There's An App for That

I am taking an online course about mobile apps. It is true what they say about there being an app for just about anything you could want. Fortunately, this isn't about how to create an app, just an exploration of what is out there and how they work. I am floored by the pages of apps listed for us to consider, and that is just a drop in the bucket. I read with interest the reviews others in the course put on our blog. Some of the apps would be helpful for library research.

I don't have a lot of time right now to download and learn too many, but I am hoping to explore at least a dozen and then feature one a month in the campus newsletter, ones that will be of interest to faculty and students. In fact, I am finding webpages that various libraries have created which list research helpful apps. While I do admit that most of the people on this campus who own iPads are faculty, there are lots of smartphones out there in the hands of our students. It is fast becoming a brave new world. I just hope I can keep up!

A Letter From Mom

Mom has been doing so much better these days. My sister tells me that she has been outside walking and that she actually went shopping with them. They took her to a concert one of the kids was in and are holding her responsible to take care of her personal hygiene without assistance. It sounds like she is gaining some strength and making progress.

Today I actually got a hand written letter from her! I was ecstatic. True the handwriting is  a bit challenging to decipher, but I could actually read what she wrote. She wished me good health and admitted her shaking penmanship, then recounted some of her activities like going for a walk and folding her laundry. She closes with letting me know she is praying for me :) And I for her.

What a shot in the arm - it is almost as if she is the Mom I have always chatted with and turned to when I am struggling with things. Just to know she is actively praying for me is a terrific blessing. Way to go, Mom!

Retreat Day 2

How peculiar that I never made it to any of the services at the monastery. Nor did I peruse the materials in the bookstore. How unlike me! I intended to. I even argued with myself about going. But I didn't want to exhaust my energies on something as unnecessary as shopping when I am trying to focus on the things of the spirit and on relationships with others. So even though people showed me what treasures they discovered and purchased at the gift shop, and even though I really wanted to take home some of their bread and honey and maybe even some jelly or chocolates, and even though I always run across some new author or topic that is germane to my research, I resisted and stayed put, drinking in what I was supposed to be there to do and purposely not doing anything that would distract from that.

As we completed the final packing and cleaning up and I climbed in my car to head back to Rochester, I immediately thought that this would be a good time to catch a service and check out the store. And just as immediately, I realized that I wanted very much to guard the time of my drive back and meditate on what was stirring inside me. If I get distracted now I will lose that vital part of the experience. So I take myself firmly in hand, talk turkey to my inner drives and keep driving right past the abbey and back onto the expressway. Residual effects are sometimes the most productive.

Northeastern Seminary Women's Retreat

16 women. Some of us know each other, some don’t know anyone. We all have at least two things in common: we are women affiliated with Northeastern Seminary in some way – student, faculty, spouse of student, friend, alumnae; we have a deep desire to serve God despite a sense of inadequacy. So we reluctantly set aside our hefty, hectic schedules and head to the Abbey of the Genesee to seek God’s grace.

For me, it is less than an hour’s drive south on 390, a short meander through the picturesque city of Geneseo and a few more miles on Route 63 to Piffard (pronounced pfard by natives). Left on River Road and soon the dark brown, peaked A-frame roof of the Abbey rises to the left. I drive past, continuing beyond Nazareth and Bethlehem (retreat houses), and crunch my way up the gravelly drive of Bethany House.

Bethany House is a small three story country home that sits back off the road. It sports a red garage-barn and spacious green lawns. One step inside the back door brings you to a welcoming sun porch where you immediately feel at home. The entire place, while not ritzy, has a simple, hospitable, comfortable ambiance that invites you to take a deep breath and relax. Such relief alone is enough to come for!

Soon you are greeted by your fellow retreatants. The excitement reminds me of Thanksgiving dinner at Gram’s house. Everyone is talking, hugging, catching up, introducing themselves to newcomers, helping you find your space and unpack your stuff. You feel like a novice pledging at an elite sorority – intimidated and overjoyed and not a little nervous about what to expect.

Dinner comes and goes in a whirl of soup and monk’s bread and goodies shared around a huge dining room table, and then off to the monastery for Compline and Psalm chanting with robed monks, incense and mysterious silence. Exhausted, we gather in the living room, plop down in overstuffed chairs and couches and settle in. After introductions all around, we indulge in a bit of Psalm singing ourselves, discovering traditions not all of us have experienced. Then our retreat leaders introduce our topic of the weekend: Carrying Light Into the Darkness.

We gnaw on that bone a bit, realizing the depth with which we will wrestle not just this weekend but throughout our lives. Serious stuff. There are no glib answers. We discover a kinship with Mother Theresa in our struggles. After cookies and conversation, we drift off to bed, our way lighted by a shining moon and the soft coo of a mourning dove.

Too soon our dreams are interrupted by the glare of daylight and we rise to steaming stacks of pancakes and hot coffee. We gather throughout the day to sing Psalms and wrestle with our callings, with our own pain, with our questions, with our hurts, with our insights.

We nurture each other as God envelops us in his presence. It is safe to say the hard things here. We can explore the thorny jolts life has tossed in our paths. We can cry. We can explore. We hear each other. We pray with each other. We acknowledge the commonality among women of faith. It is good to discover that we are not alone. We are community. We are the body of Christ broken, yet in the process of resurrection. We are learning how to share with others this incredible Light that has touched us, this Light of the world who loves us so uniquely, so deeply.

At end of day, we pack our things, incredulous that the time has flown so quickly, reticent to leave this mountaintop where we have met Christ, wanting to say with Peter “It’s good for us to be here. Let’s put up a shelter and stay.” But we know we cannot. The world calls us back to the nitty-gritty of papers and reading, of ministry and listening, of being God’s light to the hurting and dying.

We will remember this time. We will treasure it in our hearts. We will return to our conversations again and again as we walk forward, mindful now of our sisters with whom we have worshiped. Always this bond will tie us to each other. And if we are extraordinarily blessed, we will return next year to meet God once again in the midst of our busy lives to receive another dollop of his goodness and grace.

Meltdown

I walked to the copier to print out some handouts for an upcoming class, and met a frazzled looking Asian student in a definite bad way. Something she needed was not printing properly and it was clear that she was at the end of her endurance. I asked what she was trying to do and she valiantly fought back her tears and she explained that her paper which was due at the upcoming class, on which she had worked most of the night, would not print.
I investigated, and sure enough. Our poor printer was in overdrive with all the workload being demanded during this last ditch effort of the semester. I fuddled with it for a bit and as I worked she started talking. It was like a damn bursting. First a trickle of her litany of troubles. Then a stronger stream of problems. Then a full force flood of agony that dragged every personal woe out into the harsh and glaring light of her anxiety.

It was clear that she needed to talk to somebody, and I was it. I stopped fuddling with the copier, handing it off to a student worker and gave her my full attention. She didn't even realize the change. She was on a roll and I don't think she was even aware of where she was or that anyone was hearing her. The events in her life had been for her most traumatic and she was definitely not dealing well with things.

I quietly prayed as she went on and on. No need to say anything, though I did ask if she had been to the counseling center or talked with her advisor. Turns out she had, and I suspect she had gone through the same experience with them. Finally, she realized that she had to get to class. Her paper, fortunately, was ready and she stapled it and turned to me. I just gave her a big hug and a Kleenex and she smiled. Not a fix, but a start. I am sure she will be fine once the changes that are upsetting her have passed.

Meanwhile, I am sobered to realize that all our students need special prayer during this difficult end of semester. Wow. I am so glad I am not going through all that!

Really Loud

I am at the reference desk, minding my own business, quietly monitoring the commons for students in need of a helping hand. Suddenly a loud booming voice, male most likely, interrupts the peaceful quiet. I look around, expecting to locate him nearby. But everyone is busy tapping their keyboards and listening to something via earbuds. Where is this guy? I walk towards the cafe. He must be there. But the cafe is empty. I can still hear him, engaged in an argument presumably over the phone since I only hear one side of the conversation. I am curious now. I climb the stairs and walk the perimeter. No one seems to match the conversation I am hearing. And I can hear it everywhere. I am surprised I am not getting complaints.

I finally walk past the archives reading room, and there, in the inner office with the door closed, is a student chatting away. He is so loud that I can't believe there are 2 closed doors between him and me. I don't know whether to ask him to tone it down or just pray that his conversation concludes. I catch his eye and make motions for him to speak more quietly. He nods. The level of his volume does not change even a smidge. He smiles and waves at me and I am perplexed.

I am just about to enter when he hangs up. "Sorry," he mouths and gathers up his stuff. That was interesting.

Spring Snow!

What? We have had summer weather! I don't care what month it is. We are packing away our winter sweaters and corduroy pants and pulling out our shorts and tee shirts. It CAN'T be snowing! But it is. Big wet sloppy flakes that are actually accumulating on the ground. The forecast says some areas might get 2 or 3 or even 6 inches. How ridiculous and impossible it seems.

But as soon as you step outside, it doesn't seem so far fetched. It is downright cold and the wind takes your breath away. The roads are perfectly clear (why did I put my snow tires on this year?) but traffic is slow nonetheless. I worry now about all the early blooming flowers and the trees with their leaves all unfurled. Crops too. Will we lose major food groups because of the untimely summer weather now being swallowed up in the normalcy of winter? I ache for the tender tulips and the big flowering trees that have already blossomed.

Still. I cannot resist the romance of the swirling white flakes. It is the Currier and Ives card we never got at Christmas. I want to dance and twirl and stick out my tongue and taste the cold wetness of the beautiful flakes falling falling falling all around. Hooray for winter. Hooray for snow. Hooray for a really short cold spell.

Hailstorm

I am driving to work after lunch. The skies are dark and threatening. I remember skies like that when we lived in the south and the ensuing tornadoes that tossed huge chunks of stuff about like toothpicks. We don't have that kind of violent weather here, thank God.

I stop at the red light at the corner of Elmgrove and Lyell. Without warning, my windshield is inundated with small white pellets pummeling the glass like beebees. They gust with the wind, pattering harder, then softer with a lulling rhythmic cadence. I am enamored. I drive slowly down Elmgrove, recalling the comforting patter of rain on a tent when our family was camping, being safe and warm and protected by the canvas while nature went on a rampage outside.

Then I remember the first hailstorm we encountered in Oklahoma. Hailstones the size of baseballs completely demolishing the metal roof of the local middle school and doing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage to car roofs and hoods. Right. Nature can be feisty. Thank goodness today is just a mild demonstration that ends as suddenly as it begins. I drive on to work. If you hadn't seen the hail, you would never have known it happened. 

The Shower

Reading about forgiveness and God's grace, and was inspired to think about my own ridiculous behavior with regards to how I could function but don't:

The Shower

Aaahhhh!

Your words stream over my soul with warmth and grace
stripping from my heart the filthiness of the day.
I revel in the luxuriousness of your parables,
turning myself about to expose every naked place.


Your truth trickles down my face
dripping off my chin,
dribbling from my elbows,
swaddling my tummy
purging, washing, renewing, invigorating.

It has been so long.
I am dirt crusted, caked with crud.
The water courses without recrimination
ever caressing, sloughing off one layer at a time,
aching to find my flesh.

I stand long minutes, head bowed,
totally absorbed, enamored, in ecstasy.
It feels so good.
I could stay here forever.

But I don't.
I step from this shower
dripping wet and dash back into the street
heedless of the mud, the grime.

I'll take a shower again - sometime.

Eeek! No Brakes

That's not a call you want to get. Your son asking if you can help out because the brakes just went on his car and he drove from the east side of the city to your place without them. No, no, no! Just stay where you are and we will come get you. That's what AAA is for! Silly rabbit. I too have experienced brake failures, but I knew better than to try and drive the darn thing without brakes.

Once I had to drive up on a curb to get my car to stop after cramming it into the lowest gear and pulling the emergency brake. Once on a long drive from Texas to New York our brakes went out and we bought a ton of brake fluid and stopped every few miles to add more fluid until we could get to a place to have the line repaired. That's the result of living with a person who does not value proper car etiquette.

Poorly working cars are one of my biggest bugaboos. To me, if you truly love your family, you will show it by ensuring that your car is regularly serviced and maintained so that you will not put your loved ones in danger by asking them to drive a defective vehicle. Neither my father nor my ex understood that principle, and I often was endangered by their lack of diligence. I know it costs money to do it, and I know finances were tight, but really! The ultimate moment of awakening for me was one day when I happened to be with my father and we were headed someplace. I was a teen-ager and very idealistic. Along the way, we could see ahead a police check station. They were looking at inspection stickers.

Dad was driving a car with completely bald tires that would never have gotten by those officers. He knew it. So he pulled into the parking lot of a little country store just shy of the check station, went in, came back out, turned around and went back the way we came. I could not believe my father - a minister no less - would do something like that. It just tore me up that we were so poor that we couldn't afford proper transportation.

Which probably explains why I try so hard to keep my car running as it should - not that I am perfect in that regard (I still have to take my snow tires off!). But I do insist that my children, despite their own financial situations, do their best to maintain their cars so their family members will not be put at risk. And I will help as much as I can.

Lily Clove Bush

I am walking Sugar, happy to be out and about on such a lovely day. Suddenly I am overwhelmed by the most delightful fragrance. I am immediately transported to Easter and memories of flower laded altar slide through my mind. The Presbyterian church in Johnstown with its dark wood and cream stucco; the East Glenville Community church where Gram Appleby attended with its grey wood and pastel stained glass windows and weeping willows all about; the little white washed single room church in Esperance with its country bouquet of pussy willows and yellow forsythia sprays; the mega church in Del Rio with its massive balcony and sweeping platform - the memory of all those churches celebrating Easter, part of which was flooding the front with tulips, hyacinths and especially lilies came rolling over me as I inhaled the clovey sweet fragrance that curtained the air about me.

Where was it coming from? I looked about but there were no lilies nearby, not even any wild orange tiger lilies. Finally I spotted an unassuming little bush with thumb sized white flowers hanging here and there tucked into the greenery. Can this little bush be sending out all the wonderful smell? I bend down and inhale. Yes! It is exactly this timid little shrub that is so redolent. I squat down to enjoy its offering, touched by the waxy flowers and the deep green. Sugar stands very still as if she senses the specialness of the occasion. Together we thank the brave plant for sharing its beauty with the world.

Connecting the Dots

Rats! My life has been so complicated lately that I completely missed my port flush. And it took me weeks to remember to schedule it in the first place. But there is no help for it, so I reschedule. After all, my port is extremely important to my ongoing cancer care and I am determined that it stay viable for as long as possible. I check in and rather than being told to go to the small lab area, I am shown to a pod! OK. Sometimes they do that, but it is a bit intimidating thinking I might have to get something more than just a flush done. My nurse is familiar to me and we strike up a conversation. I just assumed that she looked so familiar because I have seen her here in the cancer clinic before. She assumed the same on her part. But suddenly we both realize that we have seen each other in the library where I work!

Yes, of course! She is doing a degree in nursing at Roberts and was working on a paper a few weeks ago and I ended up helping her find a book. She is finishing her degree and will walk this year at graduation! Yahoo! And then  the supervisor asks me how long I have worked there because she also graduated from Roberts, but it was before I started. We are all delighted to make the connection. It is like a big sorority meeting after that and we compare experiences.

While we are chatting, they ask me if I need labs done, but I don't think so. They decide to check in with my oncologist just to be sure since I am there and they are accessing my port anyways. They put in a call and while we are waiting to hear back, they go over my record. Grace of God, they begin connecting the dots about my treatment and realize that I have a reaction to Rituxan every time I get it. Then they ask the important question and I could just kiss them both. Why wait for the reaction to happen? Why not give me the 'big guns' right away and try to prevent the reaction? Great idea!!!

They make notes on my chart. I feel like I have had a major break through. I am hopeful that my next chemo will go better than anything I have experienced so far. What a marvelous grace.

Eating Grass

What is the deal with Sugar? Every time we go outdoors, she plunges into the first tall grass she can find and stands there grazing like a cow. First she licks the dew from the green blades, then she gently chews the stalks and works them around in her mouth. Her tongue sticks in and out as she tries to do something with the grass she has eaten. She looks for all the world like a fuzzy little cow with her head down snuffling grass. I thought dogs only ate grass when their stomachs were upset, but my neighbor says his dogs are doing the same thing and they have never done that before. Wonder if the lawn care people are putting some kind of flavoring on the greenery? I tug on Sugar's leash trying to get her moving, but she only wants to stand there and chew. Sigh. OK. Guess I will just have to let her have her way. It's going to be a loooooong summer.

What To Do

I have been most concerned about two of my darling grand children. My son is struggling and his wife is divorcing him and neither has been focused on the kids and what they need. In fact, I know these poor children are often ignored and neglected. Both of them are behind in their development - mostly due to lack of stimulation and exposure to things like books and playing outdoors and regular schedules.

Poor babies have been bounced around from one person to another while mom and dad figure out how to manage themselves. And most recently, they were evicted from their home and although approved for housing, were not able to find a place in time. So once again the kids have everything familiar removed and are with new faces and different places.

We have often sent them clothes including coats and socks and shoes, but we never see these things again. I guess clothing is considered no good once they have been worn so they just keep not bothering to dress the children well. I know they have piles of clothes lying around but just take them places without shoes or socks or coats. I want to strangle my son. Grow up! But of course, he is unable because of his bipolarity and I have no ability to intervene. I am locked out and too far away.

The children were finally sent to us out here (mostly to #4 son and his wife) and I am delighted to see them after such a long time - almost a whole year. But they are not in a good place and scream their protests uncontrollably. It takes a long time for them to settle down and get into a routine that is beneficial for them. Still they are sweet kids and are absorbing all the love and care being offered to them.

After a short time of being with them, I am ready for them to go somewhere else. I am too old to deal with distraught children for any length of time. Four hours is about my limit. Kiel is infinitely patient with them. He is amazing. And they are making good progress. But I am afraid that they will just about get comfortable and start trusting when they will get yanked away from us.

We explore lots of possibilities. Do an intervention with the parents? Try to find some legal recourse? Certainly pray. I meet with people who are experts at this sort of thing to see what the protocol is. I am mildly surprised to hear them say that these sorts of situations are difficult and there is not much that can be done because you cannot override a parent and the parents are unable to see that they need to change or to get help. How sad.

I hear about others in this situation. Best you can do is stand by and help when you are allowed to until the children are able to get free of the situation and hopefully will not have the same issues to deal with. I continue to seek solutions. Surely there must be something we can do.

Girls' Night Out

Coupons! Buy one entree, get one free! They are taking us to a nice place in Pittsford where we get to watch the chef prepare our food right in front of our faces. I have never eaten in a setting like this before. We gather around a grill (sort of like a piano bar only instead of music you get heat) and place our orders. Then the chef appears all dressed in whites with a fancy hat. He twirls his spatulas and forks making quite a show. Then he makes the grill steam with cooking oils. He balances and tosses eggs until I think for sure he will have an accident. Up in the hat, down on the grill, spinning, flying in the air - who knew eggs were so robust?

I am amused by the little onion volcano he creates with fire shooting out the top. The part about tossing food into our mouths with his little scraper was a bit nerve wracking, but we are good sports. He chops and flips and scrambles all kinds of yummy stuff that I can't eat, but he sure makes it look enticing. He keeps my steak clear from any seafood because of my allergies, and while my friends are slurping soup and chomping fried rice with sesame seeds and veggies (I shudder even thinking about getting close to such food that would put me in the hospital for sure), I get my entree served hot and delicious. It is good and I am hungry!

We laugh and exclaim over the fabulous food and are disappointed when our show is over. Soon the table next to us is inhabited and we get to watch the show all over - followed by the table behind us and at least one more before we depart. We sit talking for a long time, good friends connecting and reflecting on the ups and downs of life while feeding our tummies. We let our food settle and take our time. No one is in a hurry. I sense that the wait staff are anxious to clear our station, but there are at least 4 other stations not in use, so I refuse to be rushed. What a fun evening. I wonder where the next coupon will take us and what culinary adventures await our exploration.

Graduation Dinner

Once again this year we prepared an elegant dinner for our student workers who are graduating. Many of them have been with us for three years or more and will be greatly missed. We plan and polish and cart in china and stemware, real silver and cloth napkins. The menu is set (various flavors of baked chicken from ginger spice to plain along with baked potatoes with all the fixings including broccoli). Have to have Martesciello's rolls - they are the best - and a colorful fruit salad. For dessert, ice cream cake. And of course coffee and tea.

I do the flowers again - a pretty combination of purples, whites, and a touch of yellow. I enjoy spreading out on the back counter in collection services and calling up skills learned at TSTI (Texas State Technical Institute) where Mom and I took a flower arranging class. Curious how that has stayed with me all these years. That had to be back in 1973. I have always loved flowers and try as often as I can to have fresh ones in my living room cheerfully brightening everyone's day. These bouquets go together easily, almost begging to be part of the doings.

The students arrive for hors d'oeuvres and chat in the conference room for a bit, then we adjourn to the Fireside Room where the tables gleam and the atmosphere is a hushed elegance. Dinner is filled with plans and memories, razzing and fun. Then we recognize each student with a Golisano Library mug complete with their name and year of graduation, plus a certificate of achievement where we list their contributions to our work.

I have every expectation that these fine young men and women will have wonderful lives filled with God's blessings and that they will check back with us occasionally to let us know how things are going. How amazing to see them all moving into the next phase of their lives!

The evening concludes with a stint in the dishpan as we work together to clear the clutter and put things back in their cases. It was a good time, a good celebration, a good evening to be long remembered.

5 Huge U-Hauls

Today I came home at noon to walk the dog and grab lunch - a bit of peaches and cottage cheese, a few crackers. Sugar patiently eyed me while I ate, then sat quietly for me to put her leash on. We ambled outdoors, the wind bracing and just a wee bit chill. We took our usual route around behind the neighboring building, then scooted towards the office, noting any new flowers or leaves along the way. I was so absorbed in our path that I didn't even see the U Haul truck parked along the curb by the office. Sugar sniffed suspiciously while I wondered if someone were coming or going. Seems an odd time of year for moving.

Then I turned back toward our place and suddenly realized that there were 5 U Haul trucks parked one after the other all along the road. Wow. There were drivers in every truck. Who on earth was moving in - or out??? How could they possibly fit 5 truck loads of stuff into one of these tiny apartments? I once had a neighbor who moved from a 4 bedroom house into an apartment and their rooms were so crowded you could barely walk through them.

I couldn't tell if the trucks were full or empty - much less who was in charge or which unit they were working at. Or maybe the complex itself was doing some kind of major overhaul? I am fated not to know. And now I am out of time and will have to hurry to get back to the library and on the reference desk by 1 pm. Sugar and I scurry on our way, curious but out of the loop. That's how life is sometimes.Tantalizingly inexplicable but highly suggestive.

Friday the 13th

I am no stranger to Friday the 13th. My birthday often falls on one. In fact, for me, it is good luck rather than bad. After all, several of my children also have birthdays on the 13th day of a month. Nice. Ah, but this year I am feeling my age. Though I have fallen just shy of breaking that 60 barrier, what with all the medical stuff, I kid about having the body of a 90 year old. I would give it back if I could. All my good intentions of walking more and getting exercise have not made much of an impact. Truth is I am tired a lot and need to get rid of excess weight which does not come off even with great effort these days.

Tonight will not be helpful in that regard. My favorite dinner is a nice steak - preferably strip steak. Add in a baked potato that I can actually eat and I am happy. My mouth is watering as I come home from work thinking of a delicious celebration dinner. I discover that Drew has cleaned my car inside and out as his gift to me - sweet thing! And he cleaned the apartment to boot. Nice.

After dinner I intend to watch a movie, but I am so tired I just call it a night and hit the sheets. See what I mean? Body of an ancient being. Soul of a spring chicken. Odd combo, but you do what you can. Maybe next year I will have the energy to celebrate a little more fully.

Meanwhile, a hearty THANK YOU to my Mom for taking such good care of me when I was young. For reading me books every single night, even when she didn't feel like it. For braiding my hair and all my sisters' hair. For sewing tons of Barbie doll clothes. For teaching me how to cook and keep house. For making sure I learned how to live in peace with others. For teaching me about God and saying prayers with me at night. For doing mountains of laundry and dishes and scrubbing. For staying home with us when you would have rather been somewhere else. For sending me care packages in college, and letters when I live in another state.

And a continued THANK YOU for still taking care of me - for listening when my world falls apart, for praying when I am dealing with cancer, for remembering the birthdays of all my kids, for sewing us beautiful quilts and holding BBQ's on the deck of your wonderful Lake George home, for always being happy to see us come, for the macaroni salads and ice cream cones. You are a truly remarkable woman whose example of caring and loving despite the rough patches will be part of me for the rest of my days here on earth and well into eternity. Without you, I would have no birthday to celebrate. If I can be half of what you have been to me for my own kids, I will be content. Love ya.

Extraordinary Moon

I am driving home from work - Wednesdays are my late night at the library - and I am suddenly greeted by the most glorious moon - round and full and yellow and smiling, gliding past a wisp of cloud like some ethereal goddess. I can see why people find it reasonable to worship such amazing beauty. The eerie light illumines all sorts of magical mischief. Plants seem to dance and sway, night animals appear suddenly along the road side, scurrying to some rendezvous in the meadow. My car wants to join the fun. And I, tired as I am, find myself humming a catchy little tune and drumming my fingertips on the steering wheel. It is a night for mystery and wildness. Alas, I have no energy for such shenanigans and against my inner urging, I only drive home and park in my usual place. I plod up the steps to my apartment, waving goodbye to mistress moon. Another night, dear friend. Another night when I am not so old and so wornout. Adieu.

Birds Are Back!

When first I moved into this complex, I was struck by the copious joyful noise of the multitude of birds. Every morning I would awaken in the pre-dawn gray to such glorious music. Lately I have not heard the birds singing. Why they suddenly turned quiet I have no idea. It is the same with the deer family who seem to have disappeared from our midst. I miss them tremendously. I haven't even seen many rabbits of late either. I am beginning to think there is some sinister reason for the dearth of wildlife, but I cannot imagine what that might be.

Today, I am delighted to discover the return of the bird song. I pick out distinctive calls - the mourning dove, the blue jay, the sparrows, the whiporwill, a crow - the chatter is happy and suggests a long and delightful summer ahead, despite what may be record temperatures. Welcome back, dear friends. I hope you encourage the deer and rabbits to return.

Seeing Inside

I dutifully read the instructions about having the ultrasound done for looking at this cyst inside. Drink ten gallons of water and make sure your bladder is full. Right. No way. Been there, done that, not going to cooperate. I have trouble going 20 minutes without feeling like I have to pee. I take a few sips of water while I am driving to the east side of town. If I am lucky, it will trickle down to the right place and stay put long enough for them to get what they need. Hah!

The technician is very nice. She never mentions anything about my drinking or lack thereof. Just says she is getting what she needs. I tell her that last time I had an internal ultrasound done it was quite painful, and she listens. Apparently she has encountered this before with people who have had extension abdominal surgery and she has some tricks that will be helpful. She goes slowly and carefully, talking to herself as she guides the probe through my murky tummy. Twice she mumbles - "what will I do now with that?" and she does some interesting gyro gymnastics with the probe. But she gets a good clean shot and I am on my way in less than an hour.

That wasn't so bad. I am encouraged enough that I stop at the lab on my way out and pick up the paraphernalia to do a 24 hour urine catch for the urologist, a study I have promised to do but haven't quite gotten around to. Some days are better than others!

Now, back to work.

Easter Monday

Yesterday was wonderful - all the music and pretty new dresses. I remember one year my grandmother bought me a gorgeous outfit - a purple organza dress with a swirly skirt to it and a matching coat and straw hat with tiny flowers around the crown, and to complete my outfit, white gloves and white patent leather shoes. I thought I was a queen and paraded all around twirling my beautiful outfit for everyone to see. I was probably pretty obnoxious!

So I used to think that once Easter Sunday ended, that was it. Put Easter back in the box like the Christmas decorations and be done until next year. But turns out I was wrong about that. Easter. Its a whole season that lasts clear up to the day of Pentecost. This year that is 7 weeks right up to May 27! Who knew you could continue the celebration for months. That's what I get for not being raised Catholic.

So today, even though I am at work again and life goes on with its normal activity, Easter is still swirling around in my mind and in my bones. My readings in my devotions are still at work in the Easter traditions. I think about the stained glass Easter egg pictures I colored this year for my babies and my siblings. I hope to make Easter quilts for my grand babies this summer and am beginning to plan the designs and draw the patterns (I am not a real quilter. I just glue fabric shapes on a sheet to make a design).

Easter keeps on working. I hope I can keep up!

EASTER!!!!!

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Can you imagine the look on Mary's face when Jesus spoke her name and she suddenly realized who it was? The incredible joy that must have washed over her must have made her dizzy with shock. Once I was dating someone I really enjoyed seeing, and he had been away for a long time - off to college and he wasn't supposed to come home until Thanksgiving break, but he had a reading weekend and decided to come home sooner. His sister invited me over to watch a movie, and I had no idea he was there. I was standing in the kitchen talking and even heard him talking in the living room, but since I wasn't expecting him to be there, I didn't connect. His sister was bursting with anticipation and dropped a ton of clues. I finally wandered into the living room and there he was! I shrieked with surprise and we hugged - it was the most wonderful feeling!

I imagine that is what it will be like when Jesus comes to take me home. I will be overjoyed and so caught up in just seeing him that I will have no qualms about leaving this world. I have been privileged to be with several people when they passed and seen a small glimpse of what they must have seen.

Meanwhile, this morning, church will be adorned with joy. The tulips and lilies on the altar and platform will fill the air with their redolent perfume and bless the eye with their joyous color. It is right that Easter come after the bleakness of winter, that we remember Christ when the world is waking to new life and the dirty snow is replaced with the green of budding leaves.

I miss the Easter baskets full of sugary candy and chocolate rabbits that we used to prepare for the boys when they were little. Now I get Drew a little something, but it isn't like it used to be. I always gave the boys one large chocolate bunny, a bag of new sox and underwear, a bunch of jelly beans and a stuffed animal and a book. I loved preparing the baskets and hiding them, bringing stuff out of hiding after the kids were asleep and setting them out on the table.

Now I send my grandchildren a lovely card with stickers in it. I know their parents get them plenty of candy. Sometimes I send a new outfit, but its hard to know sizes and tastes. Well, enough rambling. Time to go SING!!!

Easter Vigil

Vigil is not a tradition I grew up with. The first I ever heard of it was when I was in Illinois and a friend invited me to her Eastern Orthodox Church celebration. How strange and yet how attractive it seemed to experience watch all through the night waiting for Christ to rise. They had service parts where they exited the building and walked around it singing together. It was wonderful to be invited to participate - it felt great to be part of something so beyond everyday life.

Community of the Savior celebrates Vigil, though they do not stay up all night waiting. Their service begins outside and also with singing. It is very exhilarating. Together, we gather in the darkness. The Christ candle is lighted and we follow the cantor into the sanctuary where the light is shared with all. We review the full story of the Bible from creation straight on through, to see God's redemptive plan for his world and for his children. And when we reach the part about Christ rising from the dead, we all ring bells and shout Hallelujah! It is grand to cut loose and shout for pure joy.

The best part of course is the baby baptism. This is the second year in a row that we have welcomed a new life into our midst! What a glorious sign of God's grace. Children are precious - and fewer and fewer people seem to be having children these days. It is expensive to do so. I myself am blessed to now - or soon - have 5 grand children just as I had 5 children. I wish I could be more active in their lives, but I live pretty far. I end up having to be content just sending letters and chatting on the phone when that presents itself. Of course, I have no idea what my little darlings are saying to me, but I say, "How nice" and "Wonderful" just as if I understood them. Sigh.

Next year I plan to explore ways to heighten the suspense of waiting for the dawn and the risen Lord. There are traditions that do that, and I think I can examine them and see what might be adoptable without requiring staying up all night. Then I have to find a way to reach out to my kids with that. So much to learn! Meanwhile, tonight, I go to bed excited about Easter, even though I will not have the strength to attend sunrise service or share breakfast with loved ones. Next year perhaps. Next year.

Good Friday

Today I focus on the incredible sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf. I rise at my normal hour and find the Divine Hours readings for today - very apropos. I curl up with my prayer journal and reflect on the events of Holy Week so long ago, yet still so fresh. We are blessed to have the day off work and I plan to focus on the events that unfolded so many years ago. When I was in high school, the whole town would come to a noon service that lasted until 3 pm, and we relived the happenings of Jesus' death, including the words spoken from the cross. We would hear the scripture read, sing a hymn about it, then sit in quiet meditation, thinking on our relationship with God until the next word was introduced. It was a profound time for reviewing.

Noon is fast approaching. I encourage Drew to come with me to the downtown Asbury United Methodist Church. Their observance has always been significant to me, packed as it is with Scripture readings, artwork and choral music. There are new ways to think about these events, glimpses into how people have interpreted them in the past, in other cultures, under duress. This year offers a global perspective - art work from other countries and other traditions. Interesting juxtapositions of local color and familiar story. It makes me wonder how much North American New England 1950s baggage I carry into the story. More than I realize, I am certain.

Once again the music is stellar - a hand selected ensemble of Eastman singers who are just amazing. I know they only get one run through, but they sound like they have been singing these songs for months. This year they weave a bit of the whole life of Christ into the passion story, the background as it were. I know a program such as this takes hours of planning and work, but it is so worthwhile.

There is much to think about as Drew and I head home for lunch. Later at night we head for St Bernard's and the Community of the Savior service. I am touched when they bring artifacts to the altar, reminders of Christ and his amazing life. How shocking to see the dead Christmas tree stripped of its ornaments and fashioned into a rough cross, a crown of thorns placed where the star used to be. How moving to think on the weaving of joyous occasions mingled with the sorrow of death. How like life.

It has been a long and thoughtful day. I curl up in bed with my Divine Hours and read Vespers and Compline in one fell swoop. God grant us all a night of sweet rest while we await the resurrection.

Ghost Town

Wow. It sure is empty in the library today. Actually, last night there was almost no one in the library either. Students - at least the undergraduate population - have gone home for Easter. RWC always gives them a day of travel before Good Friday and a day of travel after Easter Sunday. That way no one has to be en route during special days. Good idea.

I watch a few IT people wander about checking PCs and servers. Several facilities people walk through. And of course, some library staff. Other than that, pretty much the place is devoid of activity. It seems strange after the hecticness of the past few days as people tried to get resources gathered for working on papers during the holiday. I too am mindful of the ticking clock and know I must be vigilant about reading even during this most holy time of year.

This is one of the major draws of working in an academic environment - the cycles of high activity interspersed with the quietness of breaks. It certainly helps you maintain sanity. Love the rush, appreciate the lull. Once Easter is over and the students return, we will be a beehive of craziness in a mad slide to the end of the semester. I can hardly believe we are almost to graduation already!

Catching My Breath

I am feeling much better today, but I am grateful that I have the whole morning to take my time about getting ready. Today is the day I work the night shift. I am glad because I need to mail Easter stuff to a few people. I need to do a load of laundry. I need to make some muffins. I need to sit quietly and read. I do all those things. I even catch up with a friend I have not spoken with in awhile. It is nice to have some down time. I completely appreciate it.

I have more errands on my list but decide they can wait. I add pudding to my diet and tolerate it well. By tomorrow I can get back to normal (for me, that is - my normal diet would drive most people up the wall).

I cannot believe it is Holy Week already, even though Sunday was Palm Sunday. I have been perusing the Women's Books of Hours that I borrowed from another library (I know I don't really have time for leisure reading, but it is Holy Week) and am fascinated by the rigor of Medieval women in their private devotional life. Mine pales by comparison. I have a lot to learn.

Here are the events I hope to include for this special week:

Maundy Thursday - service and communion at United Methodist Church of North Chili (where I serve)
Good Friday - noon service of art and music and Scripture at downtown Asbury United Methodist Church [hope to bring Drew and a number of friends]; evening service at Community of the Savior
Holy Saturday - afternoon, Egg decorating activity at my place with former library workers; Vigil at Community of the Savior
Easter - sunrise and regular services at United Methodist Church North Chili.

I invite people to come to any and all of these activities and to let me know of other things available for the celebration of Holy Week. I will miss attending services at the Abbey of the Genesee like I have been able to do in the past, but I can't do everything. O, I forgot to mention borrowing a number of movies about Jesus from Netflix and the local library. Hope your Easter season is peppered with wonderful worship and lots of family and friends.

Recovering

I go to work today. Yesterday I only had reference desk duty in the morning when it is normally quiet so I didn't feel too bad about missing. Today I have a class to teach as well as desk duty and a meeting. I must go in. I pray quietly that the violent diarrhea resulting from yesterday's episode with the mushrooms will not hit during teaching. I lean on God to get me through.

I feel like a wet dishrag that has been through the mill. I can barely speak because any pressure on my diaphragm upsets my stomach. I have not eaten anything in awhile. Really I should still be home recovering, but I cannot miss more work. After all, I am the sole support of this family. Oh, wait. I take that back. God is the source of my supply and he has taken excellent care of me. He will continue to care for me regardless.

Today is no exception. The class calls and cancels, the meeting gets cancelled. I can sit quietly in my office and do quiet things while sipping cold water. It is restful. I can run to the bathroom when necessary without anyone paying any attention. By the time my desk hour arrives I am feeling a bit better. I do have to make a quick pit stop in mid shift, but no one was at the desk waiting when I returned. Thank God for a quiet day. I did get lots of little details taken care of, but I am extremely glad to go home and put my feet up.

Toast, anyone?

Blockage

I should have known better. I guess I just never ate enough mushrooms to realize how much fiber they have. But it tasted so good with the chicken. By mid afternoon I knew I was in trouble. Sharp pain in my right side (not appendicitis - already had my appendix removed when I was 12), bloated, nauseous. This cannot be good.

I try to distract myself and read, but the pain is too sharp. I know there is no value in taking pain killers, because I have had this before. Something is stuck in my intestine and will not pass through. Fiber can be deadly for me. This is why I am normally so careful about what I eat. Too risky to deal with blockages and possible twisted bowels and ruptures. In the past I have ended up hospitalized over such whatnot. I know moving helps, so I move. I pace, I try the mini tramp, I rock back and forth, I hug a hot water bottle, I cry, I pray. I am determined not to submit to medical professionals unless I am unconscious and have no choice.

I finally go to bed, still hugging the hot water bottle. Every 2 minutes by the clock my insides spasm and cramp. Then they release. Still nothing moves. I pray more. I try drinking hot water, but I am too bloated to tolerate much. Move. Move. I know that movement can help. I massage my stomach slowly. I can literally feel the lump where the stuff is stuck. I try to push at it, to prod it, to convince it to break up and filter out. I moan a bit now and again. I whisper "O crap" then laugh at my own joke.

After hours of agony and tears, I finally get some relief. My behind explodes, spewing mushroom chunks everywhere. Repeatedly. If I weren't so relieved, I would be grossed out. I have to clean the bathroom several times. Drew will not appreciate my mess. It is early in the morning now. My entire stomach area is tender, swollen, sensitive. I will be restricted to toast and tea for awhile trying to recover from this episode. Mostly though I am exhausted. I will have to miss work and lie low until I can recover. Rats. No more mushrooms. Hard lesson to learn.

In the Shadow of the Cross

Palm Sunday! Yeah!!! I get new palms to place over my door. This year pastor has the choir enter during the first hymn waving palm branches. The sanctuary is fuller than usual. Our tech people are in place. Our narrator is ready. The candle lighting girls have their lighters and snuffers (we will extinguish candles until they are all out and we exit the sanctuary in darkness and quiet). My heart prays for people attending. Lord, be present. Touch lives.

We move through the children's story, the offering, the prayer. Then it is time. I feel like praying "Lord, into your hands I commit this music." We stand for the first song. I am amazed at the sound pouring from the choir! It is amazing, confident, meditative, well pronounced. I can move past helping some trouble part find their note to eliciting expression from the singers. This is good.

Slowly we make our way through each scene. Kiel has videoed his friends playing the various roles of Jesus, Judas, Pilate, Peter, etc. They found creative ways to portray each scene using little in the way of props. The story comes alive in unexpected ways. Everyone is drawn in. The narrator sets up the scene, the actors act, the narrator explains, we sing. It is moving like clockwork. No need for restarts due to bad entrances or anything even remotely like that. From beginning to end, a professional job, and well sung. Thank God for his grace and these singers for their faithfulness.

At the end of service, people are reticent to leave. They need time to process it all. Yes. There is much to think about. For me too.