Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

I dreamed last night that I was being pursued by a dancing teapot, like the one in Beauty and the Beast . Surreal! And the worst part -- the teapot had Christine O'Donnell's face and brown hair. No, I will not attempt a sketch! It was too scary! The teapot chased me down the street and nearly caught me -- but I was able to duck into a small enclosure that might have been a voting booth. For those of you who are mercifully insulated from the coming midterm elections, Christine O'Donnell is running for the U.S. Senate in my old home state of Delaware. She is the very lightweight Tea Party-sponsored Republican candidate. She describes herself as "a conservative Christian woman," and has been heard to say that God has called her to win, and that prayer affects her poll numbers. She also admitted that she "dabbled in witchcraft" as a teenager. Now, I personally don't care about her teen history. What makes my skin crawl is the Tea Party, that misguid

My two faithful readers (or was it three?) will rejoice to know that I finally won the battle with my borough. Now I hardly rejoice to announce that any tree has died, but I grew weary of worrying that this particular decaying specimen would fall on my house, car, dogs, or husband (not in that order,necessarily ...). Several weeks ago we had a windstorm of mighty proportions, and our street required a lot of municipal overtime cleaning up fallen branches. Imagine my delight when, returning home the next day, I spied the red X on my tree -- the sign of imminent removal. Someone noticed its obvious deadness! If I had been brave enough to paint the red X myself, this might have been over long ago! Farewell, dear Hazard!

Ok, it's been a long time. I was recently scolded by my friend Leslie because I had not blogged in so long. Mea maxima culpa est. I guess I was just taking a little vacation from having an opinion on everything. Imagine that. Well, no more Mrs. Nice. Stay tuned.

It's hard to believe that Lent is over, and Easter Sunday has come and gone. Of course, I realize the Easter season lasts for fifty days, but I guess I'm in a slump after all the activity of Holy week -- a very emotionally exhausting five services in five days, plus cooking, food shopping, and all the other usual tasks that can't be set aside. I want to sit in the sun now and snooze, like those critters to the left, who are resting from their Easter-Day labors. That sounds like a very good idea, in fact: sitting in the sun. I may never come back in!

OK, I've had it. I do love winter, but ... Lots of snow on December 19th. A ton of snow last weekend. And tonight? More snow . Snow continuing tomorrow. High winds. The fun just keeps coming. Meetings are cancelled. Doctor's appointments are cancelled. My street looks like the frozen tundra. I got these tulips last Sunday, after the plows had passed and I could finally get out to buy food. They're all that's keeping me hanging on. That, and the thought that work might be closed tomorrow .....

Now here's a government program I don't mind supporting with my hard-earned taxes: NORAD's Santa Tracker . As I write, Santa is all the way over on the far side of the International Date Line, making good progress in Southeast Asia. It's certainly great to be using these sophisticated (and expensive) defense systems for something other than defense. Merry Christmas, NORAD folks!

My mother died of lung cancer fourteen years ago this past December 15 th . It's amazing to me how long she has been gone! She was diagnosed only in the autumn of that year, passed away quietly at home on a Friday evening, and was buried in the middle of a wild, early snowstorm on December 20 th . I was grateful that she had been spared most of the physical suffering that usually accompanies this type of cancer, and had resigned myself to letting her depart in peace. My Dad, however, was inconsolable. Since retiring, he had built his whole life around Mom. She was the sun around which his little planet revolved. He had planned to die first, and could not believe that she had somehow predeceased him. He had no hobbies. He had no faith to sustain him. He insisted that no one had ever felt this way before; no one could help him with his grief. He would not come home with me for Christmas. He wanted to be alone. In the late afternoon of Christmas Eve, Dad went to the cemetery,