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A new chapter begins

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Last Friday, J. went to settlement on his parents' home. Actually, he didn't go -- he signed all the papers ahead of time, and then busied himself with all the small tasks required to completely empty a house: loading the car with anything left to be brought home, hauling away the last-minute trash, locking the property securely. Then he headed back to New Jersey.  Taking care of the house has been a big burden that I'm glad he's done with (as well as that 10-hour round-trip drive to central New York State).  And yet ... Now we've both been through the process of disposing of the family home, with all the attendant sorrow.  His family home was special to me, too. The house itself was an average 1950s-era "raised ranch" (I never knew that term until we listed the house for sale), but the location was magic. His mom and dad built the house in 1959, on a hillside outside their small college town.  In the 1970s, they also bought the wooded uphill lot next

Holy Week FAIL!

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Holy Week, like all of Lent that precedes it, should be a time of faithful reflection, of additional reading or other practices which deepen our faith. We should build in extra time for solitude, for retreats, for time away with God. Have I achieved this in my life? In addition to working four full days, here's the rest of my schedule for Holy Week. You be the judge!      Monday night :  pick up new glasses; buy a couple of small Easter gifts; LAUNDRY      Tuesday night : choir practice moved up to 7 PM; DO LAUNDRY POSTPONED FROM LAST NIGHT      Wednesday night : Tenebrae at 7:30; DEFINITELY DO LAUNDRY      Thursday night : choir at Maundy Thursday service at 7:30; watch in the garden, 9:00-? FINALLY DO LAUNDRY. LOW UNDERWEAR ALERT!      Friday (vacation day??) : dye 4 dozen eggs; buy some chocolate for kids; figure out what to have for Easter dinner, since J. doesn't want ham again ; food shopping? Noon: Stations of the Cross; 7:30: choir at Good Friday service;

"Wounded Alto": what beat is this anyway?

Today our anthem in choir was "Wounded Dove," a perfect choice for the 4th Sunday of Lent. We've been working on this anthem for awhile, since we're a tiny group of five and we need a LOT of lead-time. Well, we seemed ready. All systems were go. Right? Wrong. The tenor, our lone male voice, got sick. Unfortunately, the person with the next-lowest voice is ... me. I should have been OK. This tenor part was even written on the treble clef. It should have been a no-brainer. It sounded OK right before the service. I even looked it over during the sermon (don't tell!). I made handy notes to myself on my score.  Handy notes have bailed me out plenty of times. When it was time for the anthem, I opened my mouth with confidence. That should have been my first clue. It was a train-wreck.  First I couldn't seem to figure out what octave I should be in. Then I lost the beat against the womens' voices. Then I noticed I was in the wrong key. I mean,

Happy tails

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My oldest dog, Shadow, departed this life in the evening of Thursday, March 1st, just about three months short of her 16th birthday.  She had a long and happy life, but she was old and weary. This was not a decision I ever wanted to make, but I think it was the right time for her. Our vet and his staff were wonderful! Shadow is at peace now. Me, not so much.  It takes nothing to reduce me to emotional rubble.  I know this will pass; it always does. Patience and self-care are required. And when  I have collected Shadow's ashes and brought her home, I will feel a bit more closure than I do right now. Our rector is also planning a service for all the pets in the parish who have died this year. I think this is a wonderful idea. So I am trying to focus on the happy memories: Shadow eating the table-pad right off the kitchen table (twice); Shadow pilfering all the dirty silverware out of the dishwasher, which I had left open inadvertently, and carrying it all into her crate so she

Remembering the Ash Wednesday Storm!

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Having grown up in Delaware and spent many happy summer vacations "at the beach," I remember the Ash Wednesday Storm of 1962 clearly, and realized yesterday, as we marked Ash Wednesday, 2012, that the 50th anniversary of that event will soon be here. What a storm! At left is a newspaper shot of the storm raging off Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, where my family used to vacation. We stayed often in that very hotel pictured, the Henlopen, which was heavily damaged. It looks to me as if the boardwalk I expected to see in the photo above has been completely washed away. The storm arrived early in March, a perfect nor'easter, and perched over the mid-Atlantic coast through 5 complete high tides.  At least 40 people died, and many communities suffered heavy damage.  A childhood friend and her family lost their summer home in Fenwick Island, Delaware -- everything was gone but the foundation pilings -- and such a loss was not unusual. I lived to the north and inland, near Wil