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Showing posts from 2008

Off to a slow start ...

I read somewhere recently that some people are "Christmas" Christians, while others are "Passion" Christians. I must fall into the latter category -- I find Lent more meaningful than Advent, and I am completely absorbed by the time the Triduum arrives. That's the most important time of the year for me. By the time Thanksgiving is over, I am ready for a break. But here comes Advent! There's no place to hide! Overnight: total-immersion Advent! At the mall, yesterday, when I finally began the little bit of Christmas shopping that I am going to do, I kept hearing that Christmas song on the loudspeakers, the one that insists that Christmas is the happiest time of the year. So I must be missing something. Christmas wears me out. A local radio station began all-Christmas-music-programming *before* Thanksgiving! It's the middle of December and I've already been caroled to death! And merchants must be truly desperate, because at least 80% of my email this mo

Turkey tales

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Pride goeth before a fall. It began with the turkey. The turkey had to be better this year! I went to the market on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and bypassed the frozen turkeys in favor of a fresh one, a nice little 13- pounder . I have trouble getting frozen turkeys defrosted in time, no matter how soon I put them in the fridge. So this year would be different. The turkey would be fresh . If I noticed the words organic and free-range , they failed to register. Until I got to the register, I mean. Imagine the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face when that turkey rang up at $41.11. I stared blankly at the bored, gum-snapping teenage cashier. How could I admit to her that I wanted to trade in my organic and free-range turkey, unpolluted by antibiotics, used to the happy, carefree life outside the coop, for a deep-frozen, overfed lump of turkey which would end up, even after days of defrosting, in my sink on Thanksgiving morning with me cursing at it? Naturally, I lacked th

My eye is on the sparrow

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Actually, that's all I'm seeing at my backyard birdfeeder. Sparrows. Back in the summer I had quite a variety of birds: cardinals, tufted titmice, chickadees, and a bird which I think was a type of woodpecker. Now? Sparrows. I know all the birds haven't flown to warmer climes. The question, then, is: where are they? I posed this question to my friend, who looked at me with pity before asking me what I was using as feed. "I don't know," I said. "Seed. I get it in bags at the grocery store." My friend winced, and gave me the address of a nearby birdseed emporium. I found my way there, and was suddenly in bird wonderland. There I found every birdfeeding and bird-watching accessory known to man. Ground feeders. Pole feeders. Squirrel baffles. Birdhouses of all sizes, even bird apartment-buildings for purple martens. High-powered optics for viewing birds. And a puzzling array of foods: nyjer seed, peanuts, corn, you name it. Plus several seed blends, in

Why am I not surprised?

OK, the election is history. The lawn signs are gone. I am sleeping like a baby, in the knowledge that Obama will be our next President. It's now time for me to turn to the other issues that matter to this blog. One is the Prop 8 fiasco that has taken place in California, where a slender, 52% majority voted to deny a basic human and civil right to a significant segment of the human population. What next? It's a slippery slope, ladies and gents. It's not much of an imaginative leap from marriage to property ownership, enfranchisement, and other basic rights. Are you going to take those away from the LGBT folks as well? Of course, speaking prominently on the question of Prop 8 was one of its major supporters, Saddleback Church's Pastor Rick Warren, who appears on this blog from time to time whenever I need an example of a wolf in sheep's clothing, or a portrait of an aquatic bottom-feeder. In justifying his views, Pastor Warren had recourse to the Bible, a 2000-yea

I'm Judith, and I approved this message ...

OBAMARAMA!

I want the shiny, red leather jacket!

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I've been thinking ... about Sarah Palin and her $150,000.00 buying spree, financed by the RNC . Since Palin's clothes are going to be donated to charities after the election, maybe she could send this red jacket my way! I might even, eventually, lose enough weight to fit into it! If not, I could simply admire it on the hanger. Of course, some people will say I should stop whining and just buy my own jacket. So I did a little online sniffing, and though I could not find Sarah's exact jacket, I did find a similar one at Neiman Marcus. Isn't it just divine? And the best thing is the price tag. It's only $1,395.00! I should snap it up! Oh, but wait. I forgot I'm paying $653.40 every month for my son's health insurance. Just in case he needs another hernia repair. Or gets into an accident. I'm such a worry wart! Maybe I could put it on layaway -- I hear that's the next big thing, since none of us has any money left. Let's see , $1,395.00 ... Th

Lament for an oak tree

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I'm a tree-hugger -- I'll admit it. And when we bought our house ten years ago, one of its many selling points was the mature oak tree standing on the front lawn, along with equally lovely maples and locust trees spotted around the property. So it was with dread that I read, a few years ago, about a blight that was striking oak trees in my state. I took a good look at my tree, and, in truth, it didn't look so well. The leaves turned brown early, but not because it was fall (it wasn't). Over the next two years, the tree looked worse and worse. I lamented -- I grieved -- and I called the department in our borough responsible for trees located within four feet from the street: the Shade Tree Commission (I kid you not). I connected with a nice man named Jim, who came by while I was at work, and reported that my tree "needed pruning," but that I would have to get in line with the 20,000 other shade trees in the borough. Sigh. A week or two ago, I called Jim again.

This kind of says it all ...

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" US Republican presidential nominee Senator John McCain (R-AZ) reacts to almost heading the wrong way off the stage after shaking hands with Democratic presidential nominee Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) at the conclusion of the final presidential debate at Hofstra University in Hempstead, New York, October 15, 2008. REUTERS/Jim Bourg. "

Debate night chez Midget

As your resident political junkie, I have been glued to the TV for all the Obama/McCain debates, and for the Palin/Biden debate, which was arguably one of the great comedy shows of all time. I have not been able to get J. interested in watching, however -- he says he knows who he's voting for already. So he goes out to run 5 miles, and I snuggle down on the bed surrounded by dogs. Last night, fortified with a glass of wine and a big bowl of popcorn, I settled in. Shadow waited patiently for an occasional piece of popcorn. Amber reclined on her back, legs in the air, in what a friend of mine calls her "slutpuppy" pose. And Max growled occasionally at John McCain. I think he just doesn't like the squeaky, whiny voice. He didn't like Sarah Palin, either. She probably said "Doggone" one too many times for his taste.

The ABC speaks out

I have often been critical of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, particularly in his dealings with the ECUSA and his treatment of Bishop Gene Robinson vis a vis the recent Lambeth meeting. The ABC has really nailed the financial crisis, however. He has this to say on his website. The entire piece is excellent, and details how modern people have lost sight of the fact that the global economy, and its financial products made by men, have the power to desperately hurt real human beings. The paragraph that most struck me, foe of any kind of fundamentalism that I am, was this one: Fundamentalism is a religious word, not inappropriate to the nature of the problem. Marx long ago observed the way in which unbridled capitalism became a kind of mythology, ascribing reality, power and agency to things that had no life in themselves; he was right about that, if about little else. And ascribing independent reality to what you have in fact made yourself is a perfect definition of what

Pet blessing service

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At the Church on the Hill, pet owners got together this past Saturday afternoon to remember St. Francis, and to receive the annual blessing on our pets. The weather was splendid, cool and crisp, as we gathered in the lower parking lot. At my former church, we did this service inside, but the Church on the Hill is barely big enough to accommodate people, much less furry creatures! I took my three standard poodles: my geriatric Shadow, who's 12, and Max and Amber, who are 2 years old. Shadow is a little blind and a little deaf, and approached the whole thing with a zen-like resignation. Not so the youngsters! They had never before been on the split lead, so they spent a lot of time figuring out that they had to walk nicely right next to each other. It was very funny to watch! We had about 15 dogs in attendance, and one bird. One of the dogs was a chihuahua, and totally adorable; unfortunately, Max suspected she was a rodent, and made every attempt to eat her! Her owners were very u

Heartbreaking pet story

My canine-loving heart is just breaking over this story in today's Philadelphia Inquirer. I want to run right up there, fill my car with dogs and cats, and bring them home. The kennel operator potentially faces over a million dollars in fines -- but apparently no jail time. I say lock 'im up and throw away the key.

The Post Turtle

I just got this joke on email, and I can't resist posting it (pun intended). This will leave you no doubt where I stand, assuming you had any. While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old rancher, whose hand was caught in the gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to Sarah Palin and her bid to be our next Vice President. The old rancher said, "Well, ya know, Palin is a post turtle." Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a post turtle was. The old rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle". The old rancher saw the puzzled look on the doctor's face so he continued to explain. "You know she didn't get up there by herself, she doesn't belong up there, and she doesn't know what to do while she's up there, and you just wonder what k

OK, I spoke too soon ...

I knew I couldn't stop blogging for long. Just call me Ladel Torque Palin. At least, that's what the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generato r suggested. Now you give it a go! Sqeegee Jester Palin? Thor Surprise Palin? Oh, no, I'm going to need a 12-step program for this also!

Confessions of a political junkie ....

Yes, it's true. I have been neglecting my three faithful readers while remaining glued to CNN. I repent! But with the debates beginning next week ... I may need a CNN 12-step program!!! Or new eyeglasses, at the very least. Bear with me!

Joe Biden and I go way back ...

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Just kidding! He doesn't really know me, of course. But I was 19 years old and working as a student Radiologic Technologist at the Delaware Hospital (another career, another lifetime ago), on December 18, 1972, when the word got around that newly-elected Senator Biden's family had been involved in a devastating car crash outside Wilmington. You could have heard a pin drop. I recall the day had been slow otherwise; we waited for more news. Biden's sons, Beau and Hunter, arrived for x-rays; I wasn't on the case, but lingered with my colleagues in the hallway. I don't remember hearing anything about the boys' condition (they survived and are fine!). But I do remember, as if it were yesterday, when the news arrived that Neilia Biden and the Bidens' toddler daughter, Amy, had been killed instantly in the crash. Delaware mourned -- truly. I moved away in 1977, but the memory lingers. We all felt terrible for the Biden family. Well, time passes, and I moved to

On crickets and spiders ....

This weekend someone at church happened to mention he'd heard that crickets and spiders usually first appear at the same time during the summer. I'd never heard this; it sounded like a old wives' tale to me. Last night, sitting on my porch, listening to a medley of cricket-songs, I recalled what he had said. And, yes, at the far end of the porch, there she was: the orb-weaver, or her descendant, swinging gently in the light breeze, backlit by my neighbor's garage light. Well! this is a nasty development! The hair on my arms stood straight up. Her body is at least an inch across. Her legs are red-striped. YUCK. I know, I know -- she's part of God's creation. But so is toothache, and I don't have to like that , either! She'll be fine as long as she stays at the other end of the porch. I'll try to appreciate her. I'll try to list 5 reasons for liking her .... You go first.

Is it fall yet?

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OK , I know I'm rushing the season. But I am SO OVER summer. Not that I am a real enthusiast in the first place. After a blistering July, we are having a relatively mild August here in the Delaware Valley. Even for those who like to complain about heat (that would be me), there hasn't been that much to complain about. And the days are getting shorter; the nights have a first hint of coolness. I should be rejoicing. But I am exhausted all the time. I have so many projects that I planned to undertake this summer. So many small improvements I wanted to make at home, things taking no more than 10 minutes, things as small as changing a light bulb. Have I done any of them? Noooooooo .... I know this will be a familiar lament for any of you who suffer from summer SAD (seasonal affective disorder), as I do. And I am fortunate to have only a mild case! Even so, I'd like to curl up in a dark room and sleep till about the middle of September. But I'm going to stay out of direc

Lambeth. Sigh.

I don't know what I really expected from Lambeth 2008. I gather, from my reading, that lots of talk and prayer took place. That new relationships were forged, and multiple points of view expressed in love. That the Holy spirit was palpably present. This is all to the good, of course -- nothing to sneeze at. I suppose we are lucky there was no outright schism. Of course, the bishops who really can't stand us weren't there. Progress? I don't know. The idea of an Anglican covenant is still very much alive. We are still urged to refrain from ordaining LGBT folks, and not to bless their unions. So what has changed? My new hero is Bishop Marc Andrus of California, who says the following on his blog : In not abiding by the moratorium on same-sex blessings I take it as incumbent on me and on us in the Diocese to actively labor to both understand the position of those to whom that moratorium is important, and to convey the reality of our life together to the world. I must redoub

Bishop Robinson's Lambeth Blog

I've been engrossed lately in reading Bishop Gene Robinson's Lambeth blog, which you can find here . I recommend it to everyone . Though he has been, sadly, excluded from the formal proceedings, Bishop Robinson has managed to connect in a positive way with many, many people who are showing support. Please join me in praying for a successful journey for him, and a bit more tolerance on the part of certain Bishops I will not name. But we all know who they are.

The Big Read revisited

I just found this on Closeted Pastor's blog, and thought it might be fun to pass along. I will never live long enough to do all this reading, I am sure! And, before you ask, just seeing the movie doesn't count! I was already tempted by that! 1) Look at the list and bold those you have read. 2) Italicize those you intend to read. 3) Underline the books you LOVE (I’ve used an asterisk instead) 4) Reprint this list in your own blogs 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien* 3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte 4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling 5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee* 6 The Bible* 7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte 8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell 9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman 10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens* 11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott* 12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy* 13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller 14 Complete Works of Shakespeare 15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier* 16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien*

And now for something completely different ...

I'm hastily getting ready to go to Portland, Oregon, to a professional convention ... so I thought I would leave a little musical fun for you all while I'm gone. The group below is known as Joe Trio (I'm not sure why, because none of them is named Joe). They're based in Vancouver, BC, but tour all over. Check out their web site, which is is lighthearted and full of animal noises. The Youtube selection below is described as " a Joe Trio take on Led Zeppelin's Black Dog and various JS Bach themes combined." The performers are, from left, Cameron Wilson, Allen Stiles, and Charles Inkman. Charles is my neighbor's brother, and a lot of fun to hang out with. Enjoy!

What I did on my "staycation"

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That's the new buzzword now, right? " Staycation "? The word for time off when you can't afford the gas to go anywhere ... Well, I recently took a week off, having realized that I was going to max out my vacation time and stop accruing new days otherwise. J. took a few days off, too, and we did day trips. We didn't especially save on gas, but at least we could sleep in our own bed at night and save a lodging fee. The first day trip was to Cape May, NJ , an old Victorian resort still largely undiscovered by the condo builders ( shhh !...). This is one of my favorite places in the world. The "boardwalk" is made of concrete. The carnival rides are nonexistent. It's very quiet. The picture above was taken as a storm passed by offshore. I love the dark sky against the sea! We had a nice lunch (far too much food, but what the heck!) in a restaurant located on a pier. Later in the day, it cleared up a bit. J. doesn't much care for the beach,

House for sale

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My house is for sale. Again. I visited my hometown today, to help a friend and her dulcimer-playing husband celebrate the launch of his first CD. On the way back to the interstate, I cruised past the house where I grew up, and was dismayed to note a For Sale sign on the lawn. This will be the second time the house has been resold in the 11 years since I inherited it and sold it after my mom and dad died. Nobody stays long. As you can see from the picture, it's a compact little brick colonial, and at 1600 square feet, I guess it's not the McMansion of anyone's dreams. My parents built it in the postwar exodus to the suburbs for a whopping $16,000. That was big money at the time, I guess. I was in high school when they paid it off. They lived there for 45 years. I don't think "moving up" ever crossed their minds. My dad had been a POW, and was happy to be alive. My grandparents lived there, too, and my grandfather, a handyman and carpenter, enclosed the screen

Only connect!

I know that's a quote, up there in the title, but I can't recall who said it. Anyway, I went to the Order of Julian's annual JulianFest this past weekend, and spent two marvelous days doing just that. What a treat it is to see old friends, make new ones, learn more about Mother Julian, and have a change of scene. Southern Wisconsin is so beautiful this time of year! There are flowers in bloom there that have been gone for weeks in the Middle Atlantic. Unfortunately, we also had heat, humidity, and impressive storms and heavy rain. And this Jersey girl experienced her very first tornado warning, on Saturday afternoon, as we all left our meetings and hurried into a lower hallway of the retreat center, where there were no windows. Thunder boomed overhead, and those of us who are locals made tornado jokes -- black humor on this subject apparently abounds among midwesterners -- while the rest of us waited somewhat nervously. As a certifiable "weather geek," I was

Unprovoked

My former Rector has been letting loose on his blog again, complaining about a former church member who continues negative blogging about Rick Warren "even though they left our church four months ago!" One of his responses to this is to quote again from Uncle Rick: “If you wrestle with a pig you’ll both get dirty.” A couple of months ago, this would have elicited a blistering response from yours truly. Now? A giggle and a yawn. I have said what I had to say. I am so out of there! To paraphrase Dorothy Parker: "Loving my new church is the best revenge."

Sticks and stones ...

I've been reading and thinking lately about eco -theology, a topic I've just become aware of, though it may have been around for years. J. and I consider ourselves environmentalists-in-the-making. We recycle everything. Last month I recycled the gas/electric bill before I paid it (this was the source of much hilarity when I had to call them up and ask for the amount due). Last year, when the plight of the honeybee was in the news, J. called our lawn-care company and had them eliminate anything non-organic from their applications to our lawn (so now we have weeds; oh well; I'm the one who wants to turn the front lawn into a meadow anyway!). But we have miles to go before we make any impact, if we ever do! So I've been reading Thomas Berry, who echoes my feeling that everything belongs, and that we and the earth and all its inhabitants are all interconnected. I could quote from every page of Evening Thoughts (but I won't, so I'll still have some friends left!). I

Diet Report

Sigh. After almost 4 months on this diet, I have managed to lose ..... (Drum roll, please) .... 12 pounds. OK, it's 12 pounds I didn't need. And if I stopped having a couple of glasses of wine in the evening, it would be more. Maybe. What I really want is a HUGE BOWL OF PASTA! and a WHOLE BAG OF POTATO CHIPS! But that's not happening. I shall continue with Lean Cuisine frozen dinners. My husband is enormously proud of me. Because he doesn't see me sneaking peanut butter!

Three cheers for the California Supreme Court!

Cheering for anything a typical Supreme Court does is not a normal reaction of mine, but there you go! California rocks !

Taking the long, calm view

I will freely admit that taking the long view is not something I'm good at. When I see an injustice, I want it fixed --- right now . And since we know God's time is not necessarily our time, I am often left waiting, with empty hands. But after finishing Bishop Gene Robinson's new book, In the Eye of the Storm , I feel a deep sense of calm and peace about the turmoil we Anglicans find ourselves in, even if I think I know what to do to fix it -- right now . The exclusion of GLBT folks may not end right now, but it will surely end. After all, we have been through this before: Our Anglican difficulties today aren't really new. They're just a new chapter in a very old conflict that started a couple of thousand years ago, and the Holy spirit has been there in the midst of every battle, large and small. People often ask me when this infighting will end. My response is always a rather pessimistic "never." Because just as soon as we make some serious progress on

And De-Skunked!!!

As I write, our daughter, M., whose nose is not as tolerant as mine, is de-skunking Amber with some substance she purchased at Petsmart. This process will culminate in a shower for Amber (in my shower). I have to admit I'm smiling as I imagine my slender, petite daughter wrestling a 50 pound dog into the shower. I hope I still have an intact bathroom to come home to!

Skunked!!!

J. called me on his cell phone from the nearby woods, where he had taken the three dogs to run. "Amber got skunked!" 'OK, how is she?" I asked. "She wiped her face on my pants," he said. "Well, her eyes were burning," I suggested. "How is she now?" "She's rolling in the dirt," he replied. "What should we do?" "Not much, necessarily," I replied. "We'll leave her outside for awhile. Maybe bathe her in peroxide. Let's see how she is when you get home," Of course, he was unconvinced, not realizing that dogs have been skunked for thousands (if not millions) of years. When they got home, Amber was mostly herself (aside from smelling a little funky). Skunk smell has never bothered me much -- it's a sign that I'm (finally) in the country. I took J's jeans and proceeded to the basement, to put them in the wash. And all the time I was thinking, "You weenie! What's a little s

The End of Faith?

I've just finished reading The End of Faith , by Sam Harris, which I picked up in a bookstore on Dupont Circle while traveling on business in DC last week. Sam Harris is apparently a philosophy grad who is getting a Ph .D. in neuroscience, "studying the neural basis of belief, disbelief, and uncertainty," according to the back cover. He writes an impressive book, I must say. Since I am married to an agnostic who is the son of an agnostic, I figure it behooves me to pay attention to the opposition, even if I start off as a hard sell. The basic tenet of the book, as I surmise, is that religion -- any religion -- that cannot prove its claims scientifically has no claim to anyone's belief. Harris also claims (correctly) that religion has become an inappropriate subject for criticism in the modern world ... a taboo subject, particularly as far as Islam goes (he presents a rather devastating summary of Islamic beliefs, which I am not qualified to critique). And

Chomping at the bit

Calendar-wise, it's spring. In terms of temperature, it's spring (68 degrees today, 74 tomorrow, in the high 60s or low 70s for the extended forecast). The frost/freeze tables have me hamstrung. The popular wisdom I absorbed from my granny is that you never, never plant outside until May 15th. She was a great storyteller, and one story she loved to tell was the one about Pop- Pop's planting 60 tomato plants on the 20 th of April, and how they perished in a late-season snowstorm. But that was before global warming, I guess. The frost/freeze tables I consulted today suggested that our last freeze will probably occur by April 15th. This would not be an issue, were the morning-glory babies not taking over my basement. I started them on March 15th, under lights, and they're now a foot tall, curling around each other and looking somewhere, anywhere, for an anchor to latch onto. I really want to plant them outside . In the end, it's a judgment call, just like when I

From the sublime to the offensive!

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I've just finished reading Thich Nhat Hanh's Living Buddha, Living Christ , his comparison of Buddhism and Christianity. What a delight it was -- I want to read more of his work. I felt elevated to a new plane of ecumenism! I've added a new link to the Plum Village Practice Center, where I got the photograph to the right. I'll be doing a lot more reading on Buddhism. I know I have lots to learn to learn from all religious traditions. Well, maybe not all. Thanks to MadPriest for his post on 3/29, alerting us to more words of wisdom spoken by my own personal nemesis. Pastor Rick Warren's enlightened stance on LGBT issues was quoted in the Monitor , published in Uganda, in the issue for that same day. I looked it up in Westlaw, and I think it's worth quoting in full (just for that full, rancid, fundamentalist flavor): Famed American pastor, Dr Rick Warren has said he supports the decision by Ugandan bishops to boycott the forthcoming Lamebth [ sic]

An evening with ... Thich Nhat Hahn

I have a good friend at work who has just introduced me to Thich Nhat Hanh -- his books, I mean, though I wouldn't mind meeting him in person. I have read only one so far: Living Buddha, Living Christ. I found it lucidly written and valuable for its comparison of Buddhism and Christianity. It has made me want to read more on Buddhism. One especially thought-provoking excerpt is below: "Some waves on the ocean are high and some are low. Waves appear to be born and to die. But if we look more deeply, we see that the waves, although coming and going, are also water, which is always there. Notions like high and low, birth and death can be applied to waves, but water is free of such distinctions. Enlightenment for a wave is the moment the wave realizes that it is water. At that moment, all fear of death disappears." (p. 138) In a Christian context, if I were able to remember , every minute , that I am God's beloved child, that he is never separated from me, that I

Easter Vigil: I get it!

After many years of attending an anemic Easter Vigil, I finally understand what it's all about (proving that it's never too late to learn). Our Easter Vigil started after dark. The Rector appeared on the church porch with a medium-sized pyrex bowl, into which she proceeded to pour a large box of epsom salts. I was perplexed, standing in the back of the nave with the choir -- I had never seen this before. Into the bowl she then poured rubbing alcohol. Moving back from the bowl, she set it afire with a barbecue lighter. Wow! The flames rose up. It was our Easter fire. The Rector blessed it and lit the Paschal Candle from it. Then she extinguished the bowl by putting on its lid, entered the church, and began the Exsultet. As we processed down the aisle, the person on the end of every pew lit a candle from the Paschal Candle, then passing the flame to his neighbor's candle. The first half of the service, the reading of lessons (including my favorite, "The Valley of Dry

The price

Today I reached out on email to two women who were my close friends at my old church, asking after their families, giving them the news of my own, and wishing them a blessed Easter. It was a chatty little note, with a little news from my new parish mixed in. I thought it was a cordial note. I suggested lunch some Saturday. I got back, "Happy Easter" from both of them. One line, more or less, including good wishes for my new life. I guess this is what it feels like to be thrown under the bus. I guess it's the price for being honest about what I saw happening at the Church on the Pike. But sending that letter to my bishop was (as the commercial says).... priceless.

Dona nobis pacem

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Five years ago today I sat on my bed and watched the "Shock and Awe" campaign of the U.S. military against Saddam Hussein. Against the night sky over Baghdad, fatal blooms of yellow and orange erupted as we dropped bunker-busters. Take that, Saddam! And we were going to find his weapons of mass destruction and put him out of business, not to mention out of the presidential palace(s). It didn't quite work out that way. The WMDs were MIA. But it was OK, because we knew anyway that Saddam had been in cahoots with Al Qaeda, right? That Al Qaeda had been in contact with him prior to 9/11? Nope, wrong again. We had it all wrong from the beginning. That's the Bush administration: often wrong, but never in doubt. And people on both sides are still dying. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.

Palm Sunday: Pansy Attack!

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Palm Sunday dawned raw and drizzly here, with a thick layer of morning fog that had mostly burned off by the time I picked up my rider-to-church, a lady named Dorothy who is not able to drive right now. It was a rainy drive, but by the time we had arrived at church the drizzle had nearly stopped. We were able to have our Palm Sunday procession, from the parish hall down to the intersection, across the street and up to the Church on the Hill. This is the first Palm Sunday in years that it has not rained out a procession! We had a full congregation, and most of them processed. We even had a local police officer as our crossing guard! After the service, the sun came out, and I developed an itch. Well, it can't be holy week without flowers, right? Even a Holy Week as early as this one. Soon I found myself at the garden center, almost against my will, having a real pansy attack. I love pansies -- I love the deep, pure colors against the spring-green leaves and the gentle way the flower

What I said ...

Here's a copy of the letter I sent to the Vestry of the Church on the Pike, edited to protect everyone's privacy. Where I refer to recent parish history, you should know that we suffered periods of tumult resulting in "dissolution of the pastoral relationship" (meaning we fired our Rectors) twice in the last 20 years. So we have a history of conflict, but had been through a long period of healing. Until the recent nonsense! My original email had some attachments, but I couldn't figure out how to attach those documents here. But you'll get the general idea of their content. "Dear Vestry Friends, This afternoon my letter of transfer arrived at St. [ ]'s. Forgive me for not saying goodbye to you all in person, but last Sunday was a difficult day for me. Moving to St. [ ]'s is the decision I reached following a process of discernment that began with the first departures from St. [ ]'s, back in September. After 5 months of prayer

UNCLEAN!!!

OK, I left my church and found one I liked better. But when I left, I wrote a letter to the Vestry, explaining my position, why I left, and what I objected to. I also sent them three attachments, in the hope that these would better explain my doubts: why I don't want to become a fundamentalist; why I don't think everyone needs to agree on every point of doctrine; why the "Purpose-Driven" programs are splitting congregations; and why the enforcement of uniform opinion is not in the least Anglican. First, I sent the email to a friend on the Vestry, and asked her to distribute it to other Vestry members, since I didn't have everyone's email address. In a couple of weeks, and following a Vestry meeting, it became clear to me that my friend's best intentions had gotten cut off at the pass -- no one got my letter. So then I got really annoyed, and emailed the letter to everyone on Vestry for whom I had an address, on the supposition that a few are better than

My bad!

I've been tagged for two interesting memes, but I've had my head in a dark place and didn't notice one of them till today. My apologies to Psalmist , who tagged me way back on Feb. 8 for this book meme. I may be slow, but I do get there! Book meme : Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!) Find Page 123. Find the first 5 sentences. Post the next 3 sentences. Oh, boy, I hope you're not holding your collective breath in anticipation, because I happen to be at my desk on my lunch hour, and the nearest book is (drum roll, please): Lieberman, Joseph I. In Praise of Public Life , 2000 And the text, according to the rules of the meme, is: "American politicians have become so hungry for campaign contributions largely because, as I noted earlier, so much of politics has become driven by and wedded to television, which costs a lot of money. In 1974, which was a midterm election year, a record-shattering total of$356 million was spent by the nation's

Back on track?

Things have settled down a little at home. We have cleared the air, and we have a plan. That's all I can ask for right now. So ... the diet resumes. I lost three pounds somewhere, but of course there are miles to go yet. I have stopped being hungry and resentful. At least, I thought I had. I came home to an empty house, so the only ones who had to be fed were myself and the three canines. Having provided for them, I microwaved a Lean Cuisine pizza (4 miserable points) for myself. It wasn't bad, even if it did need a chocolate cake chaser. Lacking a chocolate cake, I sat there gloomily regarding my empty plate. Then I noticed it. A teeny, tiny, nearly microscopic piece of sausage had escaped from the pizza, and landed on the tablecloth next to my plate. But I was not the only one who noticed. Shadow, my nearly 12-year-old standard poodle, had fixed her beady little eyes on the prize. She looked from me to the sausage, quizically. I moved my hand a fraction of an inch closer to

Patience among the thorns

"Family troubles" have prevented me from blogging for awhile. I don't need to burden anyone with the details. But somehow I had gotten the notion that, once my kids were adults, their problems would be their own. That they would have sufficient commonsense to solve them (better still, avoid them). That I would somehow be on a higher, "post-parental" plane, looking down benignly (sort of like the Deists' "watchmaker" God), while the kids made their own way. Yeah, right. Ain't happening. I left home at the age of 20, and never looked back. Never needed to be rescued from myself. Never needed to draw on my parents' emotional resources. Never had them up all night, or pacing and muttering to themselves. So, nobody warned me. No one told me that, when my child made a bad decision that broke his heart, mine would break also. No one warned me that adult children sometimes need more mothering than they did when they were little. That they co

I'm feeling frivolous today ....

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Which of Henry VIII's wives are you? this quiz was made by Lori Fury

Saying goodbye to a church

Today was my last day at the Church on the Pike. Ash Wednesday will find me at the Church on the Hill, hopefully with my transfer of membership already in process. I decided it would be good for me to start Lent in a new place. It was hard singing with the choir for the last time, going to coffee hour for the last time, leaving the parking lot for the last time. I'm pretty sure I made the right decision, but it hurts nonetheless. I turned in my church key, said goodbye to a few people I'll keep in touch with, and left quietly. Then I went (I blush to admit it) for a little retail therapy. It takes so little to cheer me up -- a handbag at 75% off will often do the trick. This morning was the Church on the Pike's annual meeting, however, so I did stay long enough to see what the official spin would be on the many departures this past fall and winter. I was not disappointed. Those who have left were justly characterized as those who could not "buy into" the chu

Just call me Grumpy

I went out into the cold this morning to bring in the newspaper, and got an unexpectedl treat. The sun was just coming up behind my neighbor's house, peeking around her garage in a pale blue sky crisscrossed by pink, fluffy ribbons of cloud. The landscape lay under a faint, optimistic, pinkish glow. I didn't care. I don't feel optimistic. It's hard living with a guy who lost a hundred pounds on Weight Watchers. There's nothing like a convert to make everyone uncomfortable. I have gotten tired of his lovingly pointing out to me that I'm obese. Not chubby. Not pleasingly plump. Obese. The "O" word. I come from a whole family of cheerfully obese people, thank you very much. They enjoyed life; they enjoyed food. They got diabetes in their 60s. They didn't enjoy that very much. So much for my argument. So here I am, day two of Weight Watchers, glaring balefully at my breakfast of 3 Rice Krispies and a tablespoon of fat-free milk. "I'm so

'Twas in the Moon of Wintertime

Last night the county college/community chorus started up practice again for the spring semester concerts, which will feature parts 2 and 3 of Handel's Messiah . So off my friend Carol and I went in the dark, cold drizzle, vaguely fearing that we could encounter black ice on the roadways. Now, you've never spent time with Carol and me, so you don't know how we love to talk. We can, and do, laugh about the silliest things. I have nearly driven off the road many times when convulsed by laughter at Carol's humor. Last night, however, I kept my mind firmly on the road. Until ... Carol pointed out the window, and we saw the sky had begun to clear, revealing tattered shreds of cloud backlit by the most gorgeous winter moon I have ever seen. I stared at it as long as I dared. When I got home later, it was a still and perfect night, crisp and cold, with no wind. And the moon was still up, hovering brilliantly above. I was reminded of that Huron carol, ' Twas in the Mo

Lunchtime with ... Beatrice Bruteau

"Salvation" ... is not a matter of offering sacrifice to appease God. This is a primitive, not to say barbaric, notion. God doesn't need appeasing. God's "attitude," if we may so put it, is one of eternal steadfast love. What needs "appeasing" is the craving for life of the descriptive self and the fear of destruction in the sinner. Salvation is effected by someone loving the sinner and convincing the sinner of that love. "Greater love than this no one has, that one should lay down one's life for one's friends" (John 15:13). If the convincing gesture is "dying for you," then that gesture can be used because it convinces the sinner of the love. It is the love and the conviction of being loved that is salvific. Beatrice Bruteau, Radical Optimism , p. 84

Lighting a candle tonight ...

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For Ken, who passed away on January 3, and for his family who will miss him.