New Purse

My old purse - a cloth one (OK, a Vera Bradley) is wearing out. I have washed it as necessary, and the colors are still bright and spot free. But the fabric is beginning to show its wear. Bits of the white lining are showing in the threadbare spots and the straps are half worn through. I guess its time for another purse. Used to be, back in the day, I had several purses. At least one for winter (black) and one for summer (white) and one for special occasions (sparkly). They I had a few in various colors to go with outfits (navy or red). How ridiculous to own so many purses when I barely like carrying them at all.

A few years ago, I decided I would get one purse and that would be that. I got my first Vera Bradley - a navy print with white diamond shapes on it called Nantucket Navy which came out in 2005. How practical. It could be washed and kept nice looking for more than just a season or two. I bought some of the accessories - wallet, makeup case, glasses case. Then I realized that you could spend a thousand dollars without blinking on all that stuff.

So when I replaced my first pattern with the one I have now - called Blue Rhapsody which came out in 2009 - I only got the wallet to go with the purse. Right away I realized the purse itself was a bit on the small side, but I had selected it so I made do. In actuality, it helped me simplify my life. Who needs to cart around all that "just in case you might need it" stuff? I learned to haul just the basics and I have been fine (in fact, if I need something I no longer carry, I just ask the women around me and without exception, someone has what I need).

I watch women coming in and out of the library. Most of the students carry backpacks, but the older women (what they call adult learners - a ridiculous term if ever I heard one) carry HUGE purses. You could almost call them suitcases. I don't know how they manage. They must have muscles of iron hauling all that weight around. Its not like they can ever find anything in there either. I can't even begin to count how many times one of them has wasted a good half hour trying to find a pen! They dig and paw and poke and set stuff out and peer into the depths until they finally find what they are looking for.

No thanks. Life is too short to live by the "what-ifs". If I need something I am not carrying around, it will not be difficult to connect with it fairly nearby. All that to say, I select my new purse just a tad bigger than my current one, and with sturdier handles and more internal pockets so I can be better organized. Maybe it will wear better. I think the pattern is probably already going out of production as the various accessories are on the sale tables, but that's OK. These patterns come and go so fast now you can hardly keep up. Check it out: http://www.verabradley.com/

Camellia is the name of my new pattern. Not my usual flamboyant splash of color (I am getting tame in my old age), it is a combination of understated "soft whites, graphite grays, and dusty taupe" all mixed together in the design of the flower after which it is created. I continue to use the accessories from my other patterns and don't mind the mishmosh at all. (Isn't it silly to carry on so about a purse?)

The Snub

It happens all the time. People - and here I mean especially men - see me with my gray hair topping an overweight body and immediately think "old and uneducated." Then they subconsciously also realize I am a woman. And once they ask me what I do and find out I am a librarian, the deal is clinched and I am relegated to the periphery as having nothing of interest to offer (after all, women are supposed to be young,  beautifully shapely and interested only in you!). Three strikes, I am out. I can read it on their faces plain as if they said it out loud. They turn to the next person and ignore me graciously, having no idea what they might be missing.

I fully admit that I do not present a typical image of someone with half a brain or involvement with projects that might prove interesting. After all, if one is intelligent, one will not be overweight. My body is a wreck. In some people's minds, I look like a typical elderly commonplace housewife/widow whose whole effort in life is to keep the house clean and the meals on the table and they have a hard time just doing that.

It *is* irritating to be dismissed so quickly. Sometimes I want to scream at them that I am an educated women with concerns that far exceed housekeeping, but that does no good, even if I included my smoking high IQ (which, I will wager, far exceeds their educated little heads).

So I hang around listening in to what *I* would consider banal conversation until an opportunity opens for a comment. Just a simple quiet interjection made as I butt into their topic of choice. I am always amused at the reaction. First, they turn, surprised that I said something. Then they are shocked that it is me saying it. Then the light dawns that perhaps I am not so easily dismissed after all. The eyes widen and the mouth drops open and for a moment they are at a definite disadvantage trying to process the contradiction that I am actually not stupid. Or for that matter, common.

I have to repeat the comment before I am allowed to be drawn into their conversation. But invited in I am, and that, of course, in their minds, erases what I call "the snub." They are seldom even aware that they have done it. Really, I don't know why it bugs me so much. But every time I encounter it, I do a self check to see if I have treated anyone that way. To my dismay, I sometimes discover I am as guilty as they are of judging someone based on superficial stereotyping. Shame on me. I ought to know better. I certainly don't like it when someone treats me that way. I determine to be on the outlook for my own bad behavior.

Bottom line is that everyone has something interesting to offer regardless of age, shape, size, education, manners, health, gender, ethnicity or whathaveyou. So snubbing is out. Genuine openness is in.  As for the unfair stereotype of librarian, well, I'll take that up another day. People would be shocked at how much a librarian has to know (why do you think we have to do at least 2 master's degrees???).

6 Black Birds

Sugar and I poke our noses out the front door into the already warm summer day. As usual, three or four squirrels make a mad dash from the bird feeder to the safety of a nearby tree. They startle a flock of birds roosting in the tree top who commence to squawk and caw and flutter about raucously. Sugar, who started to chase after the squirrels, stops dead in her tracks and stares at the tree top. She sits cautiously and waits to see what they will do.

These crows are huge. Almost the size of ducks. They spread their wings wide and I think they could give a hawk a run for its money. I wonder if they are a family. What *do* you call a flock of crows? Wikipedia, that controversial online knowledge base, informs me that they are called a "murder!" I never thought of crows as particularly murderous. Vulture-like carrion scavengers perhaps. But not murderous. Of course, looks can be deceiving.

They are supposedly quite intelligent and able to both make and use tools. Hum I can't quite picture a crow hammering a nail into its roost. This "murder" seems bent on making a fuss for being disturbed. Their caws could wake the dead. And maybe even the sleeping teenager. Sugar finally loses interest in their antics and continues our walk, more interested in identifying which way the neighbor's dog walked earlier and why the bees are hovering over the lavender bush.

Mailing Kelly's Birthday Box

I cannot believe this young lady, my first grandchild, is 6 already! She is growing up so fast. Right now her delight is anything to do with dinosaurs, so I look for something dinosaury to send her as a birthday present. I discover a sicker book with 500 pages of activities and coloring plus an adorable stegosaurus blow up punch ball along with a small high-bounce clear ball with a brontosaurus embedded inside. I can't resist the Dora Explorer domino set and the magnetic "dress a model" tin (reminds me of Miss Cookie's kitchen set I used to love playing with when I was a kid).

Throw in a pair of girly girl socks and another sticker book in the shape of a big pink purse and voila! A birthday box from Gram worth sending along. Now for the fun of wrapping each gift. I search through my assortment of wrapping paper and select some with big bold lettering that says Happy Birthday, and some with delicate pink roses. Don't forget to tuck in a little something for my other grand daughter who lives in this house.

Now I need to find just the right sized mailing box - at least, one without a ton of writing all over the outside. Drew finally located one the right size that was just plain. Then we struggled with the doggone tape dispenser. Finally properly packaged and ready to go. Whew! I should have started in January. It takes forever for all the pieces to come together.

Drew and I head for the post office and discover that even at the least rate, the cost of sending these gifts is half the value of the gifts. At this rate, I could have just ordered everything online and had it shipped. But I would have missed all the fun of playing with these things myself. Not to mention the joy of wrapping. Guess I just have to take postage into consideration from the get go. What will happen when the rates are jacked up!

Happy birthday, sweetie. Hope you have a marvelous year.

Sweet Peas!

Drew and I are driving home, stopped for a red light at the corner of Buffalo and Whittier. In the vacant field next to us, a sea of violet color floating atop a lush green. A tangled tousled frenzy of color and textures so alluring and uplifting! How beautiful! What are those weeds? On closer inspection, I discover they are wild sweet pea bushes stretching for a good long swath alongside the road. I wonder if the pilgrims encountered this kind of lush foliage  as a matter of course?

Farther down Buffalo Road, the road is cushioned by wheat fields. Usually these fields sport tall green corn stalks, but this year, we have watched the green wheat plants grow tall and top off with heads bursting with grain. Slowly over the last few weeks they turned amber - like in the song "America the Beautiful" - for amber waves of grain. The wind combs through the fields and tosses the proud heads about. It makes you feel rich. Here and there you can see stalks matted down as if some deer or wild bird fluttered about, rolling in the verdant carpet of grain.

How blessed we are to live in a land that still proffers food on the stalk and wildlife for the looking. 'Tis the promise of a grand summer to come.

Bleed Through

My cleaning frenzy has worked its way into my office and that is a good thing! I recognize that this is my way of dealing with grief. If my house is "lighter" and my office is "lighter" then maybe my heart will be too. I spend the majority of the day weeding through tons of ancient paperwork, stuff that no longer offers any significant information about what has been or needs to be done here. The cleaning people are gonna love me - I have filled an entire recycling bin times 3. Wow. Does it feel good to be shucked of old weight.

I still have a considerable number of places that need a going through. At home, there are 3 dresser drawers in my bedroom to be examined, the front room closet and the downstairs storage space, plus 2 slots in the entertainment center. In my office, I have 1 bookcase and 3 cabinet drawers to get through. Then I will have touched EVERYTHING I am responsible for. Not bad for a few weeks work.

Day Out With the Boys

Its rare that I get to spend almost an entire day with both Drew and Kiel these days. But the opportunity arose and I took it! I gather them up at the ungodly hour of 9:15 am and off we headed to church. I *love* sitting in service with them next to me, singing together, hearing the Word read, laughing at the delightful children's time where we acted out the story of Jesus calming the storm. In addition to the children, about a dozen adults joined in, sitting on the floor in an imaginary 20 foot boat, tossing about with the storm (noises of wind and waves provided by the rest of the congregation) trying to imagine what it was like for the disciples. What fun!

Even better was taking communion with them, then discussing the sermon afterwards, delving into some theological issues which we are all exploring, feeling our way, voicing what may not, after all, be what we really think. Fellowship hour was excellent, the boys being drawn into conversations, lingering over delightful snacks and just being free.

Afterwards, we headed to Eastview Mall. Kiel needed to take his frozen Mac to the istore for repair, and Drew was after a shower cady at LL Bean so he can function better in the dorms at RIT. While they took care of their business, I wandered around getting some exercise and looking for a spoon rest (mine was chipped and worn so I tossed it). You would not believe how hard it is to find a simple ceramic spoon rest! I want something pretty, not stainless steel.

After we came together again, we discussed lunch (it being close to 2:30) and decided on Five Guys burgers. Good food and way generous portions. We lingered over fries and Cokes dawdling, reticent to return to our separate places and get caught back up in our various lives. How nice to just be together. Not quite the hammock in Gram's yard, but nice. Very nice.

You've Got To Be Kidding

The DVD is called "Gentle Stretching for Senior Citizens." Sounded good to me. I pop it in the player, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a skinny, perky, 20 something girl with a high squeaky voice who is obviously double jointed, gyrating on a teeny little mat all the while telling me I can do it too. Would you believe blondie's name is Sunshine? I am serious!

I have an overwhelming desire to reach into the screen, grab her arms, make her stopping jumping about, and tell her that once she has had children, cancer, life stress and aging, she will not be so quick to tell us old goats what we can and cannot do! Just for kicks, I push fast forward and watch her bounce around in double time. I start laughing. Tigger for sure. She should watch herself at triple speed. Then she would have some idea what she is asking of us!

Seriously, I do want to begin somewhere with getting back into shape, if that is even possible. I had hoped that perhaps following some regimen in the privacy of my own living room might get me to a place where I could venture into some gym without embarrassing myself too much. Sigh. OK, maybe I can follow at least some of what she is doing. I am pretty sure I can't put my foot up over my head regardless of whether I am standing or lying down, but I can breath and wiggle my ankles and wrists and move my arms and legs some.

She starts out lying down on her mat. At least she is surrounded by a beautiful mountain landscape. I lie down. Now lift your leg. Now your other leg. Now -- wait, wait! Cramp! Seriously, leg cramp. I hit pause and hobble about until it passes. This is not good. I am in worse shape than I thought. OK. Press play. Let's just skip this part. The rest of it went better, though I probably only did about a quarter of what she asked, and then not to the extent of perfection she was obviously expecting.

But that's OK. Do what you can. I am already breathing deeper. I can tell by how much more coughing I am doing! I won't get discouraged. At least not yet. By tomorrow my leg should be able to handle the twisting and turning. Hopefully. And this is just the stretching part. Wait till I get to cardio and strength stuff! Good Lord. So much to do. So little time! Now where is that cup of steaming English Afternoon tea? It must be at least mid day by now!

Yellow Leaves

OK, its barely officially summer, but this morning the green grass beneath the tree outside my bedroom window is littered with bright yellow leaves that have fluttered down from the branches with no regard for the calendar. How is it this tree has the audacity of shedding leaves already? It has barely unfurled the greenery!

Even Sugar is suspicious, sniffing the limp yellowed foliage and pushing them about with her nose as if to say "get back up there where you belong!" No other tree in the complex has begun the autumnal experience, just this lone trend setter. Officials are telling us that this summer will be challenging. Already the pollen counts and allergens are off the charts, higher than they have ever been in the history of tracking such things. People are hacking and honking and generally miserable, even those who are normally not afflicted by allergies. (You ought to hear them whine! You'd think they were the first person ever to experience such discomfort!) The price you pay for a mild winter with virtually no snow.

I am more concerned about record temperatures. I hope that will not be the case. And if it is, what does that mean for the coming winter? Well, enough speculation. Today is beautiful - blue "clean wash hanging on the clothesline" kind of fresh sunny skies and just the right amount of breeze to keep you comfortable. I ignore the portent of the fallen leaves and take an extra loop with Sugar, breathing deeply of the joy.

Desk Dancing

It was all I could do to refrain from laughing out loud. True, reference desk is slow these days. Not much happening. I tend to clean out email and organize my H drive and do little projects that are the kind you can pick up and put down easily.

But this afternoon, I glanced up at two girls sitting in the Information Commons. They look like high school age and are new to our facility. They both had ear buds in and I could hear the bleed-through tinny sounding music and the bumping beat. I worry that this generation will all be deaf by the time they are 30. If I can hear clearly what they are listening to, it must be powerful loud right in their ears.

Anyway, they were so enjoying their music that they couldn't help dancing in their chairs. Their legs were bopping and their arms were waving and their heads were tilting something fierce while they mouthed the words. It was like watching some disco movie with the sound turned down real low. Several times they couldn't prevent themselves from singing out loud - not boisterously, but I could certainly hear them though I suspect they had no idea they were actually making a sound that could be heard! I would have asked them to stop, but there was no one else in the place and they weren't disturbing anyone. Besides - free floor show!

I sat there and watched them, smiling, for a good five or six minutes. Then the song must have ended, and they went back to surfing the web and playing their online games. Some days ya jist gotta dance with the music :)

Spring Cleaning

I have made a bit more progress on the downsizing of the junk I cart about. I managed to sort through all the bathroom stuff, the front hall closet stuff, the under my bed stuff, my dresser and part of my closet. I am getting close. I think I just have the rest of my closet and the storage closet downstairs.

Meanwhile the pile of things to dispose of properly is also being whittled away at. Drop the no longer needed clothing in the good will box. Toss the ragged carpet. Take out at least a dozen bags of out dated, expired, no longer valid stuff. Shoot. How did all this stuff get into my apartment?

Drew just shakes his head and makes a beeline for his room lest I ask him to participate. He is doing his part by going through his stuff, but he is not of a mind to let go of things. Just package it better. I can see I need to buy a dozen plastic tubs. That will make moving easier anyway. Good thing there are some garage sales coming up! I sense a hefty donation ahead.

I have promised my kids that by the time I leave this world, they will not have to break down anything of significance to dispose of. Hopefully I will have a suitcase of clothes, a few precious mementos, and my Bible and Divine Hours. Maybe a lamp and my glasses. That's a trick if you can manage it. Especially since I am partial to being comfortable while I am still kicking. Well, we shall see. Meanwhile, I do feel unencumbered and light hearted if nothing else.

Catching Up

I am notorious for letting the mail stack up and missing deadlines. Today, I am determined to sort through my mail basket and set things to rights. I make piles. Offers I want to explore. Old bills I already paid. Current bills coming due soon. Medical expense reports. More medical expense reports. Hospital statements. More hospital statements. Letters I need to respond to. Letters I meant to respond to. Letters I want to respond to. Junk mail. Stuff to be filed away. Papers that have to do with Jairus House. Papers that have to do with Drew going to RIT. Papers that have to do with - well, you get the idea.

Now that I have the piles set, I take care of the things that are quick responses. I toss the junk and expired bills, clip together the other stacks, and then make a list of everything that I need to take care of in the order in which I plan to address things. What I wouldn't give for a competent secretary who would just handle this stuff while I am at work. I am no good at details. Make it all go away. But no. There is only me and I must do it. And kids who add to my workload. And no one else to shift this off on.

Well, at least the kids adding to my load part will decrease. And then I suppose I will miss the stacks of clutter they generate. There is just no pleasing some people! Now where did I put those stamps?

Rain, Rain, Cut It Out!

I was awakened somewhere around 3 am by Sugar's nervous pacing on my bed. This is unusual. She is whimpering. I sit up and try to figure out what is upsetting her. Suddenly a bright flash of lightning and an immediate and LOUD peal of thunder intrude on my bedroom. That is what has Sugar in a tizzy. She doesn't like thunder - or fireworks or loud motorcycles for that matter. But this is thunder times a hundred. No wonder she is quietly protesting.

I motion her to come close (she knows she is only allowed at the foot of my bed at best and mostly sleeps in her crate on the floor at the foot of my bed), and she shyly steps carefully toward my hand. She is shaking, poor thing. I reassure her and she quiets, her wide eyes darting this way and that. Another loud clap of thunder and bright flash of lightning. She does not move but trembles warily. I tell her it will be OK. I am sure this will end soon. I wonder that the power has not been interrupted.

The heavenly hysterics continue for the better part of an hour, and finally around 4 or so, settles down to rain and wind. The worst is past. I do not ask Sugar to move. She stays a bit longer, then stretches and jumps down off the bed. I hear her scratching her blankies around in her crate as she circles trying to find the right spot. I hear her heave a big sigh, then settle down.

Whew! Glad that is over.

Community of the Savior

Now that my duties at the Methodist Church have ended for the summer, I return to attending my home church. It is both happy and sad. I love being with my CoS family and feel like a long lost family member welcomed home. I miss my friends at UMCNC and wonder how they are doing. I recognize that spending some time away from UMC is healthy in a way. It gives me a chance to reflect, to experience worship as a congregation member, and to bring new ideas and music back with me when I return in the fall refreshed and ready to go.

How I appreciate the gentle liturgy, the welcoming hugs, the fellowship after service - and the communion! I have missed the weekly celebration of the Eucharist that is so much more than just saying the words and taking the elements. Not that it isn't significant in other places I have taken communion, but there is something about the way CoS holds communion that resonates deep within me, something that brings healing and strength.

Besides, who can resist sitting next to your son in worship and singing side by side? What great conversations we have afterwards about the sermon or about some aspect of the service we both found interesting. I have missed out on the family coherence by virtue of my calling to serve. I am happy to grab a bit of such stuff when I can, fleeting as it is.

We linger over refreshments. They surprise Drew with a card and gift in honor of his graduation from high school, and they brag on him about his being in the top ten of his class, and being accepted at RIT. Drew is pleased as punch. Afterwards, we go to Wegmans, select lunch from their food bars and head to the upstairs dining room where we select a private table to continue our conversations of the morning. What a wonderful way to spend Sunday.

Saturday

I am plain exhausted. Maybe it is the trip to Albany and the emotionally draining circumstance catching up to me. Maybe it is the class work and the reading and papers. Maybe I am just getting old. Maybe my body isn't functioning at top speed. Whatever it is, I decide that today I will just stay home and not DO anything. I will sleep in until I am ready to rise. I will sit around in my pj's and accomplish nothing at all. I am not going to call anyone, run errands, clean, read or write. I am depressed and mopey and with good cause.

During the conference, we were presented with a list of the symptoms of burnout, and I was shocked to discover that I have all of them! What??? I love my job, my other job, my life, my leisure. What am I burned out about? I tell myself out loud that this is to be expected. After all, my Mother just died and I have been battling cancer for - 9 years. I deserve to have a down day. Anybody would. OK. I give in to it mostly because I also got a list of what to do when you are burned out, and "doing nothing at all" is high on the list. So. I am normal.

It feels wonderful to loll around, sip ice tea, lounge lazily, not think, not see anyone. Drew is at work and I have the place to myself. I slept in until 9 am. Egads. I must really need this day. I did absolutely nothing until mid afternoon. Then I chided myself about the dirty dishes piled in the sink. I tried to go do them several times but just couldn't do it. I watched a movie. I laid on my bed. Finally, the bummer mentality lifted a bit. I wandered out in the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I had to stick a few things in the dishwasher to find the sink. That wasn't so bad. But I refuse to do the pans.

Then I got to thinking about what would look good in my kitchen in the new apartment, and I started poking around a bit. I took all my dishtowels from the shelf and sorted through them. Some of them were definitely ready for the trash bin. I trashed them. Then I discovered some bottles of vitamins no one was taking. I checked the expiration dates. 2010! How did I miss that? Toss. One cupboard down. It felt WONDERFUL to get rid of junky stuff. Let's see what this cupboard has to offer.

I just worked my way around the kitchen deciding what to take with me and what to get rid of. I piled unnecessary stuff in the living room. This was not work. It was euphoric! I felt so liberated and free. Whenever I tired, I say down, nibbled something and rested, telling myself that the rest can wait for another day. But I found myself drawn irresistibly back to the kitchen to sort and toss. This is the time to do it while I am in a give it up mood. I am ruthless about tossing and downsizing. Keep life simple. Less to be burned out about.

By the time Drew gets home, I have a mountain in the living room to dispense with, and a very clean kitchen. So much for the "do nothing at all" philosophy. That's OK. I suspect this plays into the need for this change in ways I scarcely understand. Thanks be to God.

Apartment Hunting

I have been thinking about it for a long time. With Drew finished with high school, I no longer am constrained by the 15 mile law about where I can live. Our apartment was strategically located so that I lived 14.9 miles from Charles Finney High School and was eligible for busing for Drew. After a disastrous experience with car pooling the first year, this was a better solution for me. It took some hunting to find a place that qualified, but I have been happy where we are. Its an older complex, but has lots of green space and the neighbors are nice. Still, it doesn't heat or cool well and its worn down.

I'd like to move closer to work and save myself some time and gas. I looked at places within walking distance of the college, but either they are nice and too expensive, or not desirable or safe places to live. I expanded the radius and rediscovered a place Drew and I had both liked in our initial search for a bus allowing place. We look again. Yes, it is a wonderful place with lots of amenities lacking in my current place. I can't afford a 2 bedroom, but I can get a 1 bedroom.

We toss the idea around for awhile, writing lists of pros and cons, exploring co-renting ideas, calculating differences in costs (free laundry in the new place, $50/ month minimum spent in laundry costs in the old place - you get the idea). We pray about it. I have a peace about moving forward but I am not in a hurry. Then suddenly something inside me urges me to act on the idea and to do it immediately.

I walk into the office and state my decision. The agent in the outer office purses her lips and tells me they may not have anything until mid to late fall, but the manager in the inner office motions me to come in, tells me there is in fact, something available, and draws me a map to go scope out the location. I do not need to go in person. I accept on the spot and plunk down my administrative fee. Done! She tells me that these places go like hot cakes and she knows they don't stay open for long. They barely have time to turn them over.

I walk out of the office in a happy daze. That was quick, but I have a sense that it is important that I make this change and make it now. I have learned to trust these inner urges - call them what you will. I would not be at all surprised to learn later that this was a key decision. It's one of those things where you know forces well beyond your understanding (I call it Holy Ghost guidance) are watching out for you. So. August 1 is the move date. I am weeding out and preparing the best I can. It will be a nice change.

Ice Cream Social

I was not able to be with the Chime Choir and Choir for their last Sunday of this season. We always end mid-June mostly because so many people take vacations and travel during the summer. I heard that they did a stellar job and things went well. We had agreed to meet today to officially wind things down and share some ice cream while we chat and say sianara for the summer.

Unfortunately, since I have been completely out of my usual sync, I was unable to send a reminder email or to remind people verbally on Sunday that we had planned this event. The turnout was thin at best, but ended up being enjoyable because those of us who attended got to participate in one conversation instead of there being multiple groups conversing. It was nice to chat informally while we slurped ice cream complete with hot fudge, caramel, and whipped cream (and one brave soul added in a crumbled ice cream sandwich!)

I was sorry to have missed a beat in letting people know, and decide to hold a second one right before we start up for the fall. Maybe I can be better about connecting with people and more will be able to attend. Regardless, it will be nice to have some time to just chat.

The Future of the Church Conference

Yesterday and today, people have gathered in Shewan Recital Hall to examine our work as pastors and church workers, to see if we are doing quality work with lasting significance. Our speaker, David Fitch, has engaged us in exploratory conversation despite his ailing throat and cough. News reports tell us that the allergens this spring (is it really still spring?) are the worst on record, thanks to the extraordinary mild winter. I suspect he has fallen prey to the 300 day cough everyone hereabouts has been battling.

Nonetheless, he perseveres, getting by partly due to drinking lots of water to quell his cough. We are nearing the end of the conference when he reaches over to grab his glass of water for a sip, inadvertently spilling the contents of the thin plastic cup directly on to his laptop. Waaa! One fried computer. The more techie oriented attempt a resurrection. The speaker continues with his presentation powerpointless, and after a bit, asks the guys in the back how things are going. Without hesitation, one of them responds "Come on. Even God needed 3 days!" What a riot.

I give him a great deal of credit for managing to continue with the rest of the day's work in a focused manner, letting go of his loss. Not an easy thing to do. Especially since this was the first time he has ever experienced any kind of technical glitch, much less a major meltdown. Whew.

NES Alumna of the Year

My former pastor was tapped for the honor of being awarded the outstanding and distinguished alumna of the year by the seminary. I am so thrilled for her. They have made an excellent choice and she certainly deserves the honor. I am delighted to be invited to the luncheon in her honor, a gathering of her mentors, colleagues, professors, advisers, dissertation committee members, district personnel, and family.

It is great to see her again. She looks refreshed and happy. Her new assignment agrees with her for sure, even if its a bit tough on the family. Though we had only a few minutes to greet each other and catch up, it was wonderful to chat with her.

The room is nicely appointed, the food tasty and inviting, the conversation uplifting. We share about how we each met her and what our relationship with her is - an interesting grid of interwoven lives. The hour flies by so quickly. There will be a formal presentation at the conference in the afternoon, and I look forward to the public acknowledgement of her work.

I am grateful for her investment in my life, for her support during my challenging times of health issues, for her understanding and support of my ideas in bringing the music program to new places, for her grace in allowing me to try things out and for her trust. I am also grateful for her gifts, for her boldness, for her tender heart, for her astute leadership. I count it a privilege to be part of this day of celebration.

Back To Class

We arrived home last night around 10 pm, just in time to return the car rental and pick up Sugar. I was a bit wired and a lot tired from the weekend's activities. Reconnecting with all my brothers and sisters and their families is demanding enough let alone saying goodbye to Mom and hello to son and grandchildren. It was a good weekend despite all the sadness and the sheer logistics.

Now it is time to settle back down to - not normalcy, but classes. This is the more challenging week of mind bending, deeply philosophical and somewhat radical analysis of why we do church the way we do church and whether we should continue doing it the same way. It is interesting and rather revolutionary proposals fly about, making you really evaluate your experiences.

Secondarily, this class is more challenging because there are more students in it. Keeping up with the online discussion was a mind boggling morass of confusion and fragmentation. It is apparent that conversation in the classroom will be even more difficult. I am constantly wanting to say something, but there is simply no opportunity. The poor professor gets farther and farther behind in his lecture until I see him flip past multiple pages trying to stay on track by eliminating portions of topics.

At least no one is bored or nodding off! Hopefully things will settle down in a day or so.

Middle Son

I don't get to see him often, even though he only lives a four hour drive away. He has his hands full trying to keep his boat afloat and everyone in it.  You never know quite what to expect when you see him, but I am determined to spend some time with him - just him - while I am in the area. It took some finagling to convince the other kids to take my grandchildren and go somewhere else with them so that I could talk with him freely, but they did it even though I could tell they thought it a bad idea. Sometimes you just have to make the noise go away so you can concentrate on the important things.

I had prayed for this conversation to go well. I have not been able to be much help to this son but my heart hurts for his situation. He has not been in a place to be able to hear me when I tried to communicate. Today for the first time since he was young, I felt as if we finally were able to have an honest and uninterrupted heart to heart chat. I don't know how he felt afterwards. I hope he was at least encouraged even if he could not feel my love. I thought I saw some little crack in the wall between us, some ray of light that indicated a softening, a reconciliation of sorts. Time will tell.

For now though, I bless him as I am able and try to get him to understand how much I care - not about all the craziness that has run between us, but about him. Not buying into his less-than-ideal decisions, but wanting people to come alongside him and show him a better way to approach life. He is such a gifted talented man. If only he could know that and use his gifts wisely. All in good time. All in good time. I am hopeful that we can keep the momentum going and the communication open.

Farewell To Mom

Family is expected to be at the funeral home at 8:30 am. Once again I must rouse sleeping kids and urge them into consciousness so we can get going. At this point, I am not fussing about arriving on time. I know my siblings will all be there early and I had my time last night. The ride to the funeral home is quiet. Everyone looks shiny and nice. It soothes my heart that they took time to dress up.

I have no expectations concerning the service and am surprised at the number of people who came. After several conversations, I realize that many of them were unable to come to Dad's services (right after Christmas on a day of terrible weather) and for them this is a double closure. That is welcome. I am also surprised that a number of people ask me if I am going to speak. I decline repeatedly. My older brother has asked for that privilege and I do not wish to step on his toes. The service is simple and filled with comfort. 2 of Mom's favorite hymns (Blessed Assurance and Abide With Me) bookend the proceedings.

Then the pastor invites anyone who would like to say a few words to come forward, beginning with family members. Pete steps up. As always, his words are thoughtful and significant. Then I am urged once again to speak. I have nothing prepared. I have said my tribute on my blog. But I step forward and just talk from my heart. I am followed by other brothers and sisters (there are 8 of us) and several members of the church Dad last pastored.

The story we laughed about most was told by one of the deacons. He had brought Dad a pickup truck load of wood for their wood stove. As he and Dad were unloading the truck, Mom - in her early 80's -  came out wielding an axe and started splitting the wood. The deacon, concerned that a skinny little old woman was doing this hard physical labor, asked Dad if Lillian ought to be splitting the firewood. Dad answered, "Well, she's a little slower these days but she manages to get the job done!" We all roared heartily over that story. It sounds just like Mom. And Dad.

Despite a momentary driving rain, we managed to get Mom safely planted beside her beloved James in the Albany Rural Cemetery. I was able to locate my newly placed headstone and see how nice it looks. I realized that Mom was the one who placed red geraniums on Gram Appleby's grave every year at Memorial Day. Who will take on this family duty now that Mom is gone? I will try to do it. I can't promise, but I would like to.

I had already planned to stop at my son Michael's grave and put some small gesture of my remembrance there (he is buried in Powell Wiswall Cemetery about an hour north). I do have a bit more incentive to take on this kind of task than the rest of my siblings. Now that my boys are all out of the house with Drew leaving for RIT in the fall, it will give me something to do! I suppose I can make a regular holiday out of it and maybe even do some camping in the Adirondacks. We shall see. Meanwhile, we siblings head for the Cheesecake Factory to dine together and celebrate Mom.

How Hard Could It Be?

I had arranged to pick up the rental car at 8 am. I figured that would give us plenty of time to pack the car and get on the road so that I could check into the hotel (Mom paid for us to all have a room in the same hotel in the same floor and wing so we would have an opportunity to be with each other - way to go Mom! No easy task as there are 35 of us) before heading to the funeral home. Best laid plans.

I had wanted to drop Sugar off at the dog sitter's last night, but Drew took off with the car and didn't come home until too late for me to have the energy to go anywhere. I dragged my feet about packing my bag and was in a royal uninspired mood last night which meant I had to take care of all those things today. I spent the night painting little stones with Mom's name so people could have a memento of the funeral. I rushed to get the vehicle, drop off the dog, pick up snacks and ice for the drink cooler, but the cards were against me every step of the way.

New rule about adding another driver that sent us chasing paperwork and making a second trip to the rental place. Kiel and Andrea forgot their good clothes and we had to make a second trip there. I am fussing and edgy and just want to get going. I watch the clock ticking away and pretty soon we are in the red zone. If we don't leave RIGHT NOW I will miss my appointment and will not get to spend time with Mom. I want to strangle the nonchalance in my kids who don't get it. I want to call them stupid and inconsiderate, but I recognize the problem is me not them.

I struggle to let go. God, you know how important this is to me. But I also recognize that if I miss this chance, I will still have time tomorrow. These children are more important to me than spending a few minutes with a body. Help me to keep things in perspective, trust you and relax. I am finally able to get my warring emotions in check even as I recognize that we have passed the deadline for leaving Rochester. Ah, well. It is in your hands, Lord. I settle into the back seat and am quiet. We agreed to listen to a Ted Dekker book on tape, and that distracts everyone so they don't take my quietness too personally.

I have given up all hope of being at the funeral home by 4 pm. I have to stop twice during the four hour drive and that chews up even more time. No matter. God is with me. I watch the time tick away. Suddenly it is 3:30 and wonder of all wonders, we are close. I will be able to make at least some of the time at the funeral home. I know Kiel did not speed. It is a miracle. We pull up about 5 minutes after 4. I am soooo grateful.

The kids give me space as I enter the familiar funeral parlor where all the Appleby funerals have been held since I can remember. There is Mom at rest looking better than I can remember seeing her in a long time. The tears come. I cry. I stop crying. I cry some more. I cease. I cry again, pulling tissue after tissue from the conveniently placed boxes. I stand awkwardly in front of her casket, wanting desperately to touch her - one last hug - and knowing at the same time that Drew will not be able to tolerate that. I resist the urge.

I want to say so much to her, even though I know it is pointless. I am very aware of the kids in the back of the room whispering quietly to each other, biding their time. Finally I invite them to come forward, but they decline. It is too much for them. I do not press. I cry a bit more. I am aware that I must be done before 5, and I want to introduce Kiel to the funeral home people since he will likely be the one responsible for dealing with them when my time comes.

We gather around the table in the conference room and they show Kiel my plans and desires, show him that everything is decided and taken care of in advance. Kiel is suddenly mature and fully engaged, paying attention, making suggestions, noting the important things he needs to know. I take comfort in that. Then we are ready to find the hotel and a hot meal. I take one last moment with Mom and I am at peace. Thank you Lord for your grace in hearing my heart and enabling us to be here.

Making My Own Arrangements

The plans for Mom's funeral are set and we are all sent an email. I read it. I re-read it. Something inside me begins to bubble up in reaction. The viewing, service, and interment will all take place on Saturday in the span of a few hours. Wait a minute! It took us 4 days to bury Dad. What's this? I need more time than one single morning. I call my sister to find out what is going on. Turns out it is a matter of money. Bah, phooey. "Unfair!" I want to scream, but I realize that getting upset will not help. I probe a bit more. How much money are we talking about?

As I listen, I begin to understand that everyone who had to deal with Mom's care is worn out, fed up, and ready to be done. I did not have time with Mom like they all did, for many reasons (the biggest being my health preventing me from handling a long and demanding trip to California). They all just want to be done with it already and move on. I get that. I decide to call the funeral home and see if I can set up a private viewing since I am the only sibling interested in more time. Yes, of course, as long as I am done before 5 pm after which they would have to pay someone overtime to be there. I can do that. I will simply leave earlier on Friday. We set a 4 o'clock appointment and I am all set.

The things a girl has to do to spend time with her Mom.

Dinner with Friends

The seminary has invited all the doctoral students to dinner at the Ellen Stowe Room in Garlock Dining Hall. I find myself free to go as once again my amazing colleagues have relieved me of evening reference desk duty so I can participate fully. I am glad because after an exhausting day of thinking so hard and listening so intently, I am pretty sure I can not manage to hang on until 9 pm! Who knew that listening was so demanding?

We wander over to the dining hall and enter a room of beautifully appointed tables - linens, flowers, candles - the whole treatment! We are served on white china with a bit of gold edging. What a nice experience to break bread with friends and faculty in an elegant setting. I am never sure I will be able to eat what is offered in these situations. My diet is so restricted. I pass on the tossed salad, as delicious as it looks, but can eat the roll since it is not whole grain. The chicken and mashed potatoes are delicious and I nibble at the broccoli. Not too much. I don't want to risk a gastric episode now. The piece de resistance is the dessert - a slice of pound cake buried in strawberries and blueberries mounded over with whipped cream. Yum! Just the right size of serving that I can manage without getting into trouble.

I enjoy hearing the conversations about others' future plans, current situations, family issues. How delightful to be part of something so normal and ordinary - takes my mind off the upcoming funeral for which I find myself constantly in prayer - traveling mercies, opportunities to minister, meeting friends of our parents - all the abnormal situations that will surface during this time. I appreciate a shared meal with another part of my 'family' - the normalcy of which helps me stay connected to the now.

Still, I am uncharacteristically quiet and manage to slip away before most to retreat to the quiet of my own living room. I savor the dinner time and appreciate this unusual opportunity to be reminded that I am not alone, that I am part of the family of God and will continue to have family times long after I am "alone."

The Riches of Scripture

My first class concerns Biblical understanding and thinking about the Bible in light of the context in which it was written - learning how to understand what kind of literature form we are reading and what that means concerning how we gain insight and application for our lives. It is a fascinating subject taught by a man who brings much serious study into the mix. I find the discussions at once challenging and freeing and not a little frightening as I discover misconceptions I have nursed for years. Whew!

Good thing I had yesterday. I have been given the ability of not thinking about anything other than what is currently in front of me. Perhaps it is a blessing to have something so mentally demanding to keep me from being down in the dumps for days since the funeral won't be until this coming weekend. I find it offensive that California has some ridiculous law that prevents them from shipping the body of a deceased person to another state until 48 hours has passed. No one seems to understand the logic behind that.

Which meant that the earliest they could send Mom home was Saturday, and the people who do that sort of work don't work on the weekends! Hum. Good thing I know that they don't keep bodies in those horrid metal slots in a wall somewhere cold and dark. I checked when my son died. I could not bear the thought that he was in some metal file drawer somewhere all alone and scared. I know it sound ridiculous, but the lady at the funeral home totally understood my concerns. She assured me that Michael was in a well lighted room in a comfortable and open casket and that they have someone who walks into that room every half hour so he would not need to be alone. You would not believe how comforting that was to a grieving Mom. And now, I apply it TO my Mom. I am not a little comforted to know she is not stuck in some awful place being ignored.

Mom will just have to be patient as will we all. So I am happy to think about something else, and this is more than able to distract me. How curious. Life is certainly filled with strange and unusual events.

Gracious Retreat

How like the good Lord to schedule a full day's retreat for me after my Mom's passing - a day carved out of my full schedule so I can just sit with him and be quiet and grieve. Not some full blown wailing and keening, but a deliberate and focused reflection on Mom and on how life will be different. Yes, there are others there and yes, we follow a loose observance of celebrating the hours, which helps me connect to God's grace. We are also provided lots of time to just be alone with God.

We are at Mercy Prayer Center, near the Highland Park area. I have heard of this center before, but never had the opportunity of visiting. It is a place of grace and hospitality. Little touches of kindness meet you everywhere you look - a small vase with fresh flowers, open Bibles, tapestries, windows filled with the lush green of summer. How surprising to find this place of quiet sandwiched in between houses and businesses. A light rain mists the world and accentuates my tiredness. I welcome the invitation to sit and be quiet.

During our reflection times, I am directed by one of the sisters to an unoccupied guest room where I close the door and curl up in a comfortable easy chair, drape a prayer shawl over my shoulders and gaze out on a colorful garden filled with birds singing and water gurgling. It is restful and cleanses my soul with peace and contentment. Only God could have known how much I needed this time. I am swaddled by his presence and wrapped in the comfort of the Holy Spirit.

Yes, I tend to the tasks of the program that brought me here, but that is only a small piece of my business. God knows what is needed and He touches my hurting heart with tenderness and understanding. I am not alone and I bask in his kindness. What a good and gracious God to be with me in my time of sorrow. I recall special times with Mom that I had long forgotten. I remember her and think about how much she meant to me.

I am blessed. I am conscious of God anointing my head with oil. My cup runs over. Goodness and mercy surround me - even in the sad times.The retreat gives me much needed strength to face the days ahead. I wander home at the end of the day and go to bed early to enjoy a full night of rest. Thanks be to God.

Cinderella Complex

I could just scream every time I hear a talented and beautiful young lady express her buy-in to this fallacy. Why is it that we so easily believe that Prince Charming will swoop in on his white horse and whisk us away to a castle where we will live happily ever after (translate "never have to lift a finger again, get to sit on our butts all day munching junk food and watching drivel on some screen")? Can't we get a clue that sitting around all day doing nothing and waiting for someone else to wait on our every whim is boring and detrimental to our well being? Or worse yet, the opposite where we rush around all day doing someone else's chores and keeping someone else's life in order while ours sits on a back shelf gathering dust (Cinderella still sitting in the ashes).

I have always believed that being married does not in any way mean you must become a carbon copy of the person you are married to! (Perhaps this is why I ended up divorced). So many women are completely competent and capable in their own right without having to either put down some poor guy or be put down by some guy. I have dared to mention to my women friends that I think a marriage ought to be 2 people who are completely fine and able on their own who choose to come together for companionship (as opposed to dependency). They stare at me as if I have lost my sanity. I suppose in this era we are still not as equal minded as we like to think we are.

Needless to say (climbing down off soap box), I will never give any of my grandchildren the Cinderella story in any format! But I will hope to instill in them a sense of God's intentions for humanity and for their lives, intentions filled with permission to be who you are, to indulge your creative abilities, to venture forth into the world daring to state ideas of abundance and goodness. Meanwhile, I will continue to resist the urge to strangle the Cinderella groupies.

Roses

The rose bush outside our front door is filled with huge rose blooms the size of my head. Most of them are delicate, fragile, soft, pale, light pink - absolutely gorgeous. It is almost as if the petals are translucent. The gentle bush is trying to outdo itself and I almost believe it is in honor of my Mother who liked flowers of all sorts (except for carnations which she said reminded her of a funeral home).

Last year the hand-sized roses nodded at shoulder height, but this year the branches have sprung up and the flowers are way over my head. They climb the side of the building up past the brick part and onto the white siding. Several of the canes sport nothing but lush greenery while the main branch, weighed down with multiple roses, struggles to stay upright. Another cane is peppered with buds tightly wrapped and hard like little green apples. If I am fortunate, I will have a summer of continual roses blooming beneath my bedroom window. Won't that be exquisite! How amazing for a bush that has been ignored and not manipulated in any way.

Papers

Arrrghhh! We are fast approaching the on-campus week of our spring D Min classes. You have to have handed in all the assignments that were due before the on-campus session, and I admit that with everything going on, I have had no heart for wrestling with theologico-political theoretical philosophic issues. I can hardly recall the books we were required to read much less write cogently about some topic during which I compare one writer's perspective with another. I already had to hand in one paper late, and now I will not be able to hand in the last paper anywhere close to on time.

It is so rare that I have to delay a deadline, but in this case, it is quite understandable. My professors have been most gracious. Still, I do not want this hanging over my head during Mom's services. I need to be free to be fully present for family and friends. So I slog through the requirements, aware that this is not my best effort, but willing to take second best. In the grand scheme of things, a mere drop in the bucket. Besides, my sister is going ahead with her garage sale (most of which is Mom's stuff which was removed from the house so that it could be sold) next week, as if we didn't have enough on our plates.

My first attempt got me about a quarter of the way through. Second day of work, about a third of the way. Two more days, I revamped what I had, realizing it was poor quality in need of help. So now I have a semi solid foundation that just needs fleshing out. I pray. The words come with great difficulty and challenge. I feel like I am eking out some monumental statue from hard granite. Come on. Let me nail words down to a sheet of paper. Cooperate already. And slowly, things settle down until I am comfortable enough in the paper that I can submit it. All will be well and all will be well. Now I am free to engage with the important stuff.