just a storm. It will stop soon. And He leaves evidence of His presence around so I will know He is close by, reassuring me that I am not alone in the dark.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Banquet Blessings
I have never been to the Casa Larga Vineyards Restaurant, but that is where the Rochester Regional Library Council holds its annual meeting, and the entire staff of our library has been invited to celebrate our award of academic library of the year. We drive together to the east side of the city and are pleasantly surprised to discover a beautiful building over looking a small field of grape vines.
Inside is elegant and spacious with lots of windows. You would think yourself in sunny France. I am surprised to learn that our party is small. Somehow I thought the Board and staff would have "shareholders" in attendance, or supporters - a crowd of interested attendees. No, there is the Board of a half dozen, the staff about the same size, our group and a similar sized group from the winners of the public library and school library categories.
We chat as we look out over the beautiful fields, then are seated as the event begins. The wonderful aromas of food greet us and we are invited to the smorgasbord table to indulge in a filling repast. A delightful assortment of dishes greet us and we all load our plates to the groaning point. Conversation and palate experience are engaging.
Once we complete our meal with hot tea or coffee and brownies, we settle down while the Board holds it few items of business, then moves on to the recognition of award winners. I have the good fortune of sitting next to one of the more active Board members, and enjoy hearing about his ventures and experiences. He is a professor at Nazareth College and a wonderful conversationalist.
Sigh. Such a great afternoon, I hate to wind down and head back to work. But all good things eventually come to a close, and we drive off feeling totally blessed and uplifted. Not to mention I made some new friends and connections to projects I think would be helpful for us. Time though to come down from the mountaintop and reconnoiter in the trenches.
Thursdays can be so fulfilling.
Inside is elegant and spacious with lots of windows. You would think yourself in sunny France. I am surprised to learn that our party is small. Somehow I thought the Board and staff would have "shareholders" in attendance, or supporters - a crowd of interested attendees. No, there is the Board of a half dozen, the staff about the same size, our group and a similar sized group from the winners of the public library and school library categories.
We chat as we look out over the beautiful fields, then are seated as the event begins. The wonderful aromas of food greet us and we are invited to the smorgasbord table to indulge in a filling repast. A delightful assortment of dishes greet us and we all load our plates to the groaning point. Conversation and palate experience are engaging.
Once we complete our meal with hot tea or coffee and brownies, we settle down while the Board holds it few items of business, then moves on to the recognition of award winners. I have the good fortune of sitting next to one of the more active Board members, and enjoy hearing about his ventures and experiences. He is a professor at Nazareth College and a wonderful conversationalist.
Sigh. Such a great afternoon, I hate to wind down and head back to work. But all good things eventually come to a close, and we drive off feeling totally blessed and uplifted. Not to mention I made some new friends and connections to projects I think would be helpful for us. Time though to come down from the mountaintop and reconnoiter in the trenches.
Thursdays can be so fulfilling.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Surprise!
"Better sit down, Mom," Kiel warned me last night when I finally got home. Uh-oh. Now what? In the past, that has preceded some statement like, "I just got married." I am relieved to learn it's not that. Actually, Mark has asked Kiel to come and get Ramseyes and baby sit for a couple of weeks. He and Faith have to get some things back under control, and they just need to be free of baby care for a bit.
O, boy. My mind immediately runs the gamut of ramifications of such an act. Of course, there is no question about whether or not we will help. But there are so many things to consider. Not the least of which is the impact on this poor little fellow who does not know any of us very well. Never mind. We will deal.
Being something of a mini crisis, Kiel heads out as soon as he lowers the boom and gets my OK. I go to bed praying and praying and praying. Lord, have mercy. I do not have the energy to deal with baby proofing my place at the end of a very long day, not to mention we are still in somewhat of a mess from our recent foray to NC.
Thank God I have more energy this morning. Still, it will take something of a miracle for me to be able to do all that needs to be done before I head off to work, not to mention staying upright until my shift ends at 9 pm. Kiel has to be back before 3:30 so he can get to work and how will this young man settle in with all the stuff happening?
God is gracious. I manage to set the house to rights and baby proof just in time to head out to work. Sometime around 4 Kiel's girlfriend appears in the library with a baby stroller and an very wiggly little boy. He is happy to be picked up and greeted and introduced around, but has no patience to be still for long. Andrea heads out to campus to let him run off the long drive.
Am I up to this? Lord only knows. Good thing Mark asked Kiel and not me even though I will definitely be impacted. I am pretty sure I can't keep up with this little bundle of energy! I think of the people I know who as grandparents ended up raising a child or two in their twilight years. I give them great respect. This is not an easy task, even for a few weeks.
Nevertheless, I will do what I can and enjoy him while he is here. Perhaps we will both grow a bit.
O, boy. My mind immediately runs the gamut of ramifications of such an act. Of course, there is no question about whether or not we will help. But there are so many things to consider. Not the least of which is the impact on this poor little fellow who does not know any of us very well. Never mind. We will deal.
Being something of a mini crisis, Kiel heads out as soon as he lowers the boom and gets my OK. I go to bed praying and praying and praying. Lord, have mercy. I do not have the energy to deal with baby proofing my place at the end of a very long day, not to mention we are still in somewhat of a mess from our recent foray to NC.
Thank God I have more energy this morning. Still, it will take something of a miracle for me to be able to do all that needs to be done before I head off to work, not to mention staying upright until my shift ends at 9 pm. Kiel has to be back before 3:30 so he can get to work and how will this young man settle in with all the stuff happening?
God is gracious. I manage to set the house to rights and baby proof just in time to head out to work. Sometime around 4 Kiel's girlfriend appears in the library with a baby stroller and an very wiggly little boy. He is happy to be picked up and greeted and introduced around, but has no patience to be still for long. Andrea heads out to campus to let him run off the long drive.
Am I up to this? Lord only knows. Good thing Mark asked Kiel and not me even though I will definitely be impacted. I am pretty sure I can't keep up with this little bundle of energy! I think of the people I know who as grandparents ended up raising a child or two in their twilight years. I give them great respect. This is not an easy task, even for a few weeks.
Nevertheless, I will do what I can and enjoy him while he is here. Perhaps we will both grow a bit.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Not Monday
All day I keep thinking it is Monday, but it's Tuesday! I have lost a day, taking Friday off and thinking it was a Saturday and getting Monday off and thinking it was Sunday. I keep looking at my calendar and behaving as if my schedule requires reference desk duty or meetings that normally happen on Mondays. Oh, well. I'll catch up.
I sip a bit of hot tea and try to convince myself to do some significant work, but I am in recovery mode. So are half my staff. These holiday weekends are lots of fun, but it takes some time to regain strength and be willing to settle down into normal routines. Maybe that's a good thing. If we get too settled in our ruts, we become unproductive, uninspired, dull, boring.
Of course, if there is never any routine, we become dysfunctional, unfocused, unproductive. Somewhere in there is a nice balance that energizes us without stressing us beyond endurance. Shannon so thoughtfully did all our laundry before we left so we wouldn't have to take care of that before jumping back into our ruts. What a sweetheart.
I am too tired to think about cooking anything. The boys are off doing their stuff, and I decide to settle for a baby sized soft chocolate ice cream cone for dinner. No cooking there! Besides, I realize that I have a class tonight because its NOT Monday, and I will not have time to recuperate slowly. I check my papers, edit a bit, print and head for Roberts Hall, hoping I can stay focused for an hour and a half discussion of literature.
Not Monday. But its OK. I will get through, then go home and head straight for bed, unencumbered by dirty laundry, dirty dishes, or assignments. Perhaps its a good thing that tomorrow I don't have to be to work until noon! Sleeping in sounds about right.
I sip a bit of hot tea and try to convince myself to do some significant work, but I am in recovery mode. So are half my staff. These holiday weekends are lots of fun, but it takes some time to regain strength and be willing to settle down into normal routines. Maybe that's a good thing. If we get too settled in our ruts, we become unproductive, uninspired, dull, boring.
Of course, if there is never any routine, we become dysfunctional, unfocused, unproductive. Somewhere in there is a nice balance that energizes us without stressing us beyond endurance. Shannon so thoughtfully did all our laundry before we left so we wouldn't have to take care of that before jumping back into our ruts. What a sweetheart.
I am too tired to think about cooking anything. The boys are off doing their stuff, and I decide to settle for a baby sized soft chocolate ice cream cone for dinner. No cooking there! Besides, I realize that I have a class tonight because its NOT Monday, and I will not have time to recuperate slowly. I check my papers, edit a bit, print and head for Roberts Hall, hoping I can stay focused for an hour and a half discussion of literature.
Not Monday. But its OK. I will get through, then go home and head straight for bed, unencumbered by dirty laundry, dirty dishes, or assignments. Perhaps its a good thing that tomorrow I don't have to be to work until noon! Sleeping in sounds about right.
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